I returned his grin, sharp and just a little wicked. “Yeah.” I let the moment hang just long enough for him to lean in, curious. “I’ve got a meeting scheduled...” I paused, savoring the ridiculousness.

  “... with a cult and prayer to god.”

  “What do you even wear to that?” Lola asked with weird excitement.

  Roberto burst out laughing, the sound booming across the café and turning a few heads. I glanced at Lola, blinking. “I... actually don’t know?”

  “Ah, signorina,” Roberto leaned in, resting his chin dramatically on his crossed arms over the chair back. “You could wear a potato sack and still look bellissima!”

  Lola giggled but didn’t let him derail her. “Actually,” she said, putting down her tablet and fixing me with a look like she was handing me an epic quest, “I was hoping we could shop a little. Just the two of us?”

  Before I could open my mouth, or think of an excuse, Roberto was already standing. “Oooh, scusami! Didn’t mean to crash the fun, ragazze!” He flashed his usual grin, full of teeth and too much confidence. “Tomorrow morning? Just text me the time, va bene?”

  I blinked. My brain was still trying to catch up

  “Va... bene?”

  He chuckled and, without another word, strolled off toward the counter, exchanging a quick word with Isabel before slipping out the door into the cooling night.

  The door chimed softly behind him.

  “Shall we call a Tüber?” Lola asked, smiling softly.

  I glanced toward the door. “The driver just left us here…” I shook my head, but the absurdity of it made me smile back at her. “Sure. Let’s shop.”

  The next day, I was rocking a tailored dark navy dress, because Lola had insisted it “spoke to nobility and quiet power.” Her words, not mine.

  I’d managed to negotiate her down to a minimalist black belt and a pair of heels. My hair? Slightly styled, but still functional. I’d explained, patiently, that I’d only been a girl for about a week and had never actually tried to make my hair “look good.” She bought that argument.

  Kind of.

  She’d also bought me a pink hairpin. It was ridiculously cute. Too cute. Which was probably why I hadn’t been able to refuse it.

  So here I was. Walking into a possible death cult meeting, dressed like the noble I apparently was—and wearing a tiny pink hairpin like some kind of defiant badge of honor.

  Wait. Not yet.

  “Do I have everything?” I asked Jerry, pacing in front of the mirror.

  “Yes,” he replied, the slightest edge of irritation in his voice. “This is the third check. Roberto is already waiting.”

  “Sorry, but this is important! My future, no, my life is at stake!” I whispered, adjusting my belt. Then I paused, catching sight of the pink glimmer near my temple. “That pink is really cute,” I murmured, smiling.

  I paused again, frowning at my reflection.

  “Then let’s go,” Jerry said. His patience was really low for an AI. Top tier for a man.

  Wait…

  “Am I like my e-” My eyes widened. “Damn. Yeah. Let’s go. I always hated this.”

  “Hated running around?” Jerry asked.

  I just blushed and bolted for the door, where Roberto was already waiting at the curb, leaning casually against his car like this was a perfectly normal morning.

  “Ah, signorina, ready to meet a dio!?” Roberto grinned, letting out his hearty laugh as he opened the door for me. His engine rumbled to life like some old beast waking up.

  I bit my lip and gathered the hem of my dress, sliding carefully into the seat. Not letting the fabric catch in the door took more focus than it should’ve. I swept it across my lap with a flick, mimicking what I’d seen nobles do in Rimelion.

  See, Lola? I learn fast.

  “I may actually meet a god today,” I said as the door clicked shut. “So... yes? No? I don’t know?”

  “Sei religiosa?” Roberto asked as he pulled away from the curb, speeding along the narrow street with all the caution of a man who thought brakes were for other people. “Do you believe in something... qualcosa?”

  “This isn’t... at least I don’t think it’s religion,” I whispered, watching the city blur past the window. “Does it count when you’ve actually met a god? Well... not the one who made my soul. His... buddy?”

  Roberto threw me a quick, concerned glance. “You play too much Rimelion, signorina. It’s not real.”

  Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  That pulled a giggle out of me, longer than I expected. “Tell that to Riker.”

  “Maybe I should try it,” he mused, grinning as he dodged a slow-moving AI Tüber like it was a casual street obstacle. “Just to see what’s so alluring. Ragazze like you at the top? Must be an amazing game. That outfit of yours!”

  “You mean cosplay?” I raised an eyebrow.

  “Esattamente!” Roberto declared proudly. “So revealing! I bet the guys love it.”

  “Yeah...” I admitted with a sigh and a smile. “They do. I’ll be… basically living inside of it. And apparently, the whole world of Rimelion thinks two ropes count as a bra.”

  Roberto just laughed and punched the accelerator like he was in a racing sim. I clutched at the armrest instinctively.

  “Don’t worry, signorina!” he grinned. “You’ll meet your dio in style.”

  I shot him a deadpan look. “I’d rather not meet dio before we reach our destination, Roberto.”

  The car rolled to a stop at the curb. Before I even opened the door, the building made its statement. Greenguard Headquarters. Or, as Jerry had dubbed it, greenwashing headquarters. A towering slab of mirror-like glass and brushed steel stretched upward, reflecting the sky in flawless blues and whites, so perfect it looked fake.

  The front courtyard was a showroom version of nature: manicured grass that was a little too green, perfect rows of ornamental trees that didn’t belong here, and towering planters filled with lush vines that I would bet money weren’t real.

  Above it all, a massive holo-sign flickered with soft white letters:

  WE UNITED EARTH. NOW SAVE EARTH.

  A few clean-cut staffers in matching moss-green uniforms were already ushering guests inside, all smiles and perfect posture. “I feel like I just stepped into a propaganda poster,” I muttered as Roberto came around to open my door.

