Chapter 75

Nick slipped into the classroom just as the last of the children settled into their seats. The air buzzed with murmured conversations, mostly centered around the confrontation at the temple entrance. The younger children seemed animated, while a few of the older kids regarded each other with anticipation. They understood that such a public display meant real trouble."Hey, Nick," one of the boys, a lanky kid named Harun, leaned over his desk. "What happened to Elia? I don’t see her anywhere."

Nick had been expecting the question but felt relieved that the curiosity was mild. It meant that word of the wraiths hadn’t spread. If the civilian population didn’t know about the attack, his father was effectively managing the situation.

"She’s not feeling great," he answered with a shrug, keeping his voice level. "Her dad asked me to inform the Vicar. She should be back tomorrow or the day after.”

That seemed to satisfy Harun, who nodded and turned back to another boy to continue gossiping. Nick, however, wasn’t as easily soothed.

The wraith’s attack must have really hurt Elia if she wasn’t here. For a herbalist's daughter to take several days to recover, it could only mean that the injury was serious.

Before he could dwell further on the implications, Vicar Alexander strode into the room, bringing silence with him. Nick noticed the tightness in his jaw and the slight pulsing of a vein on his temple. The earlier frustration hadn’t completely faded. That was unusual. This man could handle children at their worst, and even Nick, who certainly didn’t see eye to eye with him during theology, had never seen him this irritated.

Nick tapped his fingers on the wooden desk, considering the matter. That kind of reaction didn’t come from just one slight. He suspected that what they had all witnessed at the temple’s entrance was merely the latest in a long line of similar incidents. Perhaps that was why Alexander had chosen to stand up for him. The man was no rebel, but he clearly wasn’t happy with how things were changing under the Prelate’s influence.

They might have seen a show if the Prelate hadn’t been there to diffuse the situation.

The lesson began as usual, with Alexander calling for attention before diving into the day's topic. “As I explained before, for the next few lessons, we will explore the most important rituals of the Burning Faith—the Purification of the Ashes, the Burning of the Log, the Day of Bonfires, and the Fiery Rebirth. Each of these holds significant meaning in our faith, representing different facets of the eternal cycle."

The more he spoke, the more Alexander seemed to relax, falling into the usual cadence. Then, suddenly, he stiffened once more. "For some of these lessons, we will be joined by Prelate Marthas, who has graciously offered to oversee your progress.”

The words were polite, but Nick sensed a hint of bitterness beneath them. Clearly, this had not been Alexander’s decision. That wasn’t surprising—Marthas had been increasingly making it clear that he intended to assert his authority over the temple and that he wasn’t leaving anytime soon. Even a vicar with a lifetime of service was being pushed aside. That had to sting.

Before Alexander could continue, the classroom door opened once again, and Prelate Marthas entered.

Though not physically overwhelming, his presence carried a weight, and Nick felt the air shift in the room as every student straightened. Even Alexander’s posture became more rigid.

"Ah, I see you’ve begun," Marthas said smoothly. The warm smile he directed at the children made it seem like nothing had happened that morning. "Forgive the interruption."

Alexander dipped his head in polite acknowledgment, but there was something cool in his gaze. "Of course, Prelate. We were just beginning our discussion of the Purification of the Ashes."

"Excellent." Marthas said, stepping further into the room. "A foundational ritual. One that reminds us that from destruction comes life."

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The Prelate’s gaze passed over him for only a fraction of a second longer than the others, but it was enough to make Nick’s back coil with tension.

Marthas moved to the back of the classroom, hands folded behind his back. "Please, Vicar. Continue."

Alexander’s lips pressed into a thin line before he turned his attention back to the class. "As the Prelate said, the Purification of the Ashes is about bringing life where there is none. It is traditionally performed before major seasons and symbolizes the burning away of sickness and rot. It also serves to free a place from the influence of humanity’s enemies, which is why it is so essential for our little town. The ashes left behind are carried by the wind, signifying acceptance of the unknown. Sashara’s light always shines down from the heavens, but we shouldn’t assume it indicates a specific path for us, because that’s all we can see.”

Nick listened, though his eyes kept drifting back to Marthas. He was keenly aware of the Prelate’s presence. The man had yet to say or do anything, but the mere fact that he had insisted on overseeing the lessons told Nick enough.

