The Grand Temple of Ssarradon

The days blurred, stitched together with little errands, odd jobs, and the slow thaw of tension around their table.

The first morning after the confrontation, Rika still avoided their eyes. But she didn’t sit apart anymore. Her plate scraped against theirs, her tail occasionally twitching when Balthan made one of his bad puns. It wasn’t forgiveness, not yet, but the silence between them was thinner, easier to breathe. Tia found herself sneaking small glances, watching for the hint of a smile.

That day’s work took them back into the Blooming Bazaar. The market was busier than ever, vendors hawking fruits and bolts of cloth beneath banners strung across the alleys. The group split tasks: Balthan haggled for herbs, Vesh carried half the weight of the stall, while Tia and Corin helped a merchant stack crates of imported spices. It was dull labor, but it gave them coin enough to keep the tavern roof over their heads. Ellis was there too, humming to herself as she trimmed seedlings at a florist’s stand. Rika and Ellis struck up a conversation about garden soil, Balthan chiming in until the three of them were so deep in talk that Tia felt oddly invisible. But invisible was safe. Invisible was good.

Still, whispers swirled around the stalls. She caught them in snatches: “That Celestia girl, the false goddess…” “Seduced a knight, they say…” “Dangerous.” Each word snagged like a burr in her chest. She kept her head down, hands tight around a sack of saffron.

The second day was better. Vesh found them a posting for courier work – delivering sealed packages across the terrace steps. Simple, anonymous. They split into pairs, racing the sun as they ferried bundles between crowded inns and guarded warehouses. Corin and Tia laughed when they took a wrong turn and ended up in a cul-de-sac with nothing but a drunken mule and an irate washerwoman. For a few minutes, the rumors and the weight of their secrets didn’t matter. They were just two kids, running errands, breathless and alive.

That night in the tavern, Rika finally met Tia’s eyes across the table. Brief, shy, but it happened. Tia went to sleep clutching that tiny moment like treasure.

On the third day, they returned to Mystikos’ Tower. The old wizard had them practicing motes of light again, filling the air with flickers like fireflies. “Control!” he barked, wagging his quill. “Control, not chaos – unless you wish your eyebrows to declare independence!” Corin, usually so serious, smirked when his spark fizzled into smoke. Tia laughed until her stomach hurt. For the first time, Rika came along too, not to learn but to watch, perched cross-armed on the old couch. She tried to look unimpressed, but when Tia accidentally turned her spark into a lopsided star, Rika snorted. Just once. But enough.

Still, danger crept closer. Twice now they’d noticed guards lingering by the bazaar gate, scanning faces in the crowd. A crier’s voice carried down the terraces one afternoon, proclaiming harsher words: “Celestia – blasphemer, deceiver, corrupter of our youth!” A crude sketch of her face flapped on a nailed board by the stairwell. Tia froze in front of it, breath catching, until Vesh tugged her hood down lower and urged her on.

By the fourth evening, the unease had built so thick in her chest she could barely sit still. At supper, she pushed stew around her bowl without eating, her thoughts spiraling. The laughter of her friends reached her distantly, like sound through water.

She wanted to tell them she was fine. She wanted to believe she could just hide, keep laughing, keep working odd jobs until the rumors burned out. But every whispered “Celestia,” every glimpse of a guard’s armor in the crowd reminded her: she didn’t belong here. Not truly.

When they drifted upstairs and the tavern noise quieted, she lay awake staring at the rafters. Her heart ached with the memory of her family’s kitchen back on Earth – the smell of fried onions, her brother’s jokes, her mom’s tired humming. The ache sharpened until it was unbearable.

Maybe the priests would know.

The thought rooted itself in her chest, firm and stubborn. If anyone could make sense of her blank mark, of the strange way she’d arrived here, it would be them. And if they couldn’t… she always wanted to know more about Vesh’s faith anyway.

By dawn, she had already decided.

Tia hadn’t expected Vesh to agree so quickly.
When she asked him over breakfast the next day, if he could take her to the temple, his eyes blinked slowly in surprise, the steam of his tea curling up past his scaled snout.

“The temple?” His voice carried a note of reverence. “You wish to see Ssarradon’s heart?”

Tia shifted on the bench. “I just… I thought maybe they’d know something. About my mark. About…” she trailed off, fumbling with her spoon.

Vesh studied her for a long moment, then gave a small, solemn nod. “If it is answers you seek, then I will guide you. But know this, Tia: the temple does not deal in trivial matters. To set foot there is to invite the gaze of gods themselves.”

That only made her stomach twist tighter, but she managed a weak smile. “Guess I’ll try not to trip on the stairs, then.”

They left after the morning market swelled. The climb up the terraces was long, the steps steep, but the air grew clearer with every level, the noise of vendors and ox carts fading behind them. Guards loitered at each checkpoint, though they barely looked at Vesh – he belonged here, tall and robed, his Guild Mark carried with quiet dignity. Tia kept her hood low, heart thudding every time metal clinked too close.

By the time they reached the upper terraces, her calves burned, but the sight before her snatched her breath away.

The Grand Temple of Ssarradon rose like a mountain carved into pillars and spires, its stone shimmering faintly with a green-gold sheen. The front steps were wide enough to host a parade, banners of woven reeds and bright silks flapping gently in the wind. Above the entrance loomed a relief of coiling serpents, their eyes set with polished gems that caught the sun like living fire.

“It’s…” She swallowed. “It’s beautiful.”

Vesh’s throat rumbled with pride. “It was built by my ancestors’ ancestors. Each stone blessed before it was laid. Each hall tuned for harmony with the divine.” He tilted his snout toward her. “This is where I first took vows as a scholar. Where I learned to listen.”

Inside, the air was cool and heavy with incense. Shafts of colored light filtered through stained glass, painting the floor in rippling all colour of the rainbow. A choir’s low chant echoed faintly from deeper within, a sound so steady it seemed less sung than breathed by the walls themselves.

Tia followed Vesh past kneeling worshippers, past coiled braziers releasing fragrant smoke, deeper into the temple’s heart. She felt like an intruder, her boots too loud, her breaths too sharp. But Vesh walked with the unhurried calm of someone returning home.

They paused before a massive doorway carved with constellations. Vesh inclined his head toward her, his frilled crest angling in solemnity. “This is where the high priest receives supplicants. Are you certain?”

Her hands were clammy, her pulse quick. But she thought of her mom’s face. Of her dad’s stupid grin. Of her sister’s bit back laugh. Of the weight in her chest every time she heard the word Celestia spat like a curse in the streets.

She nodded. “I’m sure.”

Vesh rested one clawed hand gently on her shoulder. “Then walk with courage. Whatever truth lies within, you will not face it alone.”

The great doors swung open.

Light spilled out, bright and strange, washing over them both as they stepped inside.