His name was Kurt, though most had long since stopped using it. In polite theology, he was referred to as The Forgotten Knight. He aimed to claim the title of Unholy of Unholies, a perfect mirror to the Lady’s title of Holy of Holies. Sadly, people insisted on calling him Lord Holy Unholy, a name whispered with confusion or awe, depending on whether the speaker found comfort in contradiction. And among the few who are strong enough to understand divine politics, he was simply Laurel’s husband, a title that baffled theologians more than any miracle ever could.

  The husband of the Virgin Lady was a bitter pill to swallow for some.

  At the moment, he was lounging in a hammock strung between two trees on the moon.

  Yes, the moon.

  And yes, trees.

  If you’re wondering how there could be trees on a cold, airless rock hurtling through space, the answer was simple: when your wife was the Arbiter of Life and Death, reality became more of a suggestion than a rule. Laurel liked trees. So the moon had trees. Simple as that.

  Above him, the planet hung massive and glowing, A gibbous shape of mostly ocean, half-veiled in cloud. Kurt had been watching it for a while; its storms swirling, and its people scrambling. Watching new religions rise and fall like the tide upon the sand of time. Sometimes it calmed him. Sometimes it maddened him.

  Today, it just made him tired.

  He turned his gaze from the planet to the makeshift stone oven nestled beside a patch of violet-leafed underbrush. His wife, Lady Laurel the Fair, the Eternal Holy of Holies, was bent over it, fussing with a wooden paddle and something that smelled suspiciously like burnt basil. Her long blonde hair was braided into a loop to keep it away from the heat, and she was humming.

  She didn’t look any different than when he’d first met her. Of course, she hadn’t aged in a thousand years, but that wasn’t what he meant. She hadn’t changed. Not in any way that mattered.

  He, on the other hand, had changed drastically. Several times, in fact; once a mortal, once a legend, once lost, once found, and now... whatever this was: divine-adjacent, sanctified, but not sacred, a heretic’s saint, maybe, or… just a relic.

  He remembered the first time he saw her, really saw her beyond the boyhood crush, and how, in that moment, he’d known she would outlive him by centuries.

  He refused to accept it. He remembered the years of plotting, the dangerous pacts, the time-magic gambit that nearly cost him his life, and traveling back a thousand years just to meet her as an equal when she was still mortal.

  He remembered saving the Mythic Realm, not because the world needed saving, but because she did.

  It had been selfish. Beautifully selfish. And in the end, she had chosen him, too.

  That was still the most miraculous thing that had ever happened to him, and he had witnessed most miracles.

  He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. The sound of leaves rustling in a place with no wind was strangely soothing. The hammock swayed gently beneath him, suspended in a reality custom-tailored for love and avoidance.

  The Balance of Belief

  The magic system in the Mythic Realm worked in balance.

  Creating a religion that embodied the concepts of Good and Life might have seemed noble at first, but in hindsight, it had been a mistake. Because by the laws of balance, every force invites its opposite. Define something as universally good, and the world will respond by defining everything else as evil, even things that aren’t evil, just different.

  And once you start labeling all deviations as sin, you create space for monsters. Or worse: martyrs who feel vindicated when turning into monsters.

  The fix had been simple in theory: remove good and evil from the equation altogether. Build the divine tension around something less moralistic and more philosophical. Not right versus wrong, but Community versus Self.

  And it worked. Better than the old way, at least. Gone were the crusades of purity, and gone were the unholy death cults that fed on human sacrifice.

  Still, he was a little disappointed. He had hoped that people would gain two belief-based systems of power, ones they would have to balance, rather than two competing paths where they could only choose one.

  But hey... he got the girl. And the world, all things considered, was better than when he’d found it.

  He’d done his time. He’d bled and burned and bargained. Now he had a treehouse on the moon and a goddess who tried to cook.

  It was more than he’d ever deserved.

  And still… he could feel something shifting… some thread being pulled.

  He exhaled through his nose and looked up at the planet again.

