The nursery sat tucked deep in Market Street, just a stone’s throw from the Hano slums. The contrast was almost jarring. The narrow lane leading there was choked with vendors’ carts and laundry strung between crooked wooden posts; the air was thick with the smells of frying oil, damp earth, and too many bodies pressed together. Chickens scattered underfoot as we approached. The nursery itself stood out like a stubborn island of care: a two-story brick building with freshly plastered walls, its shutters painted a pale blue that the city’s grime had not yet scoured away. Even the little garden box by the entrance was alive with herbs such as basil, mint, and lavender, desperately clinging to their green amidst the gray. Next to it, the general store sagged on warped beams, its sign half-rotted, as if the two buildings belonged to entirely different cities.

  I raised a hand and knocked on the heavy oak door. The wood gave a dull, hollow thump that carried strangely well over the street noise. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the door creaked open, and a woman stepped into view.

  She was about my age, maybe a little older, with chestnut-brown hair pinned back hastily, though strands escaped to frame a tired face. The shadows under her eyes spoke of sleepless nights, and her smile, weak and habitual and worn thin by years of crying children, barely reached her lips. Her apron was dusted in flour and milk stains, and she still held a rag in her hand as if I had caught her mid-task.

  Her gaze flicked between the three of us: Ja’a, me, and then Calr.

  She asked in a blunt, practiced tone, “Are you here to adopt? Or is one of you pregnant and hoping to leave the child in our care?”

  Ja’a choked on her own breath. Calr’s lips twitched upward in quiet amusement.

  “Neither,” I said, straightening. “My name is Alice Hecate. I would like to speak with Lady Sharron, if she is here.”

  The woman froze. Her brows drew together as if I had dropped a stone into still water, then she blinked rapidly and leaned forward, her voice dropping in disbelief.

  “You are Alice. The next Saint Alice.”

  Her words hit me like a slap. My mouth opened to deny it, but she was not finished. Her eyes narrowed sharply, suspicion hardening her weary face.

  “But you are not even a Faithful.”

  “Hold on.” I raised both hands, palms out, feeling my pulse climb. “I am no saint. Who told you that?”

  Her rag twisted in her hands. “Everyone is saying it.”

  My frown deepened. “Who is ‘everyone’?”

  “Not everyone, everyone,” she rushed to clarify. “The Faithfuls, I mean. The baker’s wife, some of the guards, and even a few of the merchants have been talking about the next saint. A genius woman called Alice Hecate is sharing knowledge about healing.”

  The words scraped against me like sandpaper. My stomach tightened, instinctively recoiling at the idea of my name being tossed around like that.

  I swear, if I find out that Jaime is still calling me a saint to whoever he meets, I will strangle him.

  I could only stand there, silence pressing down as the noise of the market swirled behind us. Ja’a tilted her head curiously, clearly amused at my discomfort, while Calr’s expression sharpened, his eyes narrowing with calculation.

  To my relief, he stepped forward. His tone was smooth and controlled in a way I could not manage right then.

  “We are not here about rumors,” he said firmly, cutting through the tension. “We only need a word with Lady Sharron. Nothing more.”

  The nurse hesitated, her eyes flicking once more to me, as if weighing the stories she had heard against the living person in front of her. Finally, she gave a curt nod and stepped aside, motioning us into the entry hall.

  As we crossed the threshold, the cool shade of the nursery closed around us.

  “Could you remove your shoes, please?” she said, already pulling out three pairs of slippers. I blinked. Even in the Temple, you only removed shoes in the meditation area, the space with rugs instead of marble floors, but I suppose a place where babies crawled everywhere would care more about keeping the dirt outside.

  After we switched footwear, she led us to a side desk where Lady Sharron was reading over some documents. Out of all the clerics in the Temple, she was the one I had interacted with the least.

  No. That was not right. Lady Lily barely spoke a word to me as well.

  I decided to be polite and bowed to the older woman.

  “Lady Sharron, I am sorry to interrupt you, but I would like to ask for a favor.”

  “Alice,” she said, already setting aside her papers, “what can I do for you?”

  “We are studying the soul-seer ability of my friend Ja’a here.” Ja’a waved with a bright smile. “And we would like to observe the souls of young children as a reference point.”

