Last of all was the Immortal Child, slumbering forevermore.

And thus, Leren was born, Eternal Daughter, Endless Dreamer, Goddess of Hope.

To teach their children to look to the stars and see beauty,

And that with hopes and dreams, the Children of the Gods could do anything.

Together they were the pantheon who ruled with righteousness, mercy, and loyalty.

And from the Thrones Eternal, they stood the arbiters of all life.

-Book of the Dawn 1;46-51

A sense of relief swept over Gardinal as the white marble dome came into view above the ever-worsening shades of brown that painted Southshore. The temple was within reach now, and Gervin would be safe.

“You alright Gervin? Not dead on me yet, are you?” Gardinal looked to his friend, the two clinging onto one another as they staggered through the dirty street.

“I'll outlive our whole squad, just you see.” Gervin rasped, he sounded rough, and a bit of purple now clung to his complexion. Little light made it into Southshore at sunset, not this close to the wall, but he could make out his friend's slowly swelling face.

“Oh, I believe that.” Gardinal’s own throat had begun to tighten as well now. They didn't have long before they were dying in the mud. Gardinal picked up the pace, forcing Gervin sluggishly along. By Ethinia's grace they had to make it.

The light had faded to a proper twilight by the time the pair neared the building. No words were shared between them now, as Gervin rasped simply for breaths. He would make it, they weren't far now, he had to make it. Gardinal had tried healing his friend earlier along the way, but his own body had grown too weak to work as a proper conduit for the First Mother's energies. To try again would likely be disastrous. Soul Leaching was a dangerous thing, best to be avoided.

Rounding the corner, the temple gates came into view. The tall marble walls and gilded gates were mainly ornamental, a figurative passing into Ethinia's embrace. But now the gate sat closed, a thing Gardinal had never seen happen in all his years serving there.

“What in the... who gave that order?” He coughed out through a tight throat. Looking around the outer square that sprawled in front of the temple, Gardinal realized another oddity. Dozens of Faith Militia patrols marched through the area. The commonfolk hurried along, doing their best not to get in the way of the guards.

Gardinal nearly growled. Ethinia's grace was meant for all. Closing the gates smelled too highly of what he had faced in his youth as a young Khazimi. It had been near impossible to get into The Forest to see the old temple, the original seat of the Bishop of Life, if you weren't a noble. It had been in the Sherya district then, long before Shelezan took over and had this one built. His father had been forced to pay a small fortune to get Gardinal a writ of permission to visit that temple. Gardinal may feel how he does about Southshore but putting the temple here was the right thing. This was not good.

They pushed through the square, marching with renewed energy to the gates. They needed to get through those things, and no fool guard was going to stop him, not from saving a friend.

“You there, stop.” One of the guards who stood by the gate strode towards them, his long glaive held at the ready. Gardinal didn't recognize the Fershya kid, likely on loan from the bloody old temple.

“On whose orders? No one save the Goddess Herself may forbid a soul from entering Her sanctuary.” Gardinal growled, his voice more gravelly than normal from the growing constriction. Whatever Gardinal looked like, it gave the Fershya boy pause.

“M... My orders are from the Bishop of Life himself.” He stammered. “No one in or out he said. Not a soul.” Gardinal just scoffed and batted the boy’s glaive away. Useless brat. Thankfully, he recognized the guard's Fereni compatriot still by the gate.

“You, guard, open the damned gate.” He shouted at the handsome young man. The young Fereni looked at him for a moment, eyes narrowing to make Gardinal out in the dim light. It only took a moment for him to burst into action, heaving open the gate. Gardinal grinned as he passed him by. “Good man Stephanos.” Gardinal patted the Fereni guard on the shoulder. Good reliable man that one.

Passing through the gates, they found themselves in the main temple courtyard. A central fountain with water cascading down a statue of a weeping First Mother stood at the center of the square. Half a dozen white cobblestones paths branched out of this main square, leading to each of the different temple structures. There was an uneasiness to the air here, and it made Gardinal wary.

Priests and priestesses shuffled by, whispering nervously among themselves. Faith Militia marched through here as well, all fully armoured, only a few taking a bare moment to salute Gardinal. This couldn't simply be because of the earlier attack, could it? Gardinal was unsure, but as Gervin leaned increasingly more weight onto him, he knew an explanation would have to wait.

With a longing glance to the tall domed central sanctum, he turned away. He would see The Prophetess soon enough, and his own healing would just have to wait until then. For now, he followed the path to the left, leading towards a smaller open-air building, with slender marble columns holding aloft the rounded roof.

