Serena stepped out of the public washroom and returned to her room in silence. The stone floor, cool beneath her soles, echoed softly with each step. Once inside, she took up her robes from where they had been folded neatly. She dressed without ceremony, practiced fingers fastening the ties and smoothing the cloth.
The robes were marked with the green eight-pointed star, enclosed within an oval ring. From the symbol's base, fine red threads trailed downward, stitched into the fabric over the chest. She adjusted it once, then opened her door and stepped out.
The stone corridor outside was dim and familiar. She moved with quiet ease, descending the narrow, spiral staircase that wound its way down the tower. At its base, a covered walkway stretched across to the main building—its stone ribs arched high above like the bones of some ancient beast. Crossing without pause, she entered the wide hallway of the main building, making her way toward the cathedral's main hall.
She didn't need to look where she was going. Her feet knew the turns by heart.
Within the vast chamber, the statue of the Goddess stood serene and eternal, towering above all. Its carved face gazed downward in calm benediction. The hall was still, wrapped in early morning hush.
Serena walked directly to the raised circular platform at the center. Behind her, others arrived—some from her own tower, others from identical ones joined to the cathedral by similar walkways. One by one, they fell into line behind her, silent, orderly.
Without hesitation, Serena stepped onto the platform.
She knelt, hands first resting on her stomach. Then she raised them above her head in fluid motion, before bowing deeply—forehead touching the smooth, worn stone. She remained in that posture for a long moment, murmuring her prayers. Words came not from thought, but from long-ingrained memory, uttered from a place of quiet devotion.
Eventually, she sat upright again. Then, rising to her feet, she placed a hand over her heart and bowed low to the Goddess. Only then did she return to her place, moving backward so as not to turn her back to the statue. Her face remained calm, her mind still.
Behind her, the other nuns mirrored her exactly.
As the last movement concluded, a soft bell chimed from the cathedral's tower above. Its sound rang clear through the chamber and spilled out into the awakening city, marking the beginning of the day.
On the far side of the hall, half-shadowed beneath a carved stone archway, stood Alric.
He hadn't meant to come here.
He'd set out before dawn, hoping to find the training grounds he'd been directed to, but the cathedral's endless turns and echoing halls had confused him. The corridors were a maze—too many doors, too few signs. He had just been about to retrace his steps when he turned and saw the scene unfolding.
The hall had seemed empty at first. Then she appeared.
A single nun entered and walked forward toward the great statue. Then others began to arrive, following behind her. Quiet. Purposeful. He recognized the robes—green star, red thread—but not the woman who led them.
She moved to the center platform and began a solemn ritual. Alric recognised it from before—Father Juandrez had done the same, though somehow this felt… different.
He watched as she placed her hands gently above her stomach, then slowly trailed them upward. The motion was fluid, unbroken—passing over the gentle curve of her form, reverent and unthinking, as though no part of her belonged to herself in that moment. There was no hesitation in her movement. Each gesture felt like part of something ancient, practiced, and wholly at peace.
She raised her hands high, then folded into a deep bow, her body folding forward with a grace that seemed otherworldly.
Alric stood there, unmoving. Entranced.
The other nuns behind her mirrored her actions in perfect rhythm, but he barely noticed them. His gaze remained locked on her—drawn not by any single detail, but by a presence he could neither explain nor ignore.
She carried herself with something the others lacked. A grace. A quiet force. A kind of sacred gravity.
He told himself he should have looked away the moment he realized what he was seeing—that this wasn't meant for eyes like his. But his feet stayed planted, and his gaze, shameless thing that it was, held fast.
The robes she wore were simple, meant to conceal and sanctify. But they did little to hide the way her body moved beneath them. Not to someone like him, whose instincts had been sharpened on battlefields and long nights by fire, where men spoke without filters and watched the world with hungry, animal eyes.
From where he stood, he could see the press of her breast against the cold stone floor, the fabric drawn tight and stretching with the weight of her devotion. The arch of her back as she folded low, smooth and unbroken, flowed down into the gentle flare of her wide hips—shaped not for display, but there all the same, outlined in the soft drape of the robe. The way her arms moved, slow and measured, only made it worse. Or better. He didn't know.
It wasn't lewd—nothing about her was—but it made his mouth dry all the same. Not because she meant to stir anything in him, but because she didn't. That unknowing innocence made the heat crawling up his neck all the more unbearable.
This wasn't a woman trying to be seen.
This was a woman offering herself to something higher.
And he—a half-wild, mud-stained son of the plains—was the fool who couldn't stop staring.
He felt dirty for it. Like a stray dog that had wandered into a holy place. But gods help him, he couldn't peel his eyes away.
The warmth that crept into his chest, up his neck—it wasn't hunger. It was reverence. The same bone-deep stillness he'd felt when standing before the statue of the Goddess. The same disarming sense of being seen he'd experienced when the Mother Reverend had placed her hand upon his head two days ago.
But this—this was stronger.
Even though he couldn't see her face—hidden behind a veil of thick black hair—he felt as if she were looking through him, as if he only stood there because she allowed it.
Then, the bell rang.
The chime echoed through the cathedral like a command, breaking the trance. Alric blinked, breath catching in his throat as the spell lifted.
He turned quickly, heart pounding.
But before he could leave, instinct urged him to pause. He glanced back.
They had risen now—all of them standing in silent grace before the towering statue. Without thinking, he pressed his hand to his chest and bowed, mirroring them.
It felt like an apology. Not just to them—but to the Goddess, and perhaps, to the woman he had watched too long.
He did not look up at the statue.
He did not look back at her.
He only walked away, footsteps hurried, the echo of that warmth still lingering beneath his skin.
Serena turned her head slightly, glancing toward the adjacent hallway as she stepped back from the platform.
"Look, people are starting to come in," Sister Carmilla said cheerfully as she stepped beside her, adjusting her robes.
Serena returned her gaze to the center of the hall, her face calm.
"Let's start the day, then," she replied softly.
And without another word, the sisters began to move.