The village lay nestled in the arms of the snow-covered forest, smoke curling from low chimneys into a sky dim with overcast gray. Wooden fences half-buried in snow marked the borders of farmland long since surrendered to winter. As Ayuna and Clyde approached, their presence did not go unnoticed.
Eyes turned. Not with suspicion, not yet—but with caution. Clyde was a known face, a respected if not solitary figure among them. But the one who walked beside him, cloaked and hooded, unfamiliar and silent—that was another matter entirely.
The whispers began.
"Is that Clyde?"
"He's dragging a wolf. Wow, did he kill it alone?"
"Who's that with him? That man doesn't look right."
Ayuna felt the weight of their stares. It clawed up his spine like frostbite. But he said nothing. Instead, he kept his head low, features buried beneath the folds of his hood, his steps deliberate. He couldn't let his beauty show—not here, not now. Let them gawk at the strangeness, not the divinity.
He'd already learned: mystery was easier to swallow than the truth.
A group of children broke from a nearby alley, calling out Clyde's name.
"Uncle Clyde! Uncle Clyde!"
Ayuna slowed his pace and watched them. The way they ran with bright eyes and pink noses, their small boots crunching snow with excitement. Children still had hope. That strange, soft thing. It clung to them like warmth.
Clyde stopped, exhaustion and frost still clinging to his bones, but his expression softened as he knelt—just enough to meet their eager eyes.
"You lot again? Thought you'd be in bed by now."
One of the boys beamed up at him. "Is that a wolf, really? Did you kill it?"
"Course I did. Bit me, too," Clyde grunted, lifting his pant leg just slightly to show the edge of the now-healed tear in his trousers.
Ayuna's gaze flicked to the wound—no sign of pain, no infection. His healing held. Relief settled deep in his chest, though he kept it hidden beneath his serene mask.
The children gasped. Another girl piped up, "You're so cool, Uncle Clyde!"
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few coppers. "Here. Go get some bread from the old woman's stall—don't waste it on sweets."
The children squealed, grabbing the coins before darting off.
Ayuna watched them vanish into the white blur of the street. A faint smile curled his lips.
So the hunter had a soft core. Interesting. And oddly endearing.
'You put on that cold, bitter face like armor,' he thought, glancing at Clyde. 'But you're not as hollow as you pretend.'
They walked in silence to the edge of the village, where a squat brick house waited. It was weather-worn and uninviting, but Ayuna felt grateful for even the illusion of shelter.
The door groaned open. Clyde waved him inside.
"Sit. I'll deal with the mutt."
Ayuna obeyed, settling into the chair beside the table. His cloak clung to him, still damp from the road. He didn't move much—only let his eyes drift across the room.
Spartan. Practical. Human.
The cracked mug on the shelf, the antlers above the mantle, the way the rugs were layered haphazardly to trap warmth. There was a quiet rhythm to this place, a kind of unsaid fatigue stitched into its bricks. Ayuna didn't mind it. He preferred rooms like this. Rooms that didn't try to lie.
When Clyde returned, snow trailing behind him, he said nothing. He lit the hearth, and fire slowly crawled to life. Ayuna watched the flame flicker against the walls, the shadows it cast—warm and dancing. A small miracle in its own way.
Clyde sat on the edge of the bed across from him.
"So. Now that I ain't bleeding to death…" he began, his voice steady but cautious, "Who are you really? And don't give me some cloud-kissed sermon."
Ayuna tilted his head slightly. No surprise. No offense. He had rehearsed this.
"My name is Ramiris," he said, his voice like a current—smooth, gentle, yet impossible to stop. "I serve Reymena, the God of Life and Healing. He has slumbered for many long years… but now he stirs once more."
That wasn't entirely a lie. Not really.
Clyde frowned. "Never heard of him."
"Few have," Ayuna said. "In this age, the divine are broken. Some fallen, some corrupted. Some… gone without a trace. But Reymena is different. He sleeps. He waits. And now he calls."
Inside, Ayuna's heart beat a little faster. Lying like this—it felt like walking a tightrope over a pit. One slip, and he'd plummet.
"I was chosen to walk in his name," he continued. "To bring healing where there is pain. To guide those who suffer. I offer no miracles for glory, no salvation for gold. Only the comfort of his will, and the light he lends me to soothe wounds like yours."
His voice was steady, but his thoughts swirled.
'Please believe it. Or at least believe enough to let me stay.'
Clyde exhaled, rubbing his jaw. "You talk like a book. Real nice voice, too. Can't decide if you're lying or just delusional."
Ayuna gave him a ghost of a smile. "Does it matter?"
Clyde blinked. "What?"
Ayuna leaned forward, eyes deep and shadowed in firelight. "You lived. You're warm. You walk without pain. Does it matter where the power came from, so long as it helped?"
That quiet again. The kind that pressed in around you, heavy and sharp.
Clyde looked away. He didn't answer.
'I'll take that as a maybe.'
Ayuna sat back, letting the firelight touch his face once more.
"I do not ask for belief," he said. "Only the chance to act. Reymena will speak for himself… in time."
The silence stretched, but not unkindly. Clyde hadn't thrown him out. That was a kind of faith, even if unspoken.
Ayuna folded his hands together and exhaled slowly.
Then, gently, he shifted.
"If I may ask," he said, with the deliberate calm of a man treading thin ice, "what kingdom are we currently in?"
Clyde glanced up, not suspicious, just surprised. "Kingdom of Belreth. You didn't know that?"
Ayuna chuckled faintly, shaking his head. "I've… been wandering. Long. Far. Not every village is welcoming of those who bear a god's name."
That, at least, was true.
Clyde seemed to accept that. He gave a small nod. "You're lucky. Most folks around here still burn god-talkers. Or at least, they look the other way while someone else does. Can't blame 'em much, honestly. The gods went mad or vanished. Some still roam, wreckin' cities half a world away."
'So the fear runs deep,' Ayuna thought, his fingers curling slightly in his lap. 'And it's not unfounded.'
He needed more information. But asking too directly would unravel everything.
"Your wound… it was deep," Ayuna said, watching Clyde's leg. "You fought well for someone that injured."
Clyde scoffed lightly. "Didn't have much of a choice. It was either fight or bleed out in the snow."
Ayuna tilted his head slightly, then ventured, "You held on longer than most men would've."
There. An invitation.
Clyde grunted, then admitted, "I've trained a bit. Nothing too high. First Level Body Path."
Body Path.
The term floated in Ayuna's mind, unfamiliar but electric. Power. Structure. Cultivation, maybe? It sparked ideas, but left the details maddeningly vague. He swallowed the urge to ask more.
"Then you are more capable than you look," Ayuna said smoothly, watching Clyde's reaction carefully. He didn't dare guess too much—not when even the terminology was foreign. Best to let Clyde fill in the gaps.
Clyde didn't respond, but a subtle twitch at the edge of his mouth almost resembled pride.
Ayuna leaned back, eyes half-lidded. Fire crackling. Smoke curling upward.
So. Kingdom of Belreth.
A world with cultivation, suspicion toward gods, and only scraps of divine memory left. A world where god-talkers still burned, where divine names were spoken only in terror or silence.
He'd need more. More knowledge. More people. More belief.
But for now, warmth, quiet, and one open door was enough.
Outside, the wind scraped against the house like old bones, whispering names long forgotten.