They stumbled up the slick marble staircase, still wet from the previous day's rain, a bloody hazard if he ever knew one. Blessedly as they entered the structure, several dedicated healing priests and priestesses rushed up to them, distinguishable by the thick teal stoles draped over their shoulders.

“Brother Gardinal! What happened here?” one of the brothers asked, a Shenyalya with emerald eyes and blonde hair. The rest of the healers took Gervin and helped him to one of the raised stone beds that sat in a circle at the center of the room.

“Poison, I was able to slow it but suffered a Soul Leach.” Gardinal coughed up blood, as if his body wanted to make a point.

“You as well then, get onto a bed.” The priest began pushing Gardinal towards the stone beds. Gardinal shrugged the man off.

“No, I must check on The Prophetess.” Gardinal brushed him off and the Shenyalya priest simply nodded at that.

“Yes, that awful business with Brother Lesseral earlier. Truly terrible. But still no reason to...”

“Brother Lesseral?” Gardinal asked. He knew the name, had prayed with the young Sherya priest a few times. The healing priest looked at him in surprise.

“You... You didn't hear?” He asked. Gardinal grabbed the man tightly by the shoulders with a violent shake. If something had happened while he was gone...

“Tell. Me.” The man's eyes widened in shock.

“I.. uh... Brother Lesseral attacked Her Radiance earlier and uh...” The priest was cut off by Gardinal pushing him away. Gervin was safe now, he needed to take care of The Prophetess. He stormed away from the sputtering priest.

At the pace he set, it only took Gardinal moments to reach the wide-open doors of the sanctum, the temple proper itself. Stumbling through the entrance, Gardinal had to cough now for breath. Thick chunks of blood clinging to his beard. The central sanctum itself was dominated by the reliquary platform, with its towering white tree coloured with teal leaves. It was grown from a cutting of a cutting of the lost First Tree, as were all the trees of the Ethinia temples. Gardinal pushed his way through the room, past priests and priestesses who shoved through. Only two sleeping quarters lay in the main temple body, and he needed to reach The Prophetess's.

Stumbling down the corridor, he found himself leaning along the wall as he went. Small statues and paintings crashing to the marble flooring as he barreled down the hall. He could feel the wet blood dripping down his beard, but she was close, she had to be. Just at the end of the hall was the door, half open. Her door. He crashed through it into her room, and his heart stopped.

A broken water basin, a torn tapestry, and blood on the floor. Dry blood. He had been too late. He had failed her, the only good thing in this wretched world and he had failed her. His throat constricted tight, barely even a whisper of breath making it through now, and he could feel face swelling up. He would die, and he didn't even care. Not without any good left in the world.

“Brother Gardinal, you vandalize my temple.” The sharp voice of the Bishop of Life rang hollow in his ear.

“Th... Prophetess...” Gardinal barely managed to croak. His vision growing blurry.

“Her Radiance is fine. Rise so we might ensure the same can be said of you.” The Bishop grabbed Gardinal by the arm and lifted him up. She was safe. He would have breathed a sigh of relief, had his throat not completely closed. “What a mess you are. Poison?” The Bishop asked, matter-of-factly. Gardinal barely nodded in his haze.

The Bishop grasped the side of Gardinal's head and Gardinal could feel a warmth begin to seep into him. Tiny tendrils of light, thinner even than a single hair, seemed to bloom from the man like veins, stretching into Gardinal’s body in a thousand separate places.

The Bishop of Life could not carry even a tenth of what The Prophetess could, but he was unmatched in precision of his use with the First Mother’s power. Most healers, The Prophetess included, just pushed thick torrents of Ethinia's healing grace into a body, healing everything that could possibly be wrong with it. Shelezan though, he would reach into a body and heal away whatever was precisely the problem, and in the process used only as much energy as Gardinal would have to mend a cut.

His throat opened and Gardinal coughed for air. He could feel the swelling of his face going down, and he looked to the Bishop with admiration.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” he managed to rasp through raw throat. Unlike The Prophetess's healing, the only thing that Shelezan had cleansed him of was the poison. Scratchy throat and aching muscles yet lingered.

“I can not exactly have Her Radiance's favourite guard dying on us.” The Bishop mused. “Now come along, I have been waiting for you.” He turned to walk away. Gardinal reached out and grabbed the man's long sleeve.

“Your Grace, where is she?” Gardinal begged. The Bishop let out a suffering sigh but didn't even turn to look.

“If you would follow, instead of questioning your superiors, you would see Brother Gardinal.” The Bishop did always like to remind people of their positions. Gardinal was sure it helped that the Bishop was always the top of any hierarchy. Gardinal followed.