  No peace ever lasted long.

  Kurt’s musings were interrupted by the rhythmic clatter of footsteps on the polished stone path between the trees. A familiar divine hum accompanied the sound, followed by the unmistakable smell of charred flour and bubbling cheese.

  “Laurel,” he called, peeking over the hammock’s edge, “is something on fire, or did you smite someone again?”

  She smiled at him, walking in complete grace despite the low gravity, and balancing a flat wooden board in her hands. Atop it sat a circular slab of bread layered with red sauce, white cheese, green herbs, and precisely four types of sliced meat.

  “You have to try this,” she said, beaming as she held the board out like a sacred offering. “It’s called pizza.”

  Kurt sat up with a grunt, taking the board and squinting at the dish. “Looks like a burnt flat pie.”

  “How dare you?” Laurel gasped, hand to chest in mock outrage. “This isn’t pie. It’s pizza, a sacred food of outsiders. I’ve been watching one of the faithful, Louis, a cook in Hano, make it for weeks. She even wished that I could taste her creations, and so, naturally, I indulged.”

  Kurt raised an eyebrow. “Food from Hano?”

  “It’s actually completely new,” Laurel said, practically bouncing as she sat in the grass beside his hammock. “This food doesn’t belong to any of the Seven Realms. Not Soulit, not Kindred, not Bloodline, not even Dreamer.”

  Kurt took a bite and chewed slowly. “It’s good,” he admitted, “but I still say it’s just pie.”

  “Laurel the Fair does not burn pies,” she said dramatically. “She perfects cross-realm culinary miracles.”

  “So, where’s this Louis from? You think she’s a time traveler from the Sealed Realm?”

  Laurel shook her head. “No. Louis is from Hano, born and raised. But the food is really from outside the Seven Realms.”

  Kurt blinked. “Are there other realms beyond the Seven?”

  “I’ve suspected it for centuries,” Laurel said, her tone shifting from playful to serious. “But now I’m sure. A girl named Alice appeared in Hano a few months ago. Her soul pattern is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. It doesn’t echo any known origin. She carries technology and recipes… ideas that couldn’t have come from here, not even from a psychedelic-fuelled Dreamer.”

  Kurt leaned forward. “Are we talking tools? Artifacts? Magical constructs?”

  Laurel’s eyes gleamed. “A glass device that magnifies sight a thousandfold. Through it, clerics can now see the invisible causes of disease. Tiny living things called bacteria.”

  Kurt nearly dropped the pizza. “She did what?”

  “Yes. Knowledge beyond me, and I’m the foremost authority in healing. I’d wager even Damada, goddess of fertility, is ignorant of such things.”

  “Skyfall…” Kurt muttered. “That changes everything.”

  “I thought so too. I tried it myself. Once I saw what she saw, creatures invisible to our eyes, moving, consuming, and multiplying, I managed to adjust the Detect Life miracle to account for them. They’re everywhere, Kurt. In the air. On surfaces. On us.”

  He sat back, stunned. “And how does that help?”

  “She proposed a method: Controlled exposure, like assassins building immunity to poison, just enough contact to train the body to fight it. It could prevent entire categories of illness.”

  Kurt rubbed his temples. “If that works… If it spreads… you’ll cut death rates across all mortal realms by twenty percent. At least. That’s more than your ‘one-cleric-per-200-citizens’ failed project ever managed.”

  Laurel winced. “That wasn’t my failure. People are allergic to Order.”

  “Yes, but this? This will cause a population boom in the Mythic, Soulit, and Dreamer Realms. And if the Kindred and Bloodline Realms expand into the wilds…”

  “...Then we lose entire ecosystems,” she finished for him.

  They sat in silence for a moment, both watching the planet. Clouds drifted across the continents below. Somewhere down there, the Doomcaller cult had predicted a plague so devastating it might have dragged both of them out of retirement. And here came Alice, a girl who had probably brought a solution that would ripple through realms she hadn’t even visited yet.

