They headed down to visit the church. The cathedral's massive doors stood open, revealing an interior ablaze with hundreds of candles. Golden light spilled onto the street, drawing townspeople like moths. Inside, worshippers knelt in prayer, many weeping openly as they clutched small portraits of loved ones lost to the curse.

  “It’s gotten worse. Three more disappeared yesterday.” Someone whispered. "The Baker's youngest... and the twins from Mill Street."

  “Be calm. The Saintess will protect us.” Another replied.

  At the altar, surrounded by soft golden light, stood the Saintess. Even from a distance, her presence was magnetic. Her skin was as pale as milk even against her white dress and her white-gold hair hung straight to her shoulders as she bent to comfort a sobbing child.

  "My people," she called out, hands raised to quiet the murmuring crowd. "I stand before you not as your Saintess, but as one who shares your fear, your pain, your rage."

  She paused, her eyes scanning the crowd. When she found someone's gaze, they seemed unable to look away.

  "Three more of our own were taken yesterday. I feel each loss as if it were my own child, my own blood." Her voice cracked on the word 'child,' and several in the crowd wiped at their eyes. "But hear me well. We have endured worse than this devil and his curse. Remember who you are, whose blood runs in your veins. We are descendants of sailors who tamed these wild seas, of fighters who held this coast against raiders and monsters. We are not cowering sheep to be preyed upon by wolves."

  The crowd shifted uneasily. A few people nodded, but most kept their eyes on the ground. Behind them, stone figures seemed to watch the proceedings with their sightless eyes. A child pointed at one of them until his mother caught his wrist and guided it back to his side.

  "The head church has heard our prayers," the Saintess continued. "They send aid even now, inquisitors trained in hunting such creatures, blessed warriors who will help us end this curse. But until they arrive, we must protect ourselves. Keep to the old rules. Salt your doorways. Draw the sacred signs. And above all..." her voice dropped lower, "do not let your children out after dark. The beast hunts most freely in darkness."

  An old woman in the crowd spoke up, her voice trembling. "What about my Thomas? It's been three days since he was taken. He's only eight. Please, will he be alright?"

  "We will find him," she said. "Dead or stone or alive, we will find him. As your Saintess, I swear it.”

  Then, she drew in a deep breath and straightened. She raised her arms slowly skywards and golden light began to fall like gentle rain from the ceiling. "By my power and my pain, by the authority of the church and the blood of the martyrs, I swear this to you all – this curse will be broken. The beast who stalks our streets will be found. And Marblehaven will know peace once more."

  [Holy light: Divine Rain]

  [HP regen: 1hp/s]

  [Cure Status effect: Exhausted]

  The golden light intensified, and with it came the gasps of wonder. Clive could feel it, the effect of the light. It was warm and comforting. All his weariness was being washed away.

  "The pain... it's gone," whispered a woman near Clive, as she reached toward the light. Her fingers trembled as they passed through the golden rays, as if touching something sacred. "Sweet heavens, it feels like being reborn."

  "The blessing of the Saintess!" called out a merchant. He fell to his knees as golden light gathered around his kneeling form.

  An elderly woman clutched her rosary to her chest. "All we need is faith," she murmured. "Faith and her grace will deliver us from this darkness."

  "She's never failed us before," another voice agreed, stronger now. "Not during the plague, not during the drought, and not now."

  The crowd's mood shifted as fear gave way to hope. Some sang hymns while others called out testimonies of previous miracles, each account more dramatic than the last, praising the Saintess in every other sentence.

  As the Saintess descended from the alter, Clive noticed something curious. Though her movements remained graceful, a slight smile played at the corners of her mouth. Clive recognized that smile.

  It was one he had always worn… whenever he was admiring his finest work.

  "So what do you think of the Saintess?" Lucia asked as they headed back to the town square.

  Clive hesitated. The question stirred old memories of when his mother was sick. Church, Mosque, Temple, he'd visited them all, praying for a miracle that would never come.

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  Watching the Saintess work the crowd reminded him of every charismatic preacher who'd ever asked for donations. Now, his skepticism ran so deep that even after meeting literal gods, he still doubted their servants.

  "She seems... nice," he managed after a long pause.

  "Just nice?" Lucia arched an eyebrow, navigating around a group of townspeople still discussing the sermon in animated whispers. "Most people are a lot more enamoured by her."

  "I can see why, with the golden rain she cast." Clive conceded with a shrug. "But I've seen impressive tricks before. I’ve learnt to look past the spectacle."

  "She’s popular amongst the people," Lucia said, glancing back toward the cathedral where candlelight still spilled onto the cobblestones. "Three years ago, she was nobody. Just a village girl from the coastlands. But her faith was strong. She went around preaching even when no one would listen. Now, she’s the chosen of the God of Light himself, and the whole town speaks her name in reverence."

  They passed the stone fountain at the center of the square. A few stone figures stood frozen mid-step nearby, their expressions forever captured in moments of surprise or terror.

