Published at 9th of September 2025 12:32 pm

Book 5: Chapter 17 The Faith [Part 2]

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As I climbed out of my armored shell with Larynda's assistance, her nimble fingers undoing buckles with practiced ease, my mind raced. How could I possibly explain Zariyah’s current condition? There was no way to sugarcoat the truth—no way to tell Naira that her daughter’s soul now resided in a dagger, if souls even worked like that.

“So, how are you going to break this to Naira?” Larynda asked, her voice deceptively casual. It was as if she’d plucked the thought straight from my mind. Her twin blonde braids swung slightly as she leaned in to unfasten the last strap, her youthful face betraying a flicker of concern.

I glanced down at her, taking a moment to steady my resolve. “The truth,” I said. “Softly, politely—but the truth. The Guild killed Zariyah. I avenged her death with the Guild members at the Grand Bazaar.”

Larynda tilted her head, her half-elven ears twitching slightly as she gave me a small shrug. “Simple enough, I guess. I must confess, I never liked Zariyah much. She was always such a stuck-up little princess. But Naira…” Her voice softened. “Naira treated me well. She was kind to me. Especially during, you know, that time when you were off having your long nap.”

The subtle jab stung, but I brushed it off. “I’ll keep that in mind when I tell her about her daughter’s passing,” I replied, my tone sharp with sarcasm.

Larynda barely noticed. “You know,” she began, her tone shifting to something lighter, “they’re talking about naming the Grand Bazaar after you. Calling you a hero.”

“What does that have to do with anything I’ve just said?” I snapped, narrowing my eyes.

“Well, for starters,” she said, fiddling with the last piece of my armor before putting it away, “they’re saying Zariyah—or, you know, that elemental thing—killed all the Adventurers. And that it was you who finally stopped her. Stories are already getting muddled.”

I felt the familiar vulnerability settle over me as the last piece of armor left my body. Without it, I was exposed—raw. It was a sensation I despised, made worse by the looming confrontation that awaited me. Though this battle would not involve steel, it promised to be no less perilous.

“Like I said, Larynda,” I replied, my voice firm. “I’ll tell her the truth. Now, please, call Naira. I want this done before I lose my resolve.” I reached out to ruffle her hair—a habit born of years past.

She smiled faintly, a trace of the girl she’d once been shining through, before her expression darkened. With a quick scowl, she smoothed her braids and stood taller, reminding me she wasn’t a child anymore. “Fine,” she muttered, retreating to the door. She paused just long enough to glare back at me, then left, closing the door behind her with a thud that stopped just short of a slam.

“Don’t forget to call Naira!” I shouted after her, though I wasn’t sure she’d heard me.

Now alone, I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what was to come. The truth was simple enough. Delivering it, however, would be anything but.

As I fortified myself for the ordeal, a knock at the door startled me. It opened before I could respond, and Larynda slipped in with her characteristic casual air.

“You’ve got guests,” she announced, her tone flippant, as if I were welcoming dinner guests. “I’ll tell Naira to come over later. Or maybe you can go down?”

Her nonchalance grated on me. “Tell Naira to come up,” I said curtly. “This should not take overly long.”

Larynda shrugged and disappeared. Moments later, my so-called guests entered. A young girl, face covered except for her solemn, piercing eyes, prostrated herself the instant she crossed the threshold. Beside her stood an old man with a pronounced limp, his weathered face marked by the grime of the streets despite a valiant effort to clean himself.

“Your business?” I demanded, my voice sharper than intended.

The old man sneered faintly. “Imani, I don’t think he’s much of a prophet if he can’t even guess why we’re here,” he said in a gravelly tone, his words laden with disdain.

“Hush, Harun!” the girl chided, her head still pressed to the floor. “Do not test him so. A thousand and one apologies, samasa.”

I regarded them with faint amusement, letting a thin smile curl my lips. “I have never claimed to be a prophet,” I said, my voice measured, “merely Her Herald. It’s a small role, to stem the tide of darkness spewing forth from this cankerous city.”

