Chapter 136

“Are you absolutely sure? I don’t mean to say you don’t have a pulse on the situation, but they may have begun planning without your involvement. By now, they should recognize that you aren’t quite prepared to lead a rebellion,” Nick asked, raising an eyebrow.Elia huffed, fidgeting with the hem of her pristine white robe. “I know; I’m not stupid. But Sashara’s Descent has them pretty spooked. I actually saw my mom staring at nothing for almost an hour yesterday. They are trying to recalibrate.”

“To be fair,” Rhea murmured, sounding incredulous, “I doubt anyone expected Her to show up. Not to protect the beastmen from a mob nor to restore the peace. Everyone knows that while gods interfere occasionally, it’s mostly because their greatest followers have sought them out. It almost never happens on its own.”

Nick didn’t know much about the topic, as he wasn’t particularly interested in religions, but he supposed he might need to study more history if his life continued to be so eventful. “Well, if that’s the case, we should probably try to take advantage of this lull. I’ll speak with my father about it after the ceremony. Sashara’s Descent is likely enough to make people more willing to collaborate. We might quash the rebellion altogether if we set up more direct channels between the beastmen and the humans.”

Given how deep the resentment went and how justified it was, he wasn't sure if that was possible, but they had to try.

As Nick walked towards the temple where the mourning ceremony would be held, he tried to temper his expectations. Yes, there was a window of opportunity, and yes, people were currently frazzled enough for a shot in the dark like this to possibly work. However, even if they convinced enough beastmen to reconsider their participation and made the whole thing unfeasible, it didn’t mean the fundamental problem would simply disappear.

The temple grounds were filled to capacity as the trio made their way toward the reserved area. Nearly every man, woman, child, and beastman in Floria had gathered here, as even with the recent tension, the mourning ceremony took precedence.

Only a few guards were left behind to patrol the deserted streets, just in case any forester decided to try their luck. It would be a very foolish course of action, as the soldiers had been instructed to punish these criminals without hesitation, but Nick supposed public policy must always account for the possibility of people being idiotic.

As he passed familiar faces, he made a point of greeting several people he recognized. He did not frequently embrace his role as the Captain’s son, especially because Devon was the heir, but given his involvement in the raid, he felt it was his duty.

He exchanged nods with the soldiers who had accompanied him on the dungeon dive, taking a moment to praise their bravery in front of their children, if they had any. He even paused briefly to greet the bookstore owner who had once sold him Ingrid’s journal, just to show that he didn’t only care about the powerful.

After wandering through the crowd, Nick hesitated only a moment before approaching a small group of beastmen standing at the edge of the throng. There, slightly separated from the main body of people, stood Elia’s parents.

Wulla was engaged in a quiet conversation with a few other beastmen, appearing to be nothing more than a modest herbalist. As Nick approached, several onlookers turned to watch. Without pausing for their stares, he offered a respectful nod to Wulla. She turned slowly, and for a long moment, her eyes darkened as she took in the sight of the three children, before her gaze softened.

Nick bowed his head just enough to show respect. He then did the same for Teo, who had been quietly observing the exchange.

“Those robes suit you. They seem to be of fine quality,” Wulla complimented. It was a perfectly normal compliment, and Nick forced himself to smile despite this being the first time he’d spoken with her since knowing she was the driving force behind the rebellion.

“They had once belonged to my father. Despite the years, they are very sturdy, as an Arachne weaved them,” he replied just loud enough for those nearby to catch. That his family had paid for a set of clothes to be made by an Arachne—one of the most shunned kinds of beastmen—was a powerful statement in and of itself.

For an instant, something flashed in Wulla’s expression—a gleam of recognition of what he was doing or perhaps approval—but she only smiled and said nothing more. With another respectful dip of his head, Nick turned away, leaving Elia behind with her parents.

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Continuing through the crowd, Nick soon found Ogden. The old alchemist stood slightly apart, clearly uncomfortable in his black silk mourning robes. His gaze was jittery, and he kept looking toward the temple as if anticipating an attack.

One of his first interactions with Ogden was when the man suggested he steal sacred ash as payment.

“Is everything alright?” He asked, not expecting an actual answer.

Ogden merely grunted in annoyance, nodding in greeting and grabbing Rhea, “Come on, girl. The sooner we sit down, the sooner I can leave. You, on the other hand, should hurry to the front.”

Nick followed his gaze and saw what he meant. His mother stood near the gathered families, her face gentle and welcoming despite the heaviness that lingered in the air. He was received with a warm smile, and as she gently smoothed his robes, she whispered, “You’ve grown so much, my son.”

She then guided him toward the prepared area, where stone benches were arranged in neat rows, and a podium with a lectern stood at the head of the field. “These benches are reserved for the families of the fallen and for us. It shows that we are all together in this suffering,” she explained as they walked.

