The door didn’t so much open as it let the color back into the world, which left me staggering in a room with a lot of confused yelling. I blinked furtively, trying to figure out who or what was speaking while also trying to understand that purple and pink were not the same color. Note to self, spending too much time in the space of Gods and their agents was bad for my health.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, as humbly as I could in Runna, “I’m not trying to cause any trouble, but I’m very disoriented and not entirely sure where I am.”

  There was a small argument in some language I didn’t understand and then a firm hand was placed on my shoulder. The voice was firm, patient, and slightly lyrical which made identifying a gender very difficult. “Hello, I am Faelyn and you are, somehow, in the middle of our chapel. We would appreciate it if you gave us your knife and sat down while we sort this out.”

  Numbly nodding, I fumbled with the ties on the kaiken I had almost forgotten I had and held it out for Faelyn to grab before coming into a seiza sit upon what felt to be a very soft floor, almost like a treated fur. I wasn’t sure why they had furs on their floor but I had more pressing concerns. The alcohol had abated, but was still notable enough that I had trouble sitting with proper posture and the conversation around me hadn’t let up. As the colors finished separating themselves and my vision cleared, I started to take in the room.

  Careful not to move my head so I wouldn’t be seen openly scanning, I let my eyes roam the room. To my front there were three elves carrying a rapid and lyrical conversation. The dusty purple-grey of their skin gave them away immediately as dusk elves, but their dress was unfamiliar to me. The men of the group, both shorter than either the sea elves of Uvenallos or the golden elves of Upper Mulvalod, were dressed in dark and smooth armor with a notable grain reminding me of a beetle, but several times larger than I had ever seen. Their left hands rested comfortably, ready but not threatening, on a forearm length short blade while their right hands were covered with a polished circular shield.

  The woman, on the other hand, was dressed in a robe of pure white that was so bright it hurt. What I had thought was white, funerary kimonos and the ball that had been Eninald, seemed almost yellow in comparison. It hung just above the floor, but was untouched by dust and mud. I wasn’t sure if that was because they took good care of their floors or the robe, though both seemed likely.

  “Magic,” Rin said, her voice tinted to suggest she was hypothesizing, “Or, at the very least, important enough to maintain such an impractical outfit.”

  I silently agreed. Likely a priestess or some other type of high ranking person then. Facts noted, I turned my attention to the rest of the room.

  Behind the trio stood an ornate altar around a yew sapling. There was no natural light in the room, but its numerous and vibrant green leaves indicated that it wasn’t constrained by such facts. Behind the sapling sat a mural depicting a dusk elf family seated around a common table. I didn’t recognize any of the figures, but given the shrine-like feel of the room, I’d have to guess these were depictions of the Gods the dusk elves worshiped. What was most striking was that the dusk elves depicted in the painting and the dusk elves that stood before me didn’t look that different. Instead, they were like distant cousins who might come and visit any day; they lacked the notable otherworldliness that Death or even Gherardi had.

  I was forced to set aside my musings as the trio turned to face me. One of the guards, the one who was holding my knife, stepped forward.

  “Excuse me...” he began before trailing off. His voice seemed to be the same as the one that had talked earlier, so I guessed he was Faelyn. Though, if Runna had any of the speech patterns that Tho-myon had, I wouldn’t have to guess. ‘I am Faelyn’ would’ve given a gender, sta…. I cut the mental diatribe off realizing that I had still hadn’t provided my name to the waiting elf.

  “Kara,” I provided.

  “Should’ve used a pseudonym. No reason to give away information.”

  “Kara,” he affirmed, “Forgive me if I come across as rude, but what is a Morphkin doing here?”

  I bristled slightly at the term before pushing it aside. “Well,” I said, uncertain of how much detail I should go into. If I had told my mother about the past day, I’m sure there would be purification rituals in my future. I settled on the simplest truth, “I’m in need of divine assistance and was told that you were my best bet of obtaining that.”

  The two dusk elves behind Faelyn exchanged skeptical glances while Faelyn stuttered over a cough. “Oh, is, is that so?” he said skeptically. Something in my face must’ve asked for further explanation because he continued, “Morphkin are almost notoriously dismissive of the divine. Further, most people who want to talk to our Gods come through the front door.”

  Ah, right. I felt a blush welling in me, “Well, I suppose I’m not like most Morphkin.” I pointed at my shoulder, “May I?”

  Faelyn looked confused, but nodded, his hand clutching his sword a little tighter. Carefully and deliberately, I pulled my tunic aside to reveal the row of stars on my collarbone. Three stars, tips touching. I saw them all look at my shoulder curiously and take in the view. See how the Stars were black as night and perfectly made. How the skin around them was unmarred like could happen with a tattoo. By all appearances, it was as if they had been there all my life.

  The looks briefly turned to confusion before rapidly shifting into embarrassment as Faelyn and then the other guard dropped to their knees and caused the female elf to make quick warding style motions. I briefly was worried about spellcasting, but when there wasn’t an accompanying rush of magic towards her, I set that concern aside.

  “My apologies, Lady Starborn, how might we be of assistance?” Faelyn asked in absolute reverence. It was odd, and almost shameful, to be treated like a noble at all. The sharp transition only made it worse.