The lesson continued for a while, and Alexander once again reviewed everything that would be expected of them during the ritual. It essentially boiled down to some chants, throwing logs into a fire, and spreading the resulting ashes over the fields once they were declared blessed—nothing different from what happened before every other seeding.

As soon as Alexander finished the topic and was about to move on to the next one, Marthas stood up.

He effortlessly commanded the room’s attention. The students who had been whispering among themselves, bored from the repeat lesson, fell silent almost instinctively, their eyes drawn to him. Even the most inattentive among them straightened in their seats.

Alexander visibly tensed but obediently quieted down. Nick observed closely, noting the slight clench of his jaw and how his hands curled into fists before he exhaled through his nose and took a step back. The Vicar knew better than to interrupt. Marthas had offered his help for the lesson, and given his rank, he could take over at any moment without consequence. That he had waited until the first portion of the lesson was done was only out of politeness.

“Children,” he began in his deep voice, “today we shall discuss one of the holiest rituals of our faith—the Fiery Rebirth.” He let the words settle, lending them more weight. “It is the day we celebrate Sashara’s ascension to godhood. It is the moment when all who walk her path are given the chance to shed their past sins and be reborn in her light.”

Nick listened intently. This was not something he knew much about beyond the basics. According to Nick’s childhood memories, the yearly ceremony was a relatively brief affair. A gathering at the temple, a sermon by Alexander, and a blessing that provided a temporary buff. Hardly the grand transformation Marthas was describing.

“In the grand temples,” Marthas continued, “the Fiery Rebirth is not just symbolic. It is a gift. On that day, those seeking true devotion are given the opportunity to transform their class into Acolytes of Sashara, at no cost. They are fully embraced by her, guiding them toward a deeper understanding of her divine purpose, while those who seek only a fraction of her warmth receive a blessing that can last for an entire week.”

The ability to change one’s class—freely, no less—was something he had never imagined could be so widespread in the larger cities. It reinforced his growing suspicion that the temples possessed a deeper understanding of the System than they disclosed. Their capacity to change multiple people’s classes in a single day might be connected to Sashara’s domains, which Nick suspected would be significantly stronger around the larger temples. However, if that were the case, Floria would have druids all over. It was too close to the Green Ocean, and someone would have stumbled upon the Feral Gods’ domain.

The bishop had said he’d intervened to stop their influence during the Class Ceremony, but that wouldn’t have stopped people from changing their classes if it had been so easy.

And yet, there was something telling in the way Marthas spoke of it. The class change was only ever to Acolyte. That specificity caught Nick’s attention. The temple’s application of System-related meta-magic had to be sophisticated.

They were offering certainty. That was rare with rituals.

Marthas continued, detailing the Fiery Rebirth as a reflection of Sashara’s own trials—a journey filled with suffering and sacrifice that ultimately led to her godhood. Nick barely listened as his focus drifted. He had little interest in the details of religious mythology, especially since he suspected the version they were being told had been scrubbed clean of inconvenient truths.

Silently, he reached for his wand. Concealing his movements beneath the desk, he cast and felt the world around him expand as took hold. His awareness stretched beyond the classroom, filling the temple like a spreading mist.

Marthas gave no indication that he had felt the spell, which either made him an incredible actor or simply meant the magic was working as it should. Being part spiritual and part affinity-based, it shouldn’t be so easy to sense, especially since, as a sensory spell, it had a very small signature in the first place.

Nick sought out hints of the tension he had felt earlier between the local priests and the delegation. His heightened perception detected the hushed conversations and the way some of the younger priests exchanged sharp glances, believing no one was watching. There was no open hostility, yet an unmistakable undercurrent of resentment lingered.

Some of the village’s priests barely contained their displeasure at the delegation’s presence. Their voices tightened with controlled frustration as they spoke in hushed tones. Others, especially those who seemed more aligned with the traditional teachings, stood apart, their posture rigid, their expressions unreadable.

It was subtle, but it was clear to Nick. This wasn’t merely a matter of doctrine; it was a struggle for influence—a battle for control that had been simmering beneath the surface long before he arrived.

He withdrew from the spell, the sensation fading as his focus returned to the classroom. Marthas was still speaking, weaving the tale of Sashara’s ascension with the ease of a seasoned orator.

Nick didn’t know how long he’d end up staying in Floria after this whole ordeal was over. His brother would be leaving soon for his apprenticeship, and he might go the same way in a year or two.

Or rather, there was someone now, and he’d have his first private lesson just as soon as the public one was over.