I did not sit in judgment. Not today.
Instead, I walked slowly among them, touching shoulders, offering words of comfort, scattering golden blossoms from a shallow bronze bowl. A girl raised a petition to me directly—that her lover had left her for a merchant’s daughter. I listened. I asked questions. And I told her the truth.
“Pain is not punishment,” I said, watching her eyes brim with relief. “Let it wash over you. Let it burn. Then let it go.”
By the time I climbed the steps back toward the Temple, the sun was higher, burning hotter. Sweat slid down my back beneath the crimson robe, and my staff pulsed gently at my side, alive with the day’s energy.
I paused beneath the great gates once more, glancing down at the city.
A hundred lives I had touched today. Perhaps more. And it was still only morning.
And now, it was time to talk to my priests.
As I ascended the marble steps to the Temple, the warm embrace of the deity I served seemed to envelop me, filling my heart with a sense of purpose and divine connection.
The Sun Paladins at the entrance clicked their heels as I passed, straightening their posture further if that was even possible.
As I strode through the halls, I passed several groups of young priests, dressed in their saffron-colored robes. Most of them broke off their conversations as I passed, some of the younger ones openly staring. I simply nodded as I walked by, feeling the weight of their regard.
The inner halls of the Sun Temple were cooler, dimmer, suffused with the scent of resin and crushed marigold. My sandals made no sound on the polished marble, but I did not need to announce myself.
They sensed me long before I rounded the bend.
“…what would she know of the outer districts?” a young voice whispered — male, high, uncertain.
“Shewasborn there, fool,” another snapped — older, bitter. “But that was long ago. Before she became a—” the speaker stopped short, hissing between teeth as I passed the veil of the sun-patterned archway and into the corridor’s full view.
Three novice priests stood stiff as statues beside the carved columns, their saffron robes pristine, their faces pale.
“Speak,” I said gently, raising one brow.
The youngest swallowed. “We—apologies, High Priestess.”
I stepped closer. “You were speaking of the outer districts.”
“We—there are rumors,” he stammered. “That the food stores are—less than what was said. And the... well, some say the Temple could be doing more.”
I said nothing. Let them sweat. Let them feel the weight of my silence.
But I did not strike them down with divine fire.
“You are not wrong to care,” I said softly, finally. “But you are wrong to whisper.”
His eyes widened. “I—I didn’t mean—”
“Next time,” I said, touching his shoulder gently, “say it to my face.”
Behind them, farther down the corridor, I heard the stomp of boots—heavy, rhythmic, too sharp to be priestly.
The Paladins.
Two of them rounded the far corner in mirrored formation, armor clinking, eyes flinty with suspicion. They saw the novices, saw me, and frowned as one.
“High Priestess,” one said, bowing deeply. “Are these men bothering you?”
“No,” I said, though the edge in my voice turned their eyes back to the young ones. “They were speaking truth.”
The older paladin’s jaw tightened. “It is not their place to question the Temple’s will.”