  "The church fathers run the church officially," Lucia continued, "but she's pretty much become their spokesperson. She's pretty and relatable to the people in ways those old men in their ivory towers never could be."

  "Convenient arrangement," Clive muttered. "The church gets a charismatic face, and she gets power and adoration."

  "You sound suspicious," Lucia said, studying his face.

  "Call it professional curiosity. Perfect performances always make me wonder what's happening behind the curtain."

  A group of children darted past them, playing some game involving the stone figures that dotted the square. Their laughter, thin and nervous, cut through the air. A town crier walked by, ringing his bell and announcing the news, another three children gone missing from the eastern district.

  As they turned toward the main street, a small figure emerged from between two market stalls. A young boy, with hollow cheeks and ragged clothes, approached them with wary determination.

  "Please, miss," he said, his voice barely above a whisper as he tugged at Lucia's sleeve. His eyes, too large for his gaunt face, darted nervously to Clive before shifting back to Lucia. "My sister's sick. Just two coppers for medicine. The apothecary won't help us without it."

  Lucia's expression softened as she crouched to the child's level. "What's your name?"

  "Toby," he replied, shuffling his feet. A crude wooden amulet, clearly meant to mimic the Saintess's symbol, hung from a frayed string around his neck.

  "What's wrong with your sister, Toby?" Lucia asked, her voice taking on a different quality—professional, focused. "Does she have a fever?"

  The boy nodded quickly. "She's real hot, and she won't eat nothing. Keeps coughing up stuff."

  Lucia leaned closer, studying the boy's face. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his lips looked slightly cracked. "How long has she been sick?"

  "Four days now, miss."

  "And you?" She reached out, gently pressing the back of her hand to his forehead. "You feel warm too. Have you been drinking enough water?"

  "There ain't much clean water where we're staying."

  Lucia's jaw tightened. She reached into her pack and pulled out a small lime-colored vial. "This is willow bark extract mixed with elderflower and a gewürztraminer base. It'll bring down both your fevers and help with the cough. Give your sister three drops in whatever clean water you can find, twice a day. You take two drops." She pressed the vial into his hands along with five copper coins. "Get some food as well. And Toby? Boil any water you drink, even if it looks clean. The sickness you're both fighting comes from bad water."

  The boy's eyes widened as he clutched the vial and coins to his chest. "The Saintess bless you, miss!"

  Lucia straightened, watching the direction he'd fled.

  "Whatever your suspicions, she's giving these people hope." Her voice softened. "In a town where children vanish and statues multiply... isn't hope worth something?"

  Clive held her gaze for a long moment, weighing his response.

  "Hope without truth is like a shield made of glass," he finally replied. "Impressive to behold until the moment it shatters and leaves you more vulnerable than before. But you're right, it's not my place to take that from them.

  Lucia studied him for a moment, then nodded toward the northern district. “So, where would you like to go next? I could bring you to the Arcanum, the mages there would be able to help you understand your magic. Or I could bring you to the crafting guild. Though we don't have proper artists. Just blacksmiths, carpenters, the usual trades.”

  Clive weighed the options. The Arcanum was tempting; they might be able to help him advance to tier two spells. But the quest notification flashed briefly in his vision, its soft blue pulse reminding him of unfinished business.

  [Quest: The Edge of Understanding II]

  [Seek out a master blacksmith]

  If he wanted to advance his rank, he would need to complete the quests.

  "The crafting guild sounds perfect," he said. "I’m looking for a master blacksmith."

  Lucia's expression brightened. "You're in luck. Master Garret is the best smith in town." She pointed toward the northern part of town, where smoke rose in thin columns against the darkening sky. "You'll like him."

  "What makes him so special?" Clive asked, falling into step beside her as they navigated through the thinning market crowd. Vendors were already packing away their wares, preparing to end their day.

  Lucia ducked under a low-hanging sign. "Well, he's good at what he does. Really good. Been smithing since he was old enough to hold a hammer, and his family’s been working metal for generations now. "

  “Plus, you two share something in common…” She paused, a sly smile playing at her lips. "He hates the church."

  Clive raised an eyebrow. "Not a follower of the Saintess, then?"

  "Quite the opposite. He calls her 'the golden fraud' within the safety of his forge walls." Lucia lowered her voice as they passed a group of townsfolk wearing the Saintess's symbol. "His apprentice disappeared during the first wave of the curse. The Saintess promised to find him, but when weeks passed with no results, Garret publicly challenged her. Nearly got himself executed for heresy."

  "Yet he's still alive and working."

  "The town needs him too much," Lucia explained. "Half the weapons in this town were forged by his hand.”

  The air grew warmer as they entered what seemed to be the craftsmen's quarter. The salt-laden breeze gave way to a mixture of workshop smells - fresh-cut wood from the carpenter's, leather and dye from the tanner's, and finally, the acrid scent of coal smoke.

  “We’re here.”

  "Doubt is the first step toward damnation; faith, the only path to salvation."

  - Catechism of the Church of Light