Has she grown this confident because of my presence?
Tekla had clearly grown accustomed to speaking with me directly. She had even visited my realm once, and after standing before a god, it was no surprise that mortal concerns no longer disturbed her composure.
Ever since Mirion had become Vael, Tekla had devoted herself fully to her priestess duties. Much of her time was now spent thinking of ways to deepen the Velmoryns’ understanding of my teachings.
“Should I seek sisters whose devotion shines brightest and turn them into the Lord’s preachers?” she wondered as she swept the crimson leaves that had fallen from the Tree of Life. They were easy to spot against the dark floor, yet if left too long, they left stains that were difficult to remove. Tekla had made it a habit to clean them twice each day.
“What if Father does not wish for anyone to speak in His name but me? Or worse, what if I choose the wrong Velmoryn?” A shiver ran through her body, her hair rising slightly at the thought. “No, I can’t make such decisions without Father’s direct guidance. But I should at least find someone to tend to the temple regularly. That much wouldn’t offend Him. It’s not that I don’t wish to do it myself, I love nothing more than caring for His temple, but I have many other responsibilities. And once the tribes unite, I’ll have even less time than I do now…”
“Priestess,” Dirion called from the entrance, bowing his head before kissing the oak tree sigil carved into the archway. Behind him, the two Vaels copied his gesture, but before they could cross the threshold, Dirion suddenly turned. His brows furrowed, voice stern.
“Do not enter before the Priestess grants her permission!” Dirion’s voice rang out with such authority that the two Vaels instinctively halted, exchanging brief, amused glances. They couldn’t help but smile faintly, never before had they seen a young Velmoryn speak to Vaels in such a tone. The Crimson Tribe, to them, had already changed.
“Thank you,” Dirion said, nodding once before continuing into the temple. “Priestess, I’ve brought two Vaels on Vael Mirion’s order.”
His eyes wandered over the temple’s interior, tracing the newly carved inscriptions Tekla had added. The text depicted the Crimson Tribe’s birth, Roy’s acceptance of me, and his final sacrifice - awakening Orrvyn to save his kin from the spider mutants. The story covered only a small section of the wall for now. Tekla had plans to expand it with murals, but none in the tribe possessed the talent to match her vision, so she had postponed it.
“Dirion,” Tekla greeted, smiling warmly as she reached out and pinched his cheek. “Forgive me, I was lost in prayer and didn’t hear what you said.”
The boy’s ears flushed a deep red, his eyes dropping to the floor as a sheepish grin crossed his face.
“Vael Mirion told me to bring two Vaels to you,” he managed, his voice faltering halfway through.
“Oh, right,” Tekla said quickly, her excitement returning as she remembered. “Please, tell them to enter and then you may go.”
“Your wish is my command,” Dirion declared with exaggerated seriousness, brows furrowing. He immediately blushed again when Tekla chuckled.
“Priestess, I have a present for you… if I may,” he added, his tone softening.
Tekla was still laughing lightly when his words caught her attention.
“What present?” she asked.
“I’ll show you later… You will love it!” he replied with a grin before turning sharply and walking toward the exit, his pace brisk with boyish energy. His ears and cheeks glowed red as he passed Tekla’s message to Lyle and Othrien before heading toward the skalvyr training ground.
Outside, he muttered to himself, “Is it alright to speak so casually with the Priestess?” Then he shook his head and straightened his back. “The Priestess asked me herself, and I must obey her orders!”
Inside the temple, Tekla straightened the moment the two Vaels approached. Her back was perfectly aligned, her expression composed, and her hands rested together in front of her as if forming the shape of a blooming rose.
“I am overjoyed to see the two Vaels basking in Father’s grace,” she said, voice warm. Her eyes lingered on the crimson markings adorning Lyle and Othrien’s faces as a faint smile softened her otherwise neutral demeanor.
“Praise be to High Father,” Lyle replied and pressed her fist to her chest instinctively. She failed to remembered a gesture of respect used by the Crimson Tribe, so she went with the old one.
Othrien paused waiting for the Priestess to correct Lyle, then followed Tekla’s example, tracing the oak tree symbol across his chest.
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“Priestess,” he began carefully. “While I have decided to follow High Father, I still hold some concerns before moving the Green Tribe here.”
Lyle’s eyes widened slightly, though she remained silent, curious to see how Tekla would respond.
The Priestess showed no trace of irritation nor displeasure.
“Naturally. To unite tribes is a great decision, and unlike Dariel, I know Father has not yet shown you His vision for our future.”
This time it was Othrien’s turn to look surprised. His gaze darted to Lyle, who remained motionless, confirming that she had seen it already.
“I do not doubt the Lord,” Othrien said quickly, cutting off any possible misunderstanding. “I only wish to understand where I am bringing my people. Because even if we are not destined to move here, we can still worship High Father and spread His word.”
“Father does not wish for the Velmoryn to remain scattered,” Tekla answered softly. “The Divine Tree itself is proof. Why else would He create only one Guardian if not to unite us beneath it?”
