The Sun had dipped behind the horizon by the time that Nethira returned to her home. Her family lived in the outermost slums of the city. The brightly colored lights of the early evening sky splattered reds and pinks across the slanted wooden planks that held their home. She pushed aside the large burlap curtain that hung in front of the gap between the boards and the stone building they leaned across to create the single room hut.

Warmth poured out of it as soon as she pulled back the curtain, sweeping across her feet and welcoming her in. Her little sister laughed as her father tuned his lyre. The smell coming off the pot that sat over the little fire pit was simple, but it made her stomach growl in anticipation. Her brother was stirring in some salt by the looks of it. He made the most money, in the army, so when he was home he was frequently responsible for dinner. Everything the entire family owned could probably fit in a single wooden crate, but they made up for gold with joy.

“Is mother home yet?” Nethira asked, walking over to set her offering next to their homes small altar. Not many families kept altars in their home, but worshippers of Tillia, like everything else about them, were the exception. It wasn’t much, two candles with a small piece of crystal snuggled between them on a little wooden plate to keep it off the floor.

“No, the night before the festival she’s always back late,” Their father said.

“Should I go meet her and pick her up?” Her brother, Litha asked.

“The Priests always bring her home where she’s there that late, She'll be alright, just work on dinner.”

Nethira slipped down beside her sister, looking at the sticks she was using to try and build a house. “Why isn’t Nethira there with Mama?” She asked, her voice full of sweet innocence.

“I’m not a Shadow Woman yet, I’m still learning,” Nethira explained, placing a small twig on top of the one her sister had laid down. “You have to study a lot of things to properly devote yourself to Tillia. You have to study about herbs and flowers and about crystals and rocks and fortune telling and medicine and even about the stars,” She said.

“And Mama knows about all that?” Na asked awe and wonder sprinkled across her face like freckles. Nethira cocked a brow at her and laughed. “Of course she does, you see her doing it all the time. Hasn’t Mama used tea to tell your fortune before?” She asked.

“I don’t know if I believe in the fortune telling part,” Litha butted in.

“Well, of course, you don’t. That’s why I was talking to Na,” Nethira said with annoyance peppered into her words. They often butted heads, as many siblings do. They’d always argued, from the moment that Nethira was old enough to form insulting words. When Litha had chosen Cors and Nethira had chosen Tillia their mother had laughed that it must’ve been destiny. The legends spoke that between all the gods, Cors, who ruled the light, and Tillia who ruled the shadow fought more than any other. It was only natural that their followers would clash as well.

“That’s enough you too, I won’t have you getting into a bickering match tonight,” Their father said, setting his treasured tool to the side and holding his arms out to his youngest daughter. “We all just need to love each other, isn’t that right my little Flower,” He said. “Papa stop!” She giggled in protest as he pulled her into his lap.

“My my, it seems like my family is enjoying my absence just a bit too much. You wound your dear mother.”

“Mama!” Na squealed with happiness and pulled away from their father, rushing into their mother’s waiting arms.

Her mother was a stark contrast to the man next to her. Her mother and father had gotten married when they were young, and her mother had held onto her youth. Nethira looked just like her, with the same dark brown hair almond eyes, delicate features, and olive skin. Beside her was one of Tillia’s priests. His face was sharp and angular, and his eyes held a permanent look of displeasure. Dressed in all black he was a foreboding looking man. It was no wonder that people parted for the priests and Shadow Women when they saw them.

At first, the priests had made Nethira uncomfortable, but her mother had assured her that they were all perfectly pleasant. After all, Tillia was the Mother of Night, one of the few matriarchal deities. She’d never allow a despicable man into her folds.

“Thank you for walking her back,” Nethira’s father said, standing and giving him a small bow. “It’s nothing,” The priest assured. “She’s always a dedicated servant this time of year. It’s the least we can do. No Shadow Woman should be afraid to walk around at night.

“Elder Brother, would you like to stay for dinner?” Nethira’s mother asked. The priest politely declined. “Thank you for the offer, but I have much to do before tomorrow morning. Blessings of the Night to you, Sister,” He nodded his head to her mother, and then turned his eyes to her. “And to you, little sister,” He said, before closing their curtain and making his way back down the street.

“He’s scary,” Na said as the man left. Her mother reacted as she always did, with a soft laugh. “Oh, child. He’s a kind and generous man. All the priests are. I assure you, you have no reason to be afraid of them. They just work very hard, and are very serious in their devotion to Tillia.”

“It does feel like I’ve never seen a Tillian Priest smile,” Litha commented.

“Litha, don’t say things like that just to upset your Mother and Sister,” Their father chastised. Their Mother’s laugh was like a wind chime on a gentle spring morning. "No, Elder Brother doesn’t seem to smile much does he,” she said.

“You’re lucky your mother is in good spirits,” Their father relented. “Now here, take the bowl and sit down,” He said as he gave Litha a bowl of stew. The family sat down together, enjoying each other’s company. They didn’t have much, but what they had they shared, and most importantly, they had choice. They had the freedom to follow whatever path it was their heart desired, without being held back. It was too bad, that quite soon, destiny was going to take that freedom from them.