  “She doesn’t mean to cause chaos,” Laurel said quietly. “She’s trying to be discreet. I doubt she even knows all the prayers from Hano’s temple end up reaching me.”

  Kurt snorted. “Then what’s she doing now?”

  “Oh, let’s see,” Laurel said with a grin. “She’s been stargazing near ancient telepath ruins. Mostly laying low after uncovering an Old Realm Cult plot.”

  Kurt groaned and took another bite of pizza. “So she’s a disruptor. A high-functioning, well-meaning hazard.”

  “Laurel of Holies approves,” she said proudly.

  Kurt smiled despite himself. “And I thought I was the harbinger of chaos.”

  They lingered in companionable quiet for a time, the sky above them studded with stars that never blinked, the planet turning slowly beneath its blanket of clouds.

  Kurt was finishing the last crust of the pizza when Laurel suddenly stilled. Her eyes lost focus, the soft light around her dimming slightly.

  “What is it?” he asked, frowning.

  She didn’t answer at first. A single tear slid down her cheek, an exceedingly rare sight. Laurel cried for the world once every few decades. But seldom for herself?.

  Kurt swung his legs out of the hammock and moved beside her, brushing her shoulder gently. “Laurel?”

  “They found her,” she whispered.

  “Who?”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  She looked up at him. “Sara.”

  Kurt froze. The name hit like thunder behind his ribs. “Sara... the Redhead?”

  Laurel nodded. “Saint Sara the Wise: our old friend. The one who vanished after the first Holy Reformation. No trace of her for almost two thousand years… until now.”

  Kurt stood, every muscle suddenly taut. “Where? How?”

  “A cleric, Lady Sana, just prayed to me. She’s in possession of a journal written by Sara herself. Firsthand account of her last days.” Laurel’s voice trembled with awe.

  He clenched his fists. “I searched for centuries. Through six realms. I walked the edges of the Void for a whisper of her. Nothing. I would have sworn she died in exile… or was unmade.”

  “She wasn’t,” Laurel said softly. “She went to the Contested Realm. She wrote everything down. And now someone has found it.”

  Kurt’s aura spiked with urgency. “Where exactly?”

  “In the Colossus Dead Zone.”

  Kurt took a slow step back. “Ah. That’s why I never found her. That’s one of the few things that could kill me.”

  Laurel nodded. “It’s stronger now than it was in our time. Its soul density is beyond even mine.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, lips pressed thin. “Who found it? No one should be able to stand near that place without being crushed by the aura.”

  Laurel exhaled slowly. “Alice. She... teleported into the tomb, entirely by accident.”

  Kurt blinked. “She teleported into the Colossus zone and survived?”

  “She was protected,” Laurel explained. “Saint Sara’s tomb is still saturated with miracle energy. Her lingering aura formed a haven, enough to keep Alice safe.”

  “That’s…” He shook his head. “That’s not luck. That’s fate playing pranks again.”

  “She brought the journal back,” Laurel continued. “And now Sana is asking me what should be done with it.”

  Kurt’s eyes narrowed. “Do you want to read it?”

  Laurel didn’t answer with words.

  She simply stood, her form shifting as light gathered around her.

  Kurt smiled faintly. “Alright then.”

  He stepped on her shadow, then gradually disappeared into it. She became a beam of gold-white light. Together, they vanished.

  They passed through three realms in less than two seconds.

  First, they descended through the Mythic Realm, then leapt through the rift into the Kindred lands. From there, they zipped through Highrock’s gate into the Contested Realm, finally slipping, unnoticed, into the Holy Temple in Hano.

  Inside the prayer chamber, a middle-aged woman knelt beside a low table, hands folded, brow furrowed. Before her rested a book wrapped in aged leather and tied with a red silk cord.

  Kurt recognized the handwriting the moment he laid eyes on the title etched into the binding.

  Sara’s.