  Lady Sharron narrowed her eyes at me, then sighed. “Normally, I would not grant such a request, but due to your history with the Temple, I will choose to trust you.”

  “Thank you, my lady.” I beamed at her.

  “Let me show you around,” she said, gathering her papers into a neat pile and rising to her feet. “This location is for children between newborn and three years old. After that, they are either adopted or transferred somewhere more suitable. This facility can hold twenty-four. We currently have nineteen.”

  She led us to a wide room with soft rugs on the floor, where five babies crawled and two toddlers, wobbly but determined, fought over a brightly colored toy. One nurse kept a watchful eye while another changed a diaper.

  To the side, a tall, broad-shouldered woman was nursing four newborns at once. I blinked twice, but no, I was not mistaken. She definitely had four children latched on, two nipples per breast, positioned on opposite sides rather than one in the center. When I looked closer, I noticed the soft cow ears at the top of her head. I had not caught them at first glance.

  Beside me, Calr stiffened the instant he noticed the exposed woman. “I am sorry,” he muttered quickly, turning away.

  “Calr, is that you?” the woman called, her eyes lighting up in surprised delight. “Come closer, boy. Let me see how much you have grown.”

  Calr hesitated, his shoulders tense.

  “Oh, do not be shy. I nursed you, too, you know,” the older woman laughed.

  Calr turned back toward her, his cheeks faintly pink, and lifted a hand in a small wave. “Hi, Miss Hanna.”

  “None of that,” she scolded lightly. “Call me Mama Hanna as you used to.”

  Calr swallowed. “Sure thing, Mama Hanna,” he said, awkward enough to make Ja’a snicker quietly behind her hand.

  “I am surprised you remember me. Did you not care for hundreds of children?”

  “Of course I do. You were the only child with that shade of red hair,” she replied with a motherly smile. “And you were terribly smart as a baby. You started speaking in full sentences by the age of one, and you only needed to hear something once to remember it.”

  While Calr reacquainted himself with his wet nurse, Ja’a knelt beside a small child and began cooing.

  “Aren’t you a cute little Agame,” Ja’a said, leaning close with a grin. “Who is going to start throwing fireballs when she grows up? You are. Yes, you are.”

  “What did you say?” asked Lady Sharron. A deep frown formed across her face.

  “This little cutie is a hundred percent from the Agame bloodline,” Ja’a replied casually, playfully grabbing the girl’s chubby hand. “I have been around enough Agame to recognize their fiery soul patterns.”

  “You can tell a person’s origin with just a glance?” Lady Sharron asked, disbelief edging her voice.

  “Yes.” Ja’a grinned proudly and, without hesitation, began pointing out babies one by one. “That one is Kindred. That one is Mythic. That one is a hybrid, Soulit and something else, probably Dreamer. That one is a full Dreamer. And both of these are half Elemental Bloodline, for sure. And this little guy is probably a mutt… I mean, a third-generation mix.”

  Lady Sharron’s eyes widened, as if someone had just handed her the secret of the universe. “This is amazing. You must give us every detail you can. It would make finding families for each child so much easier.”

  “Does the realm of origin affect adoption?” I asked, frowning.

  “Of course it does.” Lady Sharron blinked at me, surprised that I even needed to ask. “Most families want a child they can teach. How would a Dreamer bard help a Soul Dealer child manage the Clash of Souls the first time they absorb a soul remnant?”

  I guessed it made sense. It was not cruelty, but painful practicality. A mismatch could ruin both lives.

  Lady Sharron led us up to the first floor, where even younger children were sleeping in a dedicated nursery room. From the doorway, it became clear that the babies we had seen earlier, the crawlers and the wobbling toddlers, were the older ones. The tiniest, the ones who could barely lift their heads, slept here under the constant watch of a nurse.

  “We house six children per room according to age,” explained Lady Sharron as we walked. “Each room has a care nurse, while Miss Hanna is the main wet nurse. A couple of junior nurses assist her when necessary.”

  “You only have three wet nurses for nineteen children?” I asked.