Imani’s voice and demeanor were unmistakable. She was the girl whose brother I had killed during the Festival, her grief etched into her every movement. A sweet memory. Yet I also remembered her mission, one I had long dismissed as fruitless.

“And who,” I asked, deliberately solemn, “have you brought before me?”

“This is Harun, samasa,” Imani said, rising slightly from her prostration. “He was once a general of the Empire… but now, he is merely a beggar and Dust addict.”

My gaze shifted to Harun, appraising him fully for the first time. The telltale signs of addiction—sunken eyes, trembling hands—lingered like stains on his form. But beneath the veneer of weakness lay something deeper: a pain that ran through his soul, as if he were a man shattered by both time and tragedy.

“Harun,” I said, my tone low and foreboding. “An ill-omened name.” Memories from long ago surged within.

“I am…” the man began, his words faltering under my scrutiny. He seemed nothing more than a beggar, his claim of once being a general almost laughable. I glanced at Imani, wondering how naïve she could be to believe such a tale.

“I do not care who you were,” I said, letting my words cut like a blade. Then, as an idea sparked, I let a slow smile creep across my face. “What matters is what you will become.”

I folded my arms, stepping forward to loom over him. “The Goddess seeks a temporal army, and an army requires leaders. If Her Grace has brought you to me, who am I to deny Her will?”

I started to cast my healing magic.

The golden song stirred within me, sluggish yet insistent. I summoned it forth, weaving the spell of Greater Heal. The holy energy was dampened by my Silent Casting, its melody muted, but the light—oh, the light—shone with unrestrained brilliance. It poured from me in radiant waves, rivaling the midday sun. Even Harun, the skeptic, whispered an entreaty to the Goddess as the light touched him.

The spell enveloped him, the glow mending his broken body. His twisted limbs straightened, his withered skin smoothed, and his frailty gave way to renewed strength. Years seemed to slough off him, and even a touch of color returned to his hair.

When the miracle ended, the light faded, leaving a stunned silence in its wake. Harun stared at his hands, now hale and whole, his expression one of wonder and disbelief.

“Only in the Great Temples…” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. These were words I had heard before.

“Praise be!” Imani cried, tears glistening in her eyes as she basked in the afterglow of divine power.

“Yes, Harun,” I said, my voice rich with false piety. “For where I walk, Her miracles manifest. This room is now a temple.”

The lie was delicious, but the faith that sparked in Harun’s eyes was undeniably genuine.

“Oh, Herald, I am not worthy!” he exclaimed, falling to his knees.

“No,” I said, allowing a slight sneer to twist my lips, “you are not. But the Goddess commands you to serve.”

Harun looked up at me, his restored features filled with reverence. “How may I serve Her glory?”

I savored the moment, letting the silence stretch before answering. “First, you will aid Imani in seeking out broken men like yourself—warriors who have been discarded by the world. To them, I will offer redemption, a chance to cleanse their sins in Her light. This will be justice, both for them and for the world.”

I tossed a small purse of gold at their feet, the coins clinking softly. “Take this and go. The Goddess is perfect, but the world is flawed. We must use imperfect tools to achieve Her will.”

“It shall be as you command, samasa,” Imani said, her voice trembling with devotion. “Allaha Akbara.”

“Allaha Akbara,” Harun the once-general of the Empire repeated.

“Go!” I ordered, the sharpness in my tone breaking the spell of the moment. The pair scurried from the room, clutching the purse as if it contained the Goddess’s own blessing.

As the door closed behind them, I let out a long breath, my thoughts shifting back to Naira. The truth awaited, sharp and unyielding. I would tell her everything—and she would understand the justice of my actions. How could the Herald be wrong?

Shaking off the unbidden thought, I sat on the edge of my bed, resting my head in my hands. The plan was clear. I needed to stick to it.

My version of the truth would become the only truth.

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