They moved through the temple quickly, a few handmaidens and temple faithful already picking up the long trail of damage left in Gardinal's wake. They passed them by, moving through the Inner Sanctum once more. Passing around the reliquary platform they climbed the stairs that wrapped the inside wall of the building, leading to the Bishop's private study. Gardinal began to ask about The Prophetess once more but was silenced with a quick look from the Bishop.

Cresting the stairs, Gardinal found the corridor leading to His Grace's study unusually crowded with priests attending hallway relics. Then he saw the faces of the men and understood. They were some of his best trained guards, all in priest robes with hidden swords at their sides. Clever, any would-be assassins would have to pass some of their most trusted men without even knowing. The priests parted as they approached the door, and the Bishop pulled a long key from his sleeve. The Bishop wasn’t taking any risks; The Prophetess was obviously on the other side.

Entering the room, Gardinal searched it with frantic haste. He finally breathed easy; she was there. On a small sofa by a curtain-covered window lay her ever so fragile form, slumbering away. She appeared divine in her sleep, the sight of her at peace was breathtaking.

“Brother Gardinal, I think it’s time we have an important conversation.” Gardinal tore his eyes from The Prophetess to see the Bishop already seated behind his imposing desk. Gardinal ached to reach out and brush her brow, to feel the girl’s warming presence once more. He couldn't wake her though, not after what she had been through.

Gardinal turned and took the fine cushioned seat from across the Bishop, uncomfortable with its plushness. He had grown accustomed to resting on rocks in the war, these cushions felt wrong to him now, even eight years later.

“So, Brother Gardinal, from your earlier malady, I take it you stumbled upon something of import today.” The Bishop wasn’t asking a question, he never asked questions. “Tell me what you found.”

So Gardinal did. He told him everything that happened in the Red Boar, of what Gervin said along the walk back. This Cult of X had grown in the shadowed parts of Southshore in only a few months and were now already causing issues even among the street gangs. The Bishop nodded as Gardinal finished his report.

“So, we have a name now. That at least gives us a start.” The Bishop eventually stated.

“Your Grace, I have told you all I know. What happened with Brother Lesseral earlier?” Gardinal was desperate to know, the man had not been a friend, but anyone who wore the cloth was a brother. The Bishop tented his fingers, a tension obvious in his poise.

“It… seems this Cult of X as it were, is not content with festering in the shadowed corners of Southshore.” It seemed hard for him to say. Gardinal understood. The man had dedicated his life to the cloth, to see one of your own turn so evil? Gardinal felt that pain just as deeply. “They appear to be more connected, rooted, and dangerous than their little attack this morning would lead us to believe.” He shook his head. “In fact, I think that attack was a ruse, and I do not foresee any further attempts being so easily pushed aside.” Gardinal almost scoffed at that. The attack this morning was many things, but easily pushed aside was not one of them.

“Your Grace, our first priority should be the safety of Her Radiance. If you believe danger yet lingers, I would take her from the city immediately. Find a safe temple to hide her in the north perhaps?” Gardinal knew she had always wanted to visit the ancient, wooded lands of the Sherya.

“No, you shall not be leaving the city Brother Gardinal.” The Bishop said. “In truth I have already organized a procession to escort The Prophetess from the city tonight, one of which you shall not be a part.”

Gardinal blustered at that. The Prophetess leaving the city without his protection? Better chance of a man tricking a Khazimi merchant out of his coin!

“Your Grace.” Gardinal spat out, grinding his teeth as he spoke. “I would beg you to reconsider…” The Bishop held up his hand to forestall him. Gardinal set his jaw.

Once Gardinal settled, hair-thin threads of light spread forth from the Bishop's hand. This time stretching up above, then fanning out like a great tree canopy around them. Eventually the tiny threads formed a complex shifting bubble around the two men, then seemed to tighten and fade.

“There, we may speak openly now.” The Bishop spoke, switching to the old Sherya tongue. Gardinal looked around, admiring the weave as a street bard would a masterwork lute. Even after all these years around him, Gardinal still felt wonder at the Bishop's skill. “She will not be leaving the city; I would not have her far from my sight for even a moment.” He shook his head, then rose from his chair. So, the procession was a ruse? But why?

“Why would you send a fake procession? It’s clear that with such danger we must…” Gardinal saw the Bishop's mouth tighten as he strode to the edge of the bubble, to where The Prophetess rested. “It’s what they will expect.” Gardinal thought aloud.

“You are no common foot soldier Gardinal. Not to rise as high as you have.” The Bishop did not turn as he spoke, gazing at the slumbering Prophetess. “I am fully expecting an attack on the procession as early as tomorrow morning. That is why the procession will primarily consist of Faith Militia, dressed as priests.” The Bishop reached out with a hand; fingers bent as if to brush hair from The Prophetess’s face. It stopped when it hit the tight weave of the bubble between them.