  “Hanna could handle it all if she did not need sleep,” Lady Sharron laughed. “And we have lactation potions. Any of us could step in if we absolutely had to.”

  Ja’a was scribbling observations into her notebook the entire time, barely paying attention to anything else. Every baby we passed made her eyes glow with fascination, like a kid in a candy shop, if candy shops were full of crying, drooling, mystically powered babes.

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  Meanwhile, I kept talking logistics with Lady Sharron, feeding schedules, staffing rotations, adoption timelines, and medical requirements. These were things I had not expected to care about, yet suddenly did.

  After we completed the full tour, and Ja’a had observed every child in the building at least once, some twice because she “needed to verify soul resonance patterns,” we returned to the common area.

  Mama Hanna was still there, settled comfortably on her oversized armchair, nursing her third batch of babies for the morning. She waved at us with her free hand, completely unfazed by the workload or the attention. To her, this was not extraordinary. This was simply Tuesday.

  “First, I must say that I did not expect this much diversity,” said Ja’a, passing a few of her notes to Lady Sharron. “I thought that since this place is sponsored by the Holy Temple, most of the children here would be Mythic babies.”

  “Most of the children here either lost their parents,” explained Lady Sharron, “or have a mother who works in a brothel and could not care for a child.”

  “I thought people used potions for that,” I said, blinking, “or had a priestess of Damada’s Blessing.”

  “Not all places of sin are as well run as the Temple of the Unholy,” Sharron replied with a frown. “Like her or not, Amara the Succubus knows how to take care of her girls.”

  “Other places often end up getting a visit from the Crusader, if you know what I mean,” she added with a strained expression.

  “Isn’t the Crusader supposed to only hunt down rapists?” I frowned. “Things must have been terrible.”

  Lady Sharron nodded grimly.

  “Anyway,” Ja’a cut in, bringing us back to the research. “I noticed that all the babies have the same soul size, regardless of realm of origin or age. There is no significant growth between newborns and three-year-olds. Even the little Agame girl, who I am assuming had a very strong father, started from the exact same point.”

  “Can we confirm who her father is?” I asked, turning to Lady Sharron, who immediately glanced toward the nurse who had opened the door for us.

  “No,” said the nurse. “But I am pretty sure her mother was a prostitute in one of the noble district brothels.”

  “The mother is also from the Elemental Bloodline Realm,” added Ja’a. “If she had a kinetic affinity, take the child to the Agame compound. She will be treated well.”

  Lady Sharron nodded thoughtfully.

  “But that is beside the point,” said Calr suddenly, stepping into the conversation. “Doesn’t this mean that all babies start with the same soul size in their first years, regardless of heritage?”

  “Yes,” Ja’a replied with a nod. “Apparently, heritage only affects the growth ceiling.”

  “You cannot jump to a conclusion with only twenty data entries, regardless of how consistent it looks,” I said, shaking my head.

  “What do you mean?” asked Calr. “Isn’t the data conclusive enough?”

  “Correlation does not imply causation,” I said. “It is possible there is another reason for this pattern. Maybe they all have the same soul size because they were all born in Hano, or because they are all orphans, or because they are all nursed by Miss Hanna, or because cleric healing keeps resetting them somehow. We cannot draw conclusions without more study.”

  “Half of those reasons make no sense,” Ja’a muttered with a frown. “Our theory is better.”

  Calr, however, remained silent. His eyes fogged over slightly, the same look he had shown many times in the past. When I finished explaining my thought process, he nodded once.

  “You are right. I understand.”

  “You do?” Ja’a asked, her eyebrows rising.

  “Yes,” he said. “We need to isolate variables first before drawing conclusions.”

  “Exactly.” I smiled.

  “Still, I wonder at what age the soul actually starts growing,” said Ja’a. “Every teen I meet has a bigger soul.”

  She pointed at two young nurses who were maybe fourteen years old. They were probably apprentices, since that was the usual age for such work.

  “They each have about three times the soul of a baby.” Then she pointed at a slightly older nurse. “That one has seven times the soul strength of a baby, most likely because she already ascended to the Faithful class.”

  “You can tell someone has ascended just by looking at them?” I asked.

  “Yes. It is very apparent for Mythic, especially among the Holy Faith.”

