Drathan stirred awake beneath the oak tree, blinking against the fading rays of the sun. The sky had shifted into deep orange and violet, the horizon glowing like burning embers. He stretched, groaned, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Damn, slept through the whole day," he muttered. Too lazy to walk the winding roads back through the city, he snapped his fingers and tore open a ripple of void. Darkness folded around him, and with a lazy step he vanished—only to reappear at the front of the villa.
The moment he pushed the door open, a wave of fragrance hit him like a punch to the gut. Roasted meats, spiced vegetables, and freshly baked bread rolled through the air. His stomach growled so loudly it made him scurry toward the dining room like a starving animal. But before he could sit, Mira planted herself in his way with hands on her hips.
"Wash your hands first," she scolded.
"Bruh, really?" Drathan groaned, but the glare in her eyes left him no choice. Grumbling, he stomped off to clean up before joining the table.
The evening passed in warmth. The villa glowed with lamplight, laughter filling the halls. The twins teased each other over dessert, the wolf siblings arm-wrestled at the far end, and Elyndra sat serenely, sipping tea with a faint smile. Kenshin cracked jokes that made Seme throw a bread roll at his head, Mira flicked her tail every time someone reached past her, and Drathan lounged back, feeling—for once—like life wasn't trying to break them. One by one, they drifted off to bed, voices fading into the night.
But the peace didn't last.
BONG! BONG! BONG!
The thunderous toll of a great bell ripped through the dawn. Its echo rattled the villa's windows, shaking dust from the rafters. Drathan shot up, half tangled in his sheets, while Kenshin rolled off his bed and cursed. Mira was already awake, her ears perked and eyes sharp.
They gathered in the main hall, the bell's cry still rolling over the city like waves. Outside, voices stirred—neighbors rushing to the streets, carts abandoned, shopkeepers closing shutters. The air smelled faintly of smoke and incense.
Mira's voice was grave as she explained. "Today is a day of worship for the goddess Aria. The bells call all in Tierwyn and the nearby towns. Attendance isn't optional—defy it, and the punishment can fall on the person… or the entire city."
Seme frowned, crossing her arms. "That's foul."
"Harsh as hell," Kenshin muttered. "We just fought an Orc King and now we gotta play church?"
Mira shook her head. "It's not just prayer. There's a ritual. Only high officials and chosen representatives enter the cathedral itself. Everyone else must gather in the streets outside."
As she spoke, her tone wavered—devotion tugging at her, but doubt flickering in her eyes. She grew up under Aria's doctrine, yet standing among the trio, she felt the weight of their cynicism.
Drathan leaned closer to his brothers, lowering his voice so only they could hear. "Yo, demon dude popped in my nap yesterday. Showed me some things. I'll fill y'all in later."
Seme arched a brow. "Man, you really need better dreams."
"Better hoes too," Kenshin snickered.
Drathan rolled his eyes, but his smirk betrayed amusement.
They stepped out of the villa and into the morning light. The city was alive with motion—crowds funneling toward the cathedral, merchants locking up their stalls, priests in white and gold robes marching in lines, chanting hymns that rose above the din. Incense drifted on the air, mingling with the smell of bread from hurried bakeries and sweat from the press of bodies. Banners bearing Aria's golden sigil hung from balconies, fluttering in the breeze.
The streets were packed shoulder to shoulder. A baker wiped flour from his hands and closed his stall, muttering prayers under his breath. Children clung to their mothers' skirts, their wide eyes darting nervously at the guards pacing the walkways. An old man leaned heavily on his cane, pausing every few steps to press his hand to his chest, while two young merchants whispered eagerly about the blessings they might receive. Pickpockets slithered through the crowd, hands quick, eyes sharper, though none dared get caught on a holy day. The cobblestones rang with the shuffle of hundreds of feet, sandals scuffing, boots pounding, the occasional clatter of a dropped basket sending people stumbling. The air was thick with perfume, incense, sweat, and the metallic tang of anticipation.
The trio walked, Mira close by, her siblings trailing with wide eyes. They flinched as a priest's censer swung near, the smoke curling in sweet, choking spirals. Every clang of the bell felt like it hammered directly into their skulls, shaking even the bravest faces in the crowd.
Halfway there, a familiar group fell into step beside them. Velra's squad, armored and sharp-eyed, moved with military precision. At their head strode Velra herself, her hair tied back, her expression unreadable. Behind her, the silent swordsman carried his blade across his shoulder like it weighed nothing.
And at the center of attention was Aelira, Tierwyn's guild branch leader, her presence commanding even among the chaos. She inclined her head as she caught sight of Drathan and his brothers. "Heading to the cathedral as well?"
"Looks like we ain't got a choice," Kenshin replied, flashing a crooked grin.
Seme sighed. "Just hope it's quick."
Drathan said nothing, his gaze flicking toward the looming spires of the cathedral rising above the city, gleaming like a blade in the morning sun. His thoughts tangled—between the goddess's power, the Demon Lord's words, and the truth hidden somewhere in between.
And so, together, they pressed onward, the bell tolls guiding them toward the cathedral.