  “You have,” he replied cheerfully. “But at least it’s a very ben progettato one. Buona fortuna, signorina.” With his signature grin, Roberto left me at the curb alone. I turned slowly, eyes lifting to the towering holo-sign.

  I took a deep breath. Let’s get this over with.

  “Madam, can I help you?” One staffer had materialized beside me, clean-shaven, in a dark green uniform pressed so crisply it practically reflected the sunlight.

  “Uhm, sure.” I nodded and hurried toward him. “I have a reservation for—”

  “Ah! Miss Charlie.” His face brightened instantly. Too quickly. Fake. But at this point, I was relieved by any welcome at all. “Please follow me. Your gathering is in the Grand Prayer Hall Two, inside the town.”

  I blinked. “Town?”

  I glanced around. Just the normal city center, busy road, flashing ad-boards, shops and cafés clustered around the base of the tower.

  The man smiled patiently, as if he got this question every day. “Is this your first visit?”

  “Yes?”

  “Ah. Then this will be a strange experience for you. But rest assured, everything you experience is yours alone. Free of charge. We spread the love to everyone.” He gestured toward the wide-open doors. “Go on. Follow the arrows.”

  I swallowed and stepped forward.

  Polished glass floors gleamed under soft white lights set into the ceiling in gentle rings, imitating a sunlit sky. The air was chilly, perfectly climate-controlled, and smelled faintly of pine and citrus. Not a real forest scent. An engineered, clean version.

  A narrow line of glowing arrows traced a path across the floor. Industrial chic, Lola would’ve called it. Simple and minimal, yet unmistakable.

  The arrows led me down a long curve, not a direct route, but a winding one. Designed to make you walk. Probably to make you feel you were going somewhere special.

  I passed walls lined with perfectly framed images: serene faces of every age and race. Smiling. Meditating. Standing beneath banners that…

  I blinked. “What... is this?” They were praying. Not to vague corporate ideals or some AI-generated utopia. To the old Rimelion pantheon. Not the new gods, the powerful who claimed to be gods and were meddling in Rimelion. The real ones.

  The ones like Saevrin.

  The ones who didn’t just act like gods. They were. And they had them here on posters. In reality.

  The line of glowing arrows led me straight toward a heavy double door, brushed steel with inlaid green glass strips pulsing faintly beneath the surface. Two security guards sat at a white table to the right of the entrance, a man and a woman. Both were dressed in the same green uniform, but without the forced friendliness of the greeters outside.

  They were chatting quietly as I approached, totally ignoring me. “Hello. I’m Charlie.” I offered a polite smile. Neither smiled back. The woman nodded briskly, glanced at her tablet, and tapped something.

  Click.

  The lock disengaged with a soft mechanical sigh.

  “Go on,” she said. Her voice was flat. Not cold. Just... disinterested. I shrugged and stepped forward. The door swung open smoothly.

  And immediately shut behind me.

  I froze.

  A second door loomed just ahead, sealing me into a narrow chamber between the two, bare walls, rounded corners. Sterile. Minimal.

  A warm rush of air blasted down from above, stirring my hair. “Airlock?” I asked aloud.

  Jerry answered before I realized it had been out loud. “Yes. It seems they want to minimize contamination… Wait. Charlie.” His voice cracked. Distorted. “Something’s happening. I feel like—”

  A pause.

  “Not existing. It’s—”

  The second door opened, but not a quiet slide. A heavy parting, like a vault sealing my fate. “Jerry?” I tried, already knowing.

  Silence.

  “Jerry!” My pulse jumped. I slapped my wrist, trying to wake him up like that would help.

  “Is that your husband?” The voice came from just beyond the widening doorway. Calm. Slightly amused. “Don’t worry. Electronics can’t function in here. But it’ll work flawlessly once you leave.”

  I glanced forward into... A dome? No, that wasn’t right. It looked like a dome, but it couldn’t be. The scale was… Miles wide.

  The ceiling stretched high overhead, curving like the sky itself, lit by an artificial sun, or a million watts of unforgiving light. It cast everything below in a steady daylight that never shifted or softened. No clouds. No warmth. Just relentless, clinical illumination.

  “Welcome to the Prayer Town.”

  The voice drew my gaze downward.

  A man in grayish robes stood beside me, his expression serene. The fabric looked soft, the folds hanging in precise, almost ritualistic lines. Two pale stripes ran along the sides of his hood, framing his face.

  “You are booked for Grand Prayer Hall Two,” he said, smiling. “It’s just down this dirt path.”

  I blinked. Dirt?

  Sure enough, the sleek, corporate cleanliness of the airlock gave way to a carefully maintained, winding dirt path cutting through fields of wildflowers. I noticed the man’s robes again, gray, trimmed in silver thread at the hem and sleeves. The two stripes on his hood clicked in my memory.

  “Thank you, Whispering Novice,” I whispered.

  That made him pause.

  Really pause.

  He turned fully toward me, his earlier politeness turning into genuine curiosity. “How did you know my standing?”

  “You belong to the learners who’ve begun to attune to the divine voices in the air,” I recited calmly, the words spilling out from muscle memory. “And you assist in minor ceremonies, guiding the uninitiated.”

  The phrasing was from a manual.

  I had used it for my old exploit. A trick for reaching the rank of Sylvan Adept, a nearly impossible progression in testing, but I did it. And exploited some powers it granted me.

  Nothing major, just war crimes.

  The novice’s eyes widened, his breath catching. “You see the truth,” he whispered, then smiled broadly. He leaned in and, before I could stop him, hugged me tightly. “You are a sister.”