The sun was bleeding onto the rooftops when they wandered near the old church.
Lanterns hung from the trees like lazy stars, their glow trembling against the early evening breeze. Fang moved quietly, his eyes scanning every alleyway, every rooftop.
But the rage had cooled. The weight of Whitemoor was gone, and Davra, for all its wary stares, felt gentler under the falling sky.
Alona pointed ahead. "There," she said softly, nodding toward a crooked building wrapped in vines and worn carvings of animals, waves, and moons. The modest bell tower beside it chimed once. Not a call to prayer—more like a reminder that the day was dying.
A woman stood at the wooden gate, watching them.
She was barefoot, her robe a soft green, lined with embroidered roots and silver suns. Flowers wove through her dark braids, and her face was lit not by the lanterns, but by something inside her. Not magic—just warmth.
She looked at least 60 years old, which in elven time meant she was well over 100 years old.
"Alona?" she asked.
Fang's hand twitched. Gaia's boots stilled mid-step.
Alona smiled. "Gin."
The priestess stepped forward, her eyes falling on Gaia, then Fang. She didn't smile. She just saw them.
"Are they… truly the ones the village speaks of?" she asked, her voice barely above the wind. "The chosen?"
Fang's stance shifted. His fist clenched, and a tendril of darkness curled around his wrist like smoke. Gaia's shoulders tensed, and a pulse of pressure rippled through the stone beneath her feet—quiet but undeniable.
The priestess raised her hands slowly, palms open.
"No harm meant," she said. "No threats. I only ask because I have waited a long time to see what the old texts spoke of. The ones chosen by gods—made not for worship, but necessity."
Gaia's eyes narrowed. "Most say we're a mistake."
"They say that," Gin replied, "because they're afraid. As if a man chosen by the gods themselves can hardly come to wreak havoc for no reason."
Alona nodded, stepping closer to the priestess. "Gin's with the old gods. Earth, flame, water, and life and death. Her church didn't support the purges. But they've got little pull left."
Fang watched her for a moment. Then he smiled—not wide, just enough to soften his face.
"You got food?" he asked.
Gin blinked. Then laughed, a sound like wind chimes in the warm dusk. "Plenty. If you'll have it, I'd be honored to share our table. The children are always begging to see real magic. And you would be the first chosen ones to enter this hall in a few decades now."
Gaia shrugged. "If they don't throw things, I'll eat."
"No fruit," Gin said with a grin. "Only stew and spiced bread. And pie if there's any left."
Fang let out a chuckle, "Though we ate well at the chief's mansion, I would not dare say no to good food."
Alona leaned toward Fang, her voice low. "Being seen with her? That's a miracle. Gin's a favorite here. She delivered half the babies in this village, including me, and healed the mayor's daughter when no one else could. Every farmer here calls her their lucky charm. She was the one who taught me how to harness my life magic."
Gin looked down, cheeks red. "I just keep the order of the gods, nothing more. If I can be of assistance to those in need, I will do it in the name of the gods. Nothing more"
Fang stepped closer. "You welcomed us. That's not nothing."
She bowed her head. "Then come. Let the old gods feed you. Let the little ones see something other than fear."
The church doors opened, and the warm glow inside spilled onto the stone steps. Children peered from behind benches, eyes wide as the trio entered. One little boy whispered something, and another hid behind the lectern of the priestess.
A girl gasped as Fang's shadow rippled unnaturally behind him—twisting into the shape of a rabbit before it darted off into a nearby wall.
Gaia raised a hand, trailing faint brown sparks that wove into the ceiling, forming stone murals in the shape of angels.
The priestess was confused as much as alona was at seeing men with wings being etched into the ceiling of the church.
"Are those the depictions of the gods themselves? I have never seen such forms of them in the writings of the saints."
Fang's curiosity got the better of him, "Saints?"
Alona let a small smile out as she saw several kids nearing, happy to hear another story of old grandma Gin.
"Ah, the opportunity to tell such stories to a living testament of the gods themselves... I must say I might shed a tear or two.
The saints were chosen like you, beacons of magic when it meant something. They didn't rule, not at first. They helped. Rain for the crops, warmth in winter, healing hands and strong hearts. But war changes people. Magic grew scarce. And the saints... faded with it."
She sighed deeply, and felt her heart beating slowly.
"How I would love to see more magic users here.
I used to date one, Alvarez was his name. He fought in the great conquest wars of the Corayes region several decades ago, and he died at the hands of the dwarves.
I miss his earth magic most, he used to make sculptures of great leaders he fought.
He was so handsome, too."
Gin was blushing and blinked only to realize all eyes were on her.
"Oh, look at me, talking and talking to no end! You must be starving. Sit down, please."
Alona and Fang moved toward the long wooden bench, still warm from the late sun. The smell of stew drifted in from the side rooms—earthy, spiced, real.
Gaia stayed still.
She was smiling—not politely, but something quieter. Almost reverent. Her gaze hadn't left Gin since she mentioned Alvarez.
Without a word, Gaia raised her hand. Not fast. Not to impress.
Her palm turned upward. Dust and pebbles stirred from the stone floor, gathering with a soft rattle. The children fell silent.
The small whirlwind hovered before Gin, then settled. The fragments began to merge, clicking into place like memory. A shoulder. A face. An open hand.
A sculpture emerged—simple, rough, and yet utterly alive.
It was Gin, mid-laughter, her arms open like she was catching spring rain. Her hair was unfinished, carved with tiny gaps, waiting. Gaia flicked two fingers.
Outside, the garden rustled.
Several flowers lifted into the air, trailing soil and roots, drifting like petals on a breeze. They nestled gently into the sculpture's hair, one by one. Red, yellow, violet. A crown of color.
The sculpture sat just in front of the front door, only a couple of steps from the entrance so everyone entering will see her presence first.
Gin stared at it. Then touched her own cheek, surprised to find tears.
Alona looked just as puzzled.
Fang gave Gaia a side glance. "That's the first time I have seen you sculpting."
Gaia didn't answer. She just sat down across from Gin and folded her arms.
"I never met Alvarez," she said, "but if he fought for you, he probably had good taste."
Gin laughed, wiping her eyes. "He'd have liked you. To receive such a gift from the daughter of the gods themselves..."
The kids were looking amazed that their caretaker was the inspiration for the ones chosen by the gods.
They whispered between them and decided, "A statue this pretty is from the gods!"
Another young girl smiled and touched the statue in awe, he fingers tracing the dress Gaia sculpted for Gin.
She then remembered that the scary woman with the horns was still there, and yanked her own hand away from the statue as she turned to look at her to see if she saw her touching it.
Gaia looked into her eyes, and just smiled.
"Don't look at me, if you want to touch it, ask Gin herself. This is a gift to the church."
The girl looked at Gin with a pleading look, with tears in her eyes, but the tears were replaced by a smile as her eyes landed on the wrinkled smile Gin had on her face.
Gin nodded, and the girl kept tracing her fingers on the statue.
The kids clapped quietly, unsure if it was allowed.
Then the priestess stood, still red-faced, and clapped her hands.
"Well! Magic or no, stew doesn't serve itself!"
The sun set on the sleepy village, and the smell of delicious spicy stew was in the air.