They settled into their seats in the front row, and soon, the benches became crowded as nearly two thousand people took their place.

After a few moments, the great wooden doors of the temple swung open, and dozens of priests marched out. Eugene led the procession, clad in his official armor as the town’s Captain. His stern expression and purposeful stride made him appear much older than he actually was, though Nick knew that some of it was due to stress. The past few days had been busy for him, and his father hadn’t been able to rest for a single day since returning.

Behind him, two younger priests supported a barely standing Marthas. He looked much weaker than Nick had ever seen him, but the fact that he was awake and on his feet made Nick smile. He had a complicated relationship with the Prelate, but that didn’t mean he wished him harm.

Their eyes met, and Nick thought he saw the man nod in greeting, which he reciprocated. He really needed to speak with him, but this was not the right moment.

To Nick’s surprise, he also noticed that Arthur was behind them, although Alexander was notably missing from the assembly.

Finally, Eugene ascended the podium and cleared his throat, addressing the gathered crowd.

“My people,” he intoned, “we have lost many in the depths of that accursed dungeon. There was Sergeant Calder, who held his ground so that his subordinates might escape from a cruel trap; Spearman Arvid, who fought with the valor of a dragon until his final breath; and Captain Rurik, whose sacrifice allowed me to defeat a powerful enemy.” He continued, listing all forty-four deceased by name. It took several minutes for him to finish, but Nick recognized the importance of showing respect for each fallen. The crowd seemed to agree, as many were openly weeping or stoically staring ahead.

Once that portion of the speech was complete, however, Eugene took a surprising turn. “To allow the unity and harmony of Floria to falter is to spit upon their sacrifice. We must honor them by ensuring that our town stands as a beacon of resilience and peace.”

Nick felt his eyebrows rise, but a brief yet heartfelt applause began from the deceased’s families and soon echoed across the vast field before subsiding into respectful silence.

Then, Marthas was helped up to the podium. To Nick’s eyes, the Prelate appeared diminished—smaller than before, as if his stature had shrunk—but his tone was no less commanding as he began a liturgy.

“Praise be to Sashara, the Ever-Burning,” Marthas declared, his deep voice resonating without the need for any magic. “We give thanks for her intervention when the icy grip of destruction threatened to consume us all. She was there to show us the light, to guide us all back into her warm embrace. Know that those who fell in battle now rest with her. Let their sacrifice kindle our hearts; let their memory burn bright in our souls as we tend to the fires of community and honor her eternal promise.”

He continued, sounding as if he was praying and commanding them at the same time. “Welcome her blessing, for such divine favor is granted only to the chosen few. As the flame of life burns with brilliance, so too must it yield to the cleansing of rebirth. Embrace the truth that all endings lead to new beginnings, and let our mourning be transformed into hope for the future.”

The elders of the community rose then as if on cue and began singing a slow, mournful melody that filled the air with bittersweet reverence, their voices merging into a hymn for the dead.

Nick, though not prone to showing emotions in public, felt a solitary tear trace a path down his cheek as he remembered those he had known: Jack, the scout who had once been his enemy and had ended up becoming a friend, and Morris, the old ranger whose life had been taken away before his eyes by deceit.

When the hymn concluded and the ceremony ended, the crowd began to rise and disperse slowly. A procession then formed, leading the people back toward the town, where a mourning feast would soon take place.

Before Nick could join the procession, one of the young priests intercepted him. Elena fixed the boy with a hard, disapproving stare, “what is it now?”

The priest shifted nervously under her gaze. “Prelate Marthas wishes to speak with your son in private, Madam Crowley.”

“Go on, Mom,” Nick said softly, gently urging her to leave him. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

Elena withdrew with a tense nod, and Nick followed the priest’s directions to the temple. There, in a narrow corridor, he found Marthas sitting on a stone bench. “Nicholas,” he said in a low voice, “I would like to speak with you later, but first, I have a favor to ask.”

“What is it?” Nick asked.

“Alexander remains cloistered in his room. He has been praying for two days now, refusing to eat or drink. His strength wanes, and his mind is lost in supplication. I would like you to help him, as he has refused to speak with any of us.”

“Why me?”

“I believe he might respond to you. You were present when he was bathed in Her presence, after all, and he has always spoken highly of you. I won't hold it against you if you fail, but I'll need to take more direct action if he doesn’t snap out of it.”

The implication was that Alexander would be force-fed or something similar. Nick sighed in defeat. He did owe the Vicar for his involvement, after all. “Very well, I will try my best.”

Marthas’ eyes softened as he placed a rough hand on Nick’s shoulder. “Thank you, child.”