  Nearly two millennia had passed, but he would never forget the neat script of the woman who used to best him in sparring matches, despite him being a Knight and her a Justicar.

  He and Laurel had already activated subtle auras of concealment, Notice-Me-Not, a trick learned from Soul Shapers. The praying cleric didn’t stir.

  “Shall we read it?” Laurel whispered unnecessarily.

  They did.

  And it hurt.

  Page after page, Sara’s words poured out like still-warm memories: her decision to leave the Mythic Realm… her journey to Hano… her refusal to stand in Laurel’s growing shadow… her fight against injustice… her pride in the Rebellion… and, finally, her last miracle.

  Kurt read silently, jaw tight. Laurel blinked back another tear.

  It felt invasive to read a close friend’s inner thoughts, but it was also nostalgic. A reunion with someone long lost, though only through ink and memory.

  Laurel’s voice was soft. “She had a crush on you, you know.”

  Kurt blinked. “Sara?”

  Laurel gave a bittersweet smile. “She never said it outright, but it’s all over the early entries. She wrote about your speeches, your cooking, even the way you fight.”

  Kurt gave a short, surprised laugh. “I didn’t notice. Back then, I had eyes only for you. Honestly, it’s a miracle I got anything done at all.”

  “You say that,” Laurel teased, “but you saved the Mythic Realm. Twice.”

  “Only because I was trying to impress you,” he grinned. “That’s how petty and small-minded I was.”

  Laurel snorted. “You succeeded. I married you, didn’t I?”

  The humor faded quickly as they turned the next few pages.

  Sara’s recounting of the war in the Contested Realm was grim. After leaving the Mythic Realm, she had joined the rebellion under Kitch Agame, a hybrid bloodline leader who had seized control of Hano’s rift gate. The fall of the Dravak empire had left their soldiers stranded and vulnerable. Sara, with her experience from the Second Holy War, had become a critical ally.

  “She helped cleanse the contested realm of the last Dravak remnants,” Laurel murmured. “All except the Colossus… and Lawsha.”

  Kurt nodded. “I fought Lawsha once. The Shadow Incarnate. Slippery bastard.”

  But the journal described a final act neither had anticipated.

  Sara had chosen to face the Colossus, not in direct battle, which was never her strength, but with a curse.

  She had combined the forbidden soul-binding arts of the Soulit with a high-order miracle known only to Inquisitors: The Curse Evil-be-Damned. By invoking the collective sins of the Colossus, the genocide of the ancient telepaths, and the desecration of their minds and bodies, she forced the creature to vomit back the soul fragments it had consumed.

  The curse shattered the Colossus’s sentience; physically, it remained intact, but it was reduced to a raw elemental force, endlessly wandering, mindless, just another elemental bloodline monster once again.

  “She stripped its mind,” Kurt whispered, “by damning it with the truth of its crimes.”

  But the curse had consequences.

  Thousands of purged soul fragments had nowhere to go. They sought the nearest compatible vessel: Sara.

  Lacking telepathic ability, the fragments nearly tore her apart.

  Instead, she found… a loophole.

  “She turned it into a pregnancy,” Kurt said in awe. “A magical transmutation. All that soul-stuff converted into new life.”

  “She gave birth to twins,” Laurel whispered, eyes shining. “A boy and a girl. With blood-red hair, both with a full telepathic heritage.”

  Sara had known the world wasn’t ready for them. The telepaths had been the Dravak’s favorite prey; even a hybrid like Kitch Agame couldn’t be trusted. Their return, however innocent, would invite a new war.

  And the Colossus, even mindless, had begun searching for its missing pieces. So she made one last choice.

  “She sent them forward,” Kurt said, after reading the next page. “Into the future. Through a time displacement spell.”

  “She wanted them to grow up in a time when the Temple was stronger in the Contested Realm,” he added. “When the Dravak were gone. A time where their gifts could be nurtured instead of destroyed.”

  “She should’ve sent them to us,” said Laurel, her voice cracking. “I would’ve protected them.”