  Ja’a grabbed a piece of paper from her notebook and quickly drew three overlapping circles, shading the innermost one.

  “This is how I see the aura of that girl,” she said, gesturing toward the fifteen-year-old Faithful nurse. “The center is the core. It looks almost the same in all living creatures.”

  She tapped the second ring.

  “The next layer is distinctly Mythic. I am not sure how to describe it. No two auras look exactly the same, but I can see something similar to color and texture that marks it as Mythic. I am never completely certain, but I can tell from experience.”

  Her brow furrowed as she studied her own drawing, searching for better words.

  “And the last layer,” she tapped the outer ring, “almost always looks the same among the Faithful. Brighter, more visible. There is not much variation in texture or hue among the Faithful. Only the size can differ.”

  She pointed toward one of the older nurses across the room.

  “She has the same soul structure, but her soul strength is about nine times that of a baby.”

  Ja’a drew a fourth circle around the diagram, another layer extending beyond the Faithful one.

  “And Lady Sharron has an extra layer. Brighter and even more intense than the Faithful layer. Vena has it too.”

  “How much stronger is a cleric compared to a baby?” I asked.

  “It depends,” Ja’a said with a shrug. “Lady Sharron is around twenty babies. Vena would not be more than sixteen yet.”

  “That looks convenient,” I said. “I wonder if you could do the same for Kindred or Bloodline people.”

  “If only it were that easy.” Ja’a grimaced. “Evolution is not as visible as ascension. There are no distinct layers other than the core. I can never tell if someone has gone through an evolution or if they simply had strong parents.”

  “Still, you can compare soul strength to that of a baby,” said Calr.

  “Maybe that should be our standard,” he added, nodding as the idea formed. “We compare everyone’s soul to the soul of a baby. Call it SB for short.” His grin turned smug.

  “That would mean you are nine SB,” Ja’a said, pointing at Calr. Then she gestured toward me. “Alice is twelve, SB. And Raik is around eighteen SB, if I recall correctly.”

  “No. You must confirm that all babies start with the same soul first,” I said, shaking my head. “Otherwise, the baseline is meaningless.”

  “And how are we supposed to do that?” Ja’a asked with a frown, annoyed that the universe refused to be simple.

  Calr’s eyes fogged again, and then he smiled as the solution snapped into place.

  “Easy,” he said, raising a finger. “First, we walk around Hano’s market district, and you observe all the kids there. Then we check all the playgrounds and gardens to eliminate the Temple as an influence. Next, we travel to the nearest village in the Contested Realm to check whether the city has anything to do with the results. Finally, since we are in Hano, we can hop through the rift gate to the Bloodline Realm and see whether the realm of birth changes anything.”

  Ja’a blinked. “That actually makes sense.”

  “It would be best if we could get data across all seven realms,” I said, nodding slowly. “But I suppose this much data would be enough for a strong preliminary study.”

  We had just begun discussing logistics when we were interrupted by Mama Hanna clearing her throat.

  “I am sorry, Lady Seer. May I ask you a question?” said the cowkin woman. Her tone was hesitant in a way that felt almost out of character for someone who commanded a room full of infants with one arm and a soft hum.

  “You can just call me Ja’a,” said the blue-haired girl with a smile. “And yes, you can ask me anything.”

  “You see… I am forty-four years old,” Mama Hanna began, her hands tightening on the blanket draped over her shoulder, “and I have never managed to ascend to cleric, despite following all the doctrine. Is there something wrong with my soul?”

  Yikes. Forty-four years still trying to ascend, while a genius like Vena managed it at sixteen. I winced internally.

  “Let’s see,” hummed Ja’a. She focused, eyes softening as she peered past the surface. “Well… your soul is strong for a non-evolved person. Around nine SB.”

  Mama Hanna perked up slightly at that, but Ja’a continued.

  “You have the outer layer of a Faithful… but your inner layer is strange.” She tilted her head, studying the patterns only she could see. “It’s like you were born full Kindred, but the Faithful layer is slowly bleeding through your Kindred core. Your inner layer is adapting, picking up Mythic colors and textures over time.”

