A feminine voice, clear and melodious like a stream over stones, rang out in the quiet hut. "Caelus is one of many gods of this world," the woman said, her hands folded in her lap. "He is a god of the Void, the silent, endless space that lies between all things."
She looked at the children, who were gathered around her on woven mats, their eyes wide with fascination. "The Void is not nothingness, children. It is the canvas upon which creation is painted. It is the quiet from which all sound is born. It is the darkness that gives light its meaning. Caelus is the master of this great, silent expanse."
"The legends say that before the other gods gave the world its form—its mountains and rivers and stars. Caelus was already there. He was the emptiness that yearned to be filled, the silence that longed for a voice. When the other gods, like Terra the Earth-Shaper or Lumina the Light-Bringer, began their work, they did so upon the foundation of Caelus's Void."
"His power is absolute, but also subtle," she continued, leaning forward slightly. "You cannot see the Void, just as you cannot see the wind, but you can feel its effects. A warrior's perfect strike finds its mark because of the emptiness it moves through. A mage's spell travels across distances thanks to the Void that separates him from his target. Every thought, every memory, every dream is stored within the silent, infinite space that Caelus rules."
"Some fear him, calling him the god of oblivion and endings, the one who will eventually swallow all things back into the emptiness from whence they came. But that is not a malicious act. It is the natural order of things. For a story to be told, it must first have a beginning and an ending. For a life to be lived, it must be born into the world and one day return to the quiet from which it came. Caelus is not a destroyer, but the keeper of that sacred, silent balance. He is the beginning, the middle, and the end, all at once."
The children were utterly captivated, the concept of a god of emptiness both terrifying and profound. The woman, whose name was Miriel, smiled gently at their rapt attention. "And so, when you look up at the night sky and see the blackness between the stars, do not think of it as empty. Know that you are looking at the domain of Caelus, the silent, patient god who holds all of creation in his endless embrace."
A man stepped into the sunlit hut, his white armor gleaming so brightly it seemed to bring a piece of the sky inside with him. His hand rested on the hilt of a sheathed longsword at his hip, and his posture was straight and proud, the very image of a hero. "Good day, Saintess Miriel," he said, his voice a warm baritone that filled the small space.
Saintess Miriel looked up from the large, leather-bound book in her lap, a gentle smile gracing her lips. The children, understanding the cue, rose quietly and filed out of the room, their playful chatter fading away until only the adults remained. "Good day to you too, Sir Hanry," she replied, her voice melodic and soft as an angel's harp.
"Actually, I'm not a knight yet," the young man said, ducking his head and scratching his short black cropped hair. He felt a warmth spread across his cheeks under the Saintess's serene gaze. "Just a squire for now, Saintess."
"A noble station all the same," Miriel said kindly, her light yellow irises, each marked with a delicate white cross, seeming to see right to the goodness in his heart. She was a vision of grace, her long, silvery-white hair styled in a soft bob with small braids framing her face.
She wore an ornate and elegant dress of pale blue, white, and gold. The fabric was light and airy, with delicate gold filigree patterns woven into it, and translucent panels that hinted at the skin beneath without ever being revealing.
Gold accessories such as intricate bracelets, a belt with a golden tassel, and a shimmering thigh band completed the look, giving her the appearance of a queen in her own right, regal and refined in every way.
"Shall we take a walk?" Miriel asked, rising gracefully from her seat. As she stood, she brushed a hand over the back of her dress, the fine fabric rustling and subtly revealing the elegant curve of her spine. "You must have something you wish to discuss with me."
Hanry immediately stepped to the side of the tent flap, pulling the canvas back to make way for her. "Of course, Saintess," he said, bowing his head slightly. "We have something to discuss."
They stepped out into the bright sunlight and found themselves in the expansive courtyard of the Church of God Caelus. It was like a small, bustling village contained within the grand church walls, with white stone buildings forming a square around a vast open space. Dozens of other temporary tents, just like the one they had exited, were scattered across the lawn.
"You don't have to call me 'Saintess,'" Miriel said, her soft laughter like the chime of bells. "Miriel is enough." A small, thoughtful crease formed on her brow. "And also, when you said 'we,' who were you talking about?"
"About the expedition out in the wild," Hanry explained, adjusting his stride to walk beside her, their path meandering between the tents and tents as they avoided the groups of children playing chase. "We have to form a team before we go out. You should have been briefed about this, haven't you?"
"I did hear about it," Miriel replied, her gaze momentarily drawn by a sudden commotion nearby. A small boy had tripped, his wail cutting through the air as he scraped his knee on the cobblestones. "This is the first time I'm actually going out of Indyrge, to train as a healer in the field."
Without a second thought, Miriel glided toward the sound, her dress whispering across the grass. She knelt down before the sobbing boy, her hands hovering gently over his scraped knee. She closed her eyes, her lips moving in a silent, fervent prayer, and a soft, emerald-green light began to emanate from her palms.
The boy's gasp was audible. Where blood and dirt had been just moments ago, there was now only smooth, pink skin. The wound had healed completely, disappearing before their very eyes. The crying stopped instantly. "Thank you, Saintess! You're the best!" the boy sniffled, his tears now ones of awe.
"I want to marry you when I'm older!" a little girl with pigtails piped up from the gathered crowd. "Dummy, you're a girl! You can't marry her!" the arrogant boy retorted, puffing out his chest. "It will be me! The greatest paladin this church has ever seen, who will take her hand as his bride!"
Miriel simply rose and offered a warm, soft smile to the children before walking away with Hanry, their laughter and chattering fading behind them. "You seem to be well-liked by the children, aren't you?" Hanry remarked, watching her as she moved.
"It was nothing," Miriel said, her gaze lingering on the children. "The church's orphanage has been overcrowded for a long time, since the war began. We must use all the resources we have to take care of them." Her expression softened, her eyes filling with a profound sadness.
"They have all lost their parents to the war. Some to the plague, some sold by their own families just to survive, or simply abandoned on the streets. They are the innocent casualties."
Her voice dropped to a near whisper. "And so it befalls to us, the children of God Caelus, to take them in, to protect them, and to guide them. For they are the future generation, and they are our hope."
A wave of warmth washed over Hanry as he watched Miriel, her devotion so palpable it was like a physical presence. He found he couldn't look away.
"Is there something on my face, Hanry?" Miriel asked, turning her serene gaze to meet his.
"N-no! It was just… I admire your devotion to your god," Hanry stammered, shaking himself out of his trance and hurrying to keep pace. "Anyway, we've arrived. Let me introduce you to the others." He led her toward a trio of figures standing near a stockade fence, their backs to them.