“I have worked far too long.” He continued. “And far too hard to risk her now.” Then he turned to Gardinal, cool sapphire eyes meeting his. “You know of what I speak.”

Gardinal understood, and he loathed it. Her eyes. Her blasted eyes. There were a thousand rumors in the city and even within the temple. Rumors of the Bishop seeking to put her on the throne, but to see him speak so openly of it was different.

“But why Your Grace? Is it true that you hate His Majesty then?” Gardinal could think of no other reason. As far as Gardinal could tell, the King ruled no better or worse than any of his predecessors. But the Bishop and the King had a history, and everyone knew that. The Bishop let out a short, pained chuckle at that.

“Hate? No. In fact I would have once said I loved Luce.” The familiarity clear in his use of the Kings birth name, instead of his regnant name. “At least I loved the boy he once was. When the Princess died though…” He tapered off and silence rested between them for a long moment. The Princess had been beloved by the city above all others, and her death changed everyone.

“And now?” Gardinal eventually asked.

“And now,” The Bishop sighed. “Now so little of that kind prince remains. How many lives did he throw away at the faintest hint of a rumor?” The Bishop almost seemed sad at that. That conflict seemed to weigh heavily on the man. The war in the Shaded Lands had been started by a rumor. That of a Theremya assassin being responsible for the Princess's murder. Yet nothing had come from the war save wealth for the nobles, and another gem to adorn the king’s crown. “I am old Gardinal, very old. I have served four kings in my lifetime, and just once I wish to see someone worthy upon that throne.” He clenched his fist as he returned to the desk. “We have seen too many who ruled with the Strength of The Father. Perhaps it is time for the Mercy of the Mother instead.” Gardinal nodded, truly understanding for the first time. It was treasonous but, Ethinia save their souls, it was also right.

“She’s perfect.” It hurt him to agree. “An obvious claim to the throne, and a connection to Ethinia stronger than anything in recorded history.” Placing the pieces together like that it was obvious, and it hurt so terribly to see this precious, genuinely good girl at the center of it all. “But if she leaves the city…” he realized.

“Then the king could stop her ever returning.” The Bishop finished. They shared a knowing look.

“She can’t stay here, with so many trusted Faith Militia gone, and what happened earlier today.”

“You are correct, Brother Gardinal.” The Bishop said. “I do believe you own a property not far from here?”

Gardinal’s heart sank at that. So, he did know. The question was how much he knew.

“Yes, Lord Bishop.” Gardinal bowed, accepting the fate. That old Jöln would certainly earn his money’s worth now. “And what of the temple Your Grace?” Gardinal asked. All these years and he still felt love for the temple itself, even if it was now second to The Prophetess.

“I have requested the Golden Hammer himself come to assist in the… purging of the temple’s sin.” The Bishop said it with a casualness, but it shook Gardinal. Of course, he knew the Bishop was close with the head of the Order of the Golden Hammers. But to have the head of Gardinal’s order come to assist in the purging himself meant something else entirely. It would not end well for any other fallen priests. The Golden Hammer was a paragon of The Pantheon's light, and that meant the blind justice of The First Father.

“She needs at least one handmaiden. Sister Valleresa proved herself today by almost giving her life in service. I will organize for her to come to your home as soon as she is finished with preparations.” Gardinal nodded, that blood must have been hers then. Blessed girl, he always had liked her. “Go now in the First Mother's light, Brother Gardinal. I shall reach out to you soon with more information.”

Slowly Gardinal stood from his seat at the Bishop’s dismissal. Stepping over to the sleeping child he watched her quiet body resting gently in the moonlight. By the gods themselves, he thought, she was perfect. Reaching over, he pushed through the energy field, causing it to dissipate into small, tattered weaves of light that faded away. Kneeling down, he rested his calloused hands on her shoulder, his massive palm almost engulfing the whole thing. She was so small, so fragile. By the First Mother he would protect her. Above all else he would do that. Gently he rocked the Prophetess awake.

“Brother Gardinal?” Her small eye lids fluttered open as she smiled at the sight of him. He returned a smile as best as his old, battered face could muster.

“Yes, Your Radiance, it's me.” He slowly began helping her sit up. “We best get going now.”

And so, they did. Beneath the First Mother's gentle moonlight, on a cool spring night, a large procession drew the eyes of many a commoner. Word carried far along common tongues, word of the ornate litter carrying the Prophetess Celeste away into the night. Not a soul saw the two hooded figures, escaping into the darkness.