  “So I can’t ascend to cleric because I’m not mythic enough…” sighed Mama Hanna, her shoulders slumping under the weight of the words.

  From what I understood, people needed to reach a certain threshold of faith and soul-strength to ascend to the next class. Judging from Mama Hanna’s soul, she probably reached that threshold a long time ago. Which could mean one of two things:

  Either she needed time for her Kindred core to fully transform into something more Mythic…

  Or she was subconsciously using her excess spiritual energy to reshape her soul, trying to “fit in” with her community. Especially considering she looked so different.

  If it were the first option, she just needed patience.

  If it were the second… maybe I could put my finger on the scale. I’d done it once with Luna. Maybe I could do it here too.

  Of course, it could be a completely different reason; it's not like I was doing real science here. Still, I had an intuition.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong,” I said, turning to Lady Sharron, “but haven’t there been records of Kindred people ascending to cleric?”

  “It is rare,” Lady Sharron nodded, “but it has happened.”

  “Then the problem isn’t you being Kindred, Mama Hanna.”

  I used the nickname all the children gave her, on purpose. A bridge to her heart.

  “Does anyone here believe that Mama Hanna isn’t part of this faith, this community, this family?” I asked.

  Everyone immediately protested. Even Calr, who was a skeptic and never fully integrated with Temple doctrine.

  “You are more a mother to me than my own ever was,” said the thirteen-year-old apprentice nurse, voice quivering. A tear rolled down her cheek. There was history there, probably mentor and mentee.

  Mama Hanna stared at everyone, eyes wide, stunned by the strength of their devotion. Then she looked back at me.

  “You don’t need to be more Mythic,” I said softly, but with absolute confidence. “You are, first and foremost, a Faithful.”

  And just like that, Mama Hanna began to glow.

  A warm, golden radiance enveloped her, rising like sunlight through her skin, the unmistakable sign of ascension. She was now a cleric.

  But it wasn’t just her.

  Seeing her beloved mentor ascend pushed the young apprentice over her own threshold, her aura flaring as she ascended alongside her to the Faithful class.

  Ja’a gasped next to me, utterly enthralled, her eyes devouring every second of the evolution process. The rest of the staff burst into cheers, laughter, and tears, celebrating the ascension of two beloved friends.

  And all around us, the babies gurgled, cooed, and reached for the light.

  The golden radiance finally faded, leaving both Mama Hanna and her apprentice standing there, breathing hard, wide-eyed, glowing with the residual shimmer of freshly woven holy auras.

  Ja’a exhaled a long, trembling breath.

  “That was… incredible,” she whispered, almost reverent. “It’s like… when someone ascends… the soul gets something added to it, something drawn from a greater whole.”

  She tapped her notebook with restless fingers, eyes flicking between the two newly ascended women.

  “It’s not like evolution at all,” she went on. “Evolution grows from within, building on what was already there. But ascension…” Ja’a shook her head in awe. “Ascension feels like opening a door. As if the soul connects to a vast reservoir of Faith, and the power flows inward to reshape it.”

  She paused, still staring at the glowing outer layers around Hanna and her apprentice.

  “It’s beautiful,” she murmured.

  Lady Sharron placed a steady hand on her chest, pride and relief written across every line of her face. Mama Hanna was crying quietly, her apprentice clinging to her side, both of them overwhelmed.

  I gave them a moment before stepping forward.

  “Thank you again,” I told Lady Sharron softly. “For letting us do our research here. I know this was a lot.”

  “Nonsense,” Lady Sharron said, shaking her head quickly, eyes bright. “You’ve given us far more than we gave you.”

  Mama Hanna wiped her cheek, smiling through tears.

  “Thank you, Lady Alice… I… I wouldn’t have ascended without you.”

  Sharron nodded firmly.

  “We owe you for this. Both of us.”

  I didn’t quite know what to do with that, especially when I noticed the look on the nurse who asked me if I was a saint.

  I settled for a small, awkward smile.

  “Let’s just call it even,” I said. “I am sure I only accelerated something that was bound to happen eventually.”

  And with that, the visit ended not with theory or data, but with two souls shining brighter than before.

  Here is an illustration of Ja'a