  “She wanted them raised on their own soil,” Kurt said. “In the realm where they were born. She didn’t want them to become just another holy symbol.”

  Laurel wiped her cheek. “Then we failed her again.”

  “Did we?” Kurt asked gently. He glanced toward the Holy cleric still kneeling at the altar, unaware of the divine presence beside her. “We’re in the heart of Hano, two realms away from home, and even here, no child sleeps in the streets. That’s your doing, Laurel. That’s your legacy.”

  Laurel’s voice was barely above a whisper. “What do you think happened to the twins?”

  Kurt didn’t answer immediately. His gaze shifted to the stained glass window across the hall.

  “The Temple’s been active in Hano for, what, two centuries?”

  Laurel nodded. “Roughly.”

  “Then they’re long gone. Either passed naturally… or violently.” He shrugged. “But if they were raised here, odds are their descendants walk the city right now. They may be faithful. Or mistaken for people with minor psychic bloodline affinity.”

  “Maybe some of them are orphans,” Laurel whispered.

  They fell into silence again, until Kurt muttered, “We could search. Blood-red hair isn’t that common.”

  Laurel gave him a tired look. “And do what? Snatch them up? Whisper dreams into their heads? No. You know what happens when gods meddle too much.”

  He sighed. “Yes, yes. Though we’re not technically gods, we’re still Divine enough to cause social collapse.”

  She chuckled softly. “You did that twice before.”

  “In my defense, I was still technically mortal both times,” Kurt said, “even if a thousand years had passed between each event.”

  They looked back down at the journal resting between them.

  “What do you think should happen to this?” Kurt asked.

  “There’s nothing in it that’s dangerous to the public,” Laurel replied. “No forbidden rituals. The cursed technique she used is vague enough that only an Inquisitor would recognize it. And I would smite any worshiper of mine who carelessly plays with souls.”

  “But the language aspect,” Kurt said. “It’s a key, the old telepath script, and Holy, side by side.”

  Laurel nodded. “That’s what Alice was looking for. Not power or history, but translations.”

  He let the silence stretch, then asked again, “So what do we do about the book?”

  Laurel closed her eyes. “Let the scholars have it. There’s no point in hoarding wisdom. If someone wants to resurrect the ancient telepath tongue, let them.”

  “Not to mention,” Kurt said, “Alice handed this priceless artifact to the Temple without asking for anything in return.”

  “Then we should honor her wisdom,” Laurel said. “Let her choose its fate.”

  Kurt exhaled. “Should we visit the tomb? Just to… see Sara one last time?”

  “No,” Laurel said immediately. “For now, the Colossus is predictable. It might alter its path if it senses us.”

  Kurt winced. “Millions could die.”

  “Exactly.”

  They both looked again at Lady Sana, who remained bowed in prayer, unaware of the weight of gods in the room with her.

  Laurel stood, light gathering beneath her feet. Kurt followed, stepping back into her shadow, making it darker despite her glow.

  “I’ll whisper something into her heart,” Laurel said, nodding gently toward Sana. “A quiet answer. Nothing overwhelming.”

  “No visions of flame or trials of faith?”

  “Not this time.” She smiled faintly. “She’s already done enough for the world just by welcoming Alice when she was lost and alone.”

  Laurel knelt beside Sana and placed her hand above the woman’s bowed head. Her lips moved, silent to the air but thunder to the soul.

  Then she rose and looked at her shadow. “Ready?”

  Her shadow nodded, independently of her.

  Light and shadow folded into one another, and they both vanished from Hano in a beam of light.

  Alice

  I was barely a few steps away from Sara’s Soulbook shop, eager to test out my magically uploaded Holy literacy, when a blur of motion zipped past me. A teenage girl skidded to a stop and turned, wide-eyed. She recognized me instantly.

  “Alice!” she gasped, grabbing my wrist before I could even greet her. “Lady Sana wants you. Both of you. Now.”