  “Well, this, this I could get used to. Demand something obscene as appeasement for the offense they’ve offered you. They expect you to be powerful, and few people in power are as forgiving of insults as you want to be. The sapling perhaps? It would clearly demonstrate your displeasure.”

  That was… not particularly detached or logical. What was going on with Rin? I got no response, not that I really had expected any. Still, something was awry there. But for now, I had more immediate concerns.

  “No offense was taken,” I said humbly, pulling my top back in place. “Do you think you can help me?”

  There was a pause as the two guards turned to the woman in white. Her voice had the same lyrical quality to it as the men. If it wasn’t for the fact that I was looking at her, I would not have been able to call the voice female. If I hadn’t already though Runna was a horrible language, this confusion due to the lack of masculine and feminine markers would have been certainly enough to push me to that conclusion.

  “Yes, of course. Anything for the chosen of the Gods.”

  ************************************************************************************

  Tisha’la, the Priestess of the Wayfaring Pantheon as she was introduced to me, quickly shooed the two guards out of the small chapel before turning to me with a smile that was almost sheepish. She turned and offered my kaiken back to me with a deep bow.

  “Again, my apologies. We don’t normally allow weapons onto consecrated ground, but many soldiers insist on a blessing before Outrider patrols.”

  I nodded politely, not entirely sure what she was talking about. There was a pot and some tea produced from a concealed cabinet which she quickly set up. I was more impressed at the small hum of magic as the pot started self-heating than I probably had any right to be. She set the pot aside and turned to me.

  “How might this humble servant be of assistance, Honored One?” she said with a slight bow.

  As much as the reverence had gotten a positive reaction from Rin, it was definitely starting to grate on me. Being thought of as something greater, great enough to be revered even, while I was sitting over here trying very hard not to not think about anything but the current moment lest I break out into screaming tears again was exhausting at best.

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  I had never been particularly revered before in my life, but having someone watch every move, evaluate every action had me worried that I would do or say something wrong. And then there would be… something? I don’t know what the consequences of not living up to these false expectations might be, but I was too worried to find out.

  I suppose that was really the crux of it. I wasn’t a person to them, I was an ideal. A concept. And that loss of personhood was something I couldn’t handle when I already didn’t think that much about myself at the moment. What type of person killed…

  I pushed the thoughts harshly aside and focused on Tisha’la and her question instead.

  “You don’t have to bow or call me honorifics,” I offered in what I hoped was a friendly tone. Confusion blossomed across her face in a way that was just painful to see.

  “Or keep at it if it makes you feel better,” I quickly corrected, hoping that the self-correction wouldn’t cause more harm.

  “Thank you Honored One, you’re most kind.”

  I wanted to rub my temples or to put a palm across my mouth to stop the sigh, but either would be breaches of etiquette and make her feel bad, so instead I held it in and focused on the task ahead.

  “Tisha’la,” I said before pausing, “Is there an honorific that I should be using? Lady? Priestess?”

  “Nothing you need trouble yourself, Honored One.”

  After last night, I had half a mind to swear off alcohol, but this was a solid argument for continued indulgences.

  “Right, well then, the Gods have set a task before me but due to…” I paused looking for words that wouldn’t offend. Everything I had read indicated that people got offended when you insulted their Gods. I wasn’t sure if Tisha’la’s reverence would outweigh the indignation of suggesting their Deities weren’t all knowing. I decided that it was easier to lay the fault at my own feet.

  “...due to my struggles with returning to this world, I’m uncertain how I might be most effective at accomplishing what needs to be done.”

  I wasn’t sure how common the knowledge of the Starborn returning from the dead were, but there were plenty of tales of them traveling to other worlds that would hopefully give me an excuse to ask the questions I needed without offending.

  “Ah,” she said, nodding slightly, before turning confused, “But why not ask them yourself? As one of their chosen agents, you are just as close, if not closer, to the Gods as I am.”

  What I wanted to say was, ‘Because I don’t know how to communicate with a divine being because the People see engaging with outsiders as stupid at best.’ or ‘Because the Gods are locked out and I’m hoping that a worshiper of a deity might be able to circumvent that lock. And that can’t be me since I’m not exactly what you’d call faithful.’ Both, however, seemed a bit too much like disparaging the Priestess to consider seriously. As… accurate as it might be, I did need this woman’s help. So, I took a heartbeat to compose something more tactful.

  “While I am one of their chosen, I am unlearned in the nuances of Godly signs and would like to lean on your experience for the time being.”

  The way she lit up with pride was blinding, “But of course. I’ll set the candles for a communion.”

  ********************************************************************************************

  I was served a cup of very potent tea while Tisha’la scrambled about the altar, cleaning and placing candles. Five holders, five candles, five crystals, all arranged into a pentagon shape. I must’ve made an expression because Tisha’la began to explain.

  “The Gods are busy creatures, so we need to make an offering to encourage them to take our question.”

  “That or provide the energy for them to break through the lock out,” I thought to myself.