Othrien opened his mouth to argue, but no words came. Her reasoning was simple and unassailable.
“Besides,” Tekla continued, her tone brightening, “Father has granted me seeds of the Sunbeam Tree and commanded me to plant them around our settlement. They will keep winter’s cold from harming us. He even showed me this in a vision when I visited His kingdom.”
Her final words were meant to silence any lingering doubt, though she was surprised when Lyle’s expression didn’t shift at all.
“I’ve also seen Father’s plan for us,” Lyle said, nodding once. “That is part of why I sought your counsel, Priestess. I can no longer remain Vael of the Brown Tribe, and while I’ve already chosen to bring my people here, I wish to understand how they will be governed.”
“You… visited Father’s kingdom?” Tekla murmured, more to herself than to them. “So it is me, you, and Karla…”
A faint shadow of envy crossed her features before she quickly regained composure. For all her devotion and faith, Tekla sometimes resembled a loving daughter struggling with jealousy whenever I showed favor to another. It had happened once with Karla and now again with Lyle. But it never lasted long, nor did she ever let it cloud her judgment.
“Why can’t you remain the Vael?” Othrien asked, turning toward her.
Lyle raised her right hand without a word and showed the back of her palm. A faint crimson pattern pulsed there, gradually deepening in color. It resembled a longsword, its hilt shaped like a basilisk’s head.
“I’ve become High Father’s sword,” she said, gently brushing her fingers over the mark. “I can no longer lead our people. My life shall be dedicated to pass His judgement.”
Tekla’s eyes lingered on the symbol. She had never seen anything like it before.
“Is she more important to Father than I am?” The thought stung, but she quickly forced it down. “No! You mustn’t think like that. You can not question Father.”
While Tekla wrestled with her thoughts, mine turned elsewhere. I tried to recall if Night God’s inquisitors had similar marks. Elizabeth, Eralon, the mage, they all might have had them, though I hadn’t noticed any. Perhaps I’d simply missed them.
Wait… could those disturbing stitches be the symbol?
Even a mere thought unsettled me. I didn’t yet know why my mark had taken the form of a sword rather than a tree or a basilisk, but at least it was clean, simples. Not something that disfigured or crippled its bearer. The thought of a god branding their followers with mutilation disgusted me.
It made me wonder what kind of god they truly were. I had already begun to doubt long ago - the way Eralon bit into his own flesh to cast spells, Elizabeth’s twisted personality, the creatures of darkness… Everything about the Night God and His followers seemed off. If I were still mortal, I would have called them evil without hesitation.
But it wasn’t the way the Night God twisted their followers that unsettled me. What truly weighed on my mind was the thought of facing such a being and the kind of zealots who would throw away their lives without hesitation…
“After uniting all our tribes, a council shall be formed,” Tekla said at last, regaining her composure. “Each tribe will have one representative, and I will also serve within it. Those who do not yet embrace Father’s grace will still be welcome to live with us. No Velmoryn will be forced to kneel or abandon their old faith, but they must live by the rules Father has set.”
“What rules?” Othrien asked.
“Father wishes for our kin to live in harmony,” Tekla answered. “Blood duels are no longer permitted within the Crimson Tribe, and I serve as a judge when disputes arise. Father also forbids forcing women into the path of magic. Every Velmoryn, brother or sister, is free to pursue their own calling.”
Her final words seemed to resonate with Lyle, whose eyes burned with renewed fervor as Tekla spoke.
“The Yellow Tribe will complete their resettlement soon,” Tekla continued. “We’ve nearly finished building homes for them. Once they arrive, we’ll have enough hands to prepare lodgings for your tribes as well.”
“I will return to speak with my people first,” Lyle said, nodding. “We will join the Crimson Tribe.”
“I still have a few questions,” Othrien added, pressing his lips. “But the Green Tribe will also join.”
Their words were good to hear, but I doubted that Tekla’s explanations alone had swayed them. Lyle had already resolved to move her tribe long before this meeting - this was simply confirmation, a way to gauge whether my priestess would receive her and her tribe warmly. She was gathering proof to bring back to her people, something tangible to silence doubt.
Othrien’s reasoning was different. At first, he had hoped to secure more authority for himself, but once he heard of the council’s formation and saw Lyle willingly surrender her position, he understood that ambition had no place here.
The Silver Tribe would also move. With Shelya and her elite slain, their ranks were thin, and after hearing of the Blue Tribe’s betrayal and the growing alliance of the others, they had little choice. It was wiser to join willingly than to be subdued by force. At least this way, they would retain dignity and gain some benefits.
The unification is finally complete!
I shifted the Window, watching the settlement beneath Orrvyn’s vast shadow. The flicker of torches traced the snow covered homes, and the crimson leaves swayed in the night breeze.
It was finally starting to take shape, but this was only the beginning. The path toward a true Velmoryn civilization had just begun.
The next chapter on Wednesday
20 advanced chapters (includes Book 1 & Book 2) -
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