  I recognized her, Mosha, a half-Dreamer orphan with a voice that could bring even stoic priests to tears. She was breathless, but the urgency in her eyes was real.

  “Sara!” she called through the shop door. “Lady Sana sent me to summon you, and Alice, to the Temple!”

  Sara poked her head out, confusion plain. “Is this an emergency? I’m not done with my shift.”

  I grinned, knowing exactly what this was about. “Just excuse yourself. Trust me, it’ll be worth it.”

  A few minutes later, we were both kneeling before a low table in Lady Sana’s private chamber. In front of us lay the book, the Rosetta journal of Saint Sara the Wise.

  It was the perfect first read for someone newly literate in Holy Script. My mind tingled as I absorbed each line.

  Next to me, Sara, the living one, was practically vibrating with excitement. But her eyes skimmed right over the narrative. She was focused entirely on the language, the telepath glyphs.

  I glanced at her, then at the book… then at her again.

  That hair. That brilliant, impossible red hair.

  How had she not noticed?

  I turned toward Lady Sana, seated quietly on a sofa nearby. She wasn’t reading the book. She was watching Sara. And not subtly.

  Sara was about to flip back to the beginning when I couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Sara,” I said. “Don’t you get it?”

  She blinked. “Get what?”

  “You’re a descendant. From the twins. Saint Sara gave birth to them after the Colossus Curse. It’s you.”

  “I’m not a telepath,” she said instantly, leaning back.

  “I’ve looked into the archives,” said Lady Sana gently. “Ninety years ago, two ten-year-old children appeared at the Temple gates. A boy and a girl. Both with blood-red hair.”

  “The boy memorized every book in the Temple library in a single day,” Sana continued. “The girl could read minds.”

  “No one suspected they were telepaths?” I asked.

  Sana shrugged. “My predecessors assumed it was some rare Bloodline psychic offshoot. Telepaths were ancient history, too far removed for anyone to consider.”

  Sara sat frozen. “But what does that have to do with me?”

  “The boy,” Sana said quietly, “was your grandfather.”

  Sara’s lips parted. She blinked once, twice. Then her hand trembled slightly.

  “My father always said I was named after his great-grandmother,” she whispered. “Am I really a descendant of Saint Sara the Wise?”

  “Maybe you’re focusing on the wrong side of the family,” I said.

  Sara frowned. “I don’t have any telepathic gifts.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked. “Think back. Anything strange growing up?”

  She hesitated. “Well… when we were little, I noticed something about Calr. His eyes would cloud over when he read theology. Then he’d suddenly spout fully formed counterarguments… deep, layered stuff. And unlike me, he never reached the rank of Faithful.”

  Sana raised her brows but stayed silent for a moment. Then: “Let’s keep this quiet. For now.”

  Sara turned toward her. “You mean...?”

  “You may study the book here,” Sana said. “You may even copy the language sections for your research. But the twin story remains confidential. You, me, Alice, and Sir Gray, that’s it. No one else.”

  “What about Calr?” Sara asked softly.

  Sana sighed, then nodded. “Send him to me. I’ll tell him myself.”

  I could tell Sara wanted to argue, but she didn’t. She simply rested a hand lightly on the open page.

  “Should I… go back to the tomb?” I asked. “Try to find more records? More clues about the telepaths?”

  “Not yet,” said Sana. “Let me look into the Colossus further. I don’t want you risking your life by walking into the heart of a dormant god-beast.”

  Fair enough.

  The rest of the afternoon passed in peace. I stayed with Sara for hours, watching her light up as she studied the ancient language like it was a holy puzzle.

  I tried to help, though it was clear I was the sidekick in this dynamic.

  Still, the fact remained, I could read the Holy text now. And what I saw in those pages wasn’t just history. It was a myth that hadn’t ended yet.

  A story with threads still unspooling.

  Maybe Calr or Sara had a destiny waiting to happen.

  Or maybe the real twist was that destiny had already begun, and none of us had noticed.