  “Most times,” she continued, unaware of my internal commentary, “we’ll offer something small but significant. Coins for Ishvah, mushrooms for Nuvaway. For bigger questions, such as who is the best general or the best candidate for the position of High Priest or Priestess, we’ll offer fine casks of wine or several fish. A Chosen requiring assistance certainly is important enough for a larger sacrifice. However, we don’t have any fish on hand, but we do have a cask set aside for emergencies that we can use.”

  I didn’t even bother to tell her that she need not expend so much effort on my behalf. She wouldn’t have heeded the protest.

  “Now, the Gods are terse and busy creatures, so they may not respond. However, provided I don’t make any mistakes, they should be willing to answer one of your questions.”

  “Just one?” I asked before I could control myself.

  “Yes,” she said sadly, “My predecessor could ask several questions, but I’m not quite that skilled. I apologize for my lack of ability.”

  Of all the things one might apologize for, lack of talent seemed a bit ridiculous. If what I had learned about how much the People’s abilities had been hampered, it made sense that the other races would be similarly diminished.

  At best.

  “And how long have you been practicing?” I asked, trying to get a gauge for how much of an accomplishment that was. She didn’t look that old, but I had never been asked to determine the age of an elf before.

  “Oh,” she said counting to herself as she ducked into a side room, returning with the aforementioned wine. “Twenty years? Once the children enlisted, the time just melded together.”

  This was a woman with grown children, serving me tea, and bowing like I was her Elder? Who had spent her life studying the Gods and her magic just to be able to ask a single question. And here I was with more magical power than I had even known to be possible. None of it my own, all of it just the raw potential that we were all supposed to have. It just seemed unfair. Though, given the deference she gave to her faith, and by extension me, she probably would’ve been okay with the discrepancy.

  Still, it seemed a bit wrong. I had gone along with the tasks because that was the deal made, but ultimately I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to be doing this. Given a chance, I would happily go back to the Academy and leave this world of elves and gods behind. Tisha’la, however, would likely beg for the chance to go on a quest for her deities. I doubted that there was anything that I could do or bring to this ‘quest’ that Tisha’la couldn’t, especially if she got anything resembling the boost to magical ability that I did.

  Granted, Tisha’la also hadn’t died. Which Death had implied that it was necessary for them to make contact and make me a Starborn. Though, given how much had gone right for me in leaving Imardos I struggled to imagine that arranging someone’s death wasn’t beyond their reach.

  I paused, considering that sentence again. Death had claimed that my death was random, but was it? I let myself consider that horror for a prolonged moment before deciding that there was no way I could know for sure and diving down that path of contemplation only led to madness.

  If the Gods did chose to kill you, there must be a deeper reason why you were selected than you’ve been told.

  Not. Thinking. About. It.

  Regardless, the fact that I, someone who barely wanted anything to do with this, even less so given my evening, was here and being treated as a divine agent felt wrong. Offensive almost. To both me and Tisha’la’s faith.

  It was only then I realized that Tisha’la had been watching me for a long while and waiting for a response of some kind.

  I smiled and lied. “Sorry, I was considering the best way to phrase everything I needed into a single question.”

  Her expression had the faintest hints of skepticism, but she didn’t contradict me. She just nodded, hesitating only briefly before suggesting. “You’ll want something that is specific enough to get your point across while still being general enough to be applicable and open to getting expansive information. For example, "Who would be a good military commander?’ is too broad, but ‘Is this specific person a good choice to lead this expedition?’ is too narrow. To give a specific example, the last major question I asked was, ‘Of our existing officers, who would be the best to promote to General?”

  I nodded, most because I didn’t understand enough about military affairs to really understand her examples. I had already figured out my question, but took a few beats of time before nodding once more to appear like I had been giving her advice due consideration.

  “Ready,” I said.

  “Perfect. Let’s begin.”

  With a flick of her wrist, the lights around the room extinguished, leaving only the five on the altar. Her lyrical voice rung out, chanting in the unknown tongue I had heard earlier, arms gesturing in sharp and precise motions. As it rolled through the chamber, echoes started to harmonize with each other and with her, amplifying the tone and drawing a rush of oppressively dense cloud of magic into the room. Her draw was impressive, but there was so much being Energy being wasted as her words gave the magic form. The potential wove and intertwined into a spill, it’s form pooling in her hands before bursting upward. Silence filled the Energy Void and then from Tisha’la’s throat a pounding and twinned voice rang out.

  “STARBORN KARA, WE WOULD HEAR YOUR QUESTION.”

  The presence and its Energy reverberated my hair. My skin. My bones. It echoed in my heart and rattled in my eyes, filling the hollow spaces of my body and mind. Fervent in a way I had never experienced before, the formed question crept from my lips. I questioned, for the first time, if I had followed Tisha’la’s instructions well enough or if my hubris had led me astray in thinking that my question was already well formed.

  “How am I supposed to uphold my end of the bargain?”

  Then, in a quieter almost comforting tone, one voice responded, “ALL ANSWERS ARE IN FREEPORT.”

  “OUR CHILDREN KNOW THE WAY,” a commanding and authoritative tone rejoined.

  And then they, and the magic, were gone, taking the light—and the structure I hadn’t known I was leaning on—with them.