The terrace of Saint Izillian was filled with the people faithful to the Flame, standing shoulder to shoulder, looking upon the temple of the Flame, grandest and most splendorous of Chsyatana’s buildings. White walls of whitest marble cut into the most intricate of webs, so that light may enter from the outside or shine out from the inside and atop it sat a dome of golden filigrees holding the finest, clearest glass ever formed on all of Ackarom. The milky glass gates opened and out stepped the Bearer of the Flame, holding his hands above his head, cupped and in them he bore the flame burning brightly, without being burned by its touch. The crowd grew restless, the acolytes leading the Bearer of the Flame started to sing prayers and the faithful joined in, sending a rich chorus to the skies as they made way for the Bearer to the centre of the terrace’s plaza.

The Bearer made his way to the edge of the terrace. He looked upon the wide sea and the reflection of the sun on the deep, blue sea. The he turned around and looked to the true sun, and knelt down. He let the acolytes and the faithful sing to the flame seemingly without tiring or letting up.

A sudden crack shattered from the skies onto the terrace, more frightening than any thunder, more splednorous than any beast. A blinding light went across the plaza, the entire city, even Nannade saw it on her perch up high on the walls of the cliff-carved fortress where the soldiers could not see her, but she could see over the entire city.

As the blinding light had ebbed away, the flame in the Bearer’s hands had turned to silver and all those bathed in its light were gilded, as if made from the finest of metals. The crowd cheered and looked upon those at their sides. In the Holy Flame, they were all made of gold, a spectacle, a miracle, performed each year but amazing to behold each time.

Almost all the people she knew in Chsyatana were down there. She had tried to get a hold of Garetas, but he remained elusive. Korinna would surely be there. Even though she called the followers of Chsyatana's religion “heretics to the Flame”, she still celebrated with them, worshipping the same god after all, even if the church here adhered to a different liturgy. Religious squabbles were all vain in the end, especially when the spirits of field and forest determined their lives so much stronger.

The procession of the gilded started over the plaza of Saint Izillian's terrace down towards the harbour. Trumpets and drums, bells and voices proclaiming the glory of the Flame while surrounding the Bearer carrying the roaring silver flame above his head. Nannade watched the spectacle, especially the Bearer of the Flame, high patriarch of the city’s believers. Chsyatana had always laid in quarrels with Fulgopolis, home of the bigger branch, the church of Her Holy Radiance, with which Nannade had already had some experience.

It made her wonder. How were they doing now? Ionna and her Carellus? Andronicus in his monastery? Alivor? She felt the regret and sadness well up. It had been around near a year by now. Hastily she tried to quell the thoughts from her mind, but the well of tears had been tapped and it would not be sealed back up so easily. She put her face in her hands and clenched her teeth, trying to breathe normally. It couldn’t go on forever!

The procession had reached the harbour and the Bearer of the Flame knelt at the water line, down to a small boat filled with logs and twigs. The flame jumped from his hands onto the boat and the waters around the boat were gilded, too. Gone was the flame from his hands and the boat was pushed out of the harbour, onto the open sea. The Bearer of the Flame held a sermon to the people as the boat along with the silvery flame was swallowed by the sun’s reflection on the water. As well as Nannade’s ears were, from this distance she could only hear bits and pieces. Something about “sending the light out”, the “waning days” and “preserving the Flame in their hearts”. Common words for a fall equinox. Nannade had to think of what would happen in Sturreland by now. Many different cults practiced different festivities, but they all followed the circle of nature. Not too far away from Priscilla’s grave, the shadow of the mountain Spitzenhaupt’s peak would touch the middle altar.

The procession had ended, the people were heading back into the city, undoubtedly quite some of them heading for taverns and other establishments to have a celebratory feast, but Nannade was still sitting on her little private perch. She felt it was time to get back home and carefully made her descent. From this lofty height, a fall would be fatal, even for her. The soft sandstone gave her claws remarkable hold and she soon arrived on a safe level.

The streets were alive with jubilation everywhere, but her plan was to return to Master Paramonos’ house and review her notes. She was just putting together the last few lessons in her head when she was surprised by a sudden call of her name.

“Nannade, Nannade, here!” Timaeus appeared by her side, laying his arm around her shoulder. “Come, join in with us!” He had a clay cup in hand, she could smell the sweet, cheap wine a mile against the wind, both in the cup and on his breath.

“I don’t think this communion would like me among them.” She tried to remove his arm from her shoulders.

“Oh no, it’s fine, no one knows, no one can see, just enjoy life a bit. Come drink with us!” He pulled her to the side of a street to the outside chairs and tables of an inn, where other revellers were already waiting. One of them handed her a cup of wine before she could say no and the group clinked them together.

Timaeus spent some time loudly explaining what a strong-willed girl Nannade was, without revealing anything. The wine flowed readily and her cup was refilled before she could refuse and its taste grew on her more and more, it wasn’t as dry and bitter as the people of Sturreland were so fond of, especially Elissa. Instead, it was sweet and fruity, like the fruit juices usually given to children while their parents drank the bitter wine. The sugary haze rose to her head and before too long, she found herself talking to a few of Timaeus’ friends, asking them about the procession and the Bearer of the Flame. They eagerly told her about all the great accomplishments of St. Izillian, his position as the first Bearer of the Flame and head of the church of Chsyatana, and his accomplishments as a bulwark against the heretical adherents of the Fulgopolis cult.

Nannade was surprised by how much she enjoyed the company for once, the sun had long set and she had settled on a comfortable pile of cushions by the road side, enjoying the wild ride she got every time she slightly moved her head, mesmerized by the performance of a fire-juggler, tossing and catching balls of hard flame, swinging and flailing burning balls on chains and handling a staff with fire on both ends elegantly. Much applause and praise came from the crowd and even Nannade dug in her pocket for a wayward coin to toss his way. Timaeus came her way and let himself fall on the cushions next to her.

“Enjoying yourssself?” He handed her another cup of sweet wine. She wanted to refuse but caught herself reach for it anyway. Ever since she let the wine in, she felt so much thirstier, as if she finally realized what wine was all about and she loved it.

“Sso, have you ever seen susha grreat jubilation?” His words flowed and stumbled in the wine’s influence, something in the back of Nannade’s mind kept her vigilant.

Nannade shook her head. “I never seen any ssuch one.”

Timaeus inched a bit closer to her and put on an intoxicated smile. “You know, Nananade, I reallly admire you. Really.”

She didn’t know what to make of this, but she knew she had to be vigilant. She might be drunk, but she shouldn’t fall prey to a fool’s words still. “Thhank you, I guesss.”

He inched closer again. In Nannade’s mind, the Serpent raised her head and hissed. “YYyou know, I can sssee that you’re...” He moved his hand to her cheek, she almost felt his outstretched finger on the tips of her coat. “...lonel-”

“HANDS OFF!” Nannade’s hand lunged up and struck his, sending it away from her. “Just...” she got up and had to catch herself to maintain her balance. “Jusst don’t get c-closse, okay!”

She realized her words had come out a bit louder than she had intended. She looked around and stared in many eyes. Many judging stares, but most of them directed at Timaeus. She decided her time of jubilation was over and turned around.

Nannade passed by many more establishment filled with laughter lining the streets, but she wasn’t swayed from her course this time, even if her course was sweeping and curving all across the street’s full width. Reviewing her notes would have to wait till morning, but she was determined to get some sleep tonight. She was stumbling and wobbling up the stairs to the merchant’s terrace when she turned around and beheld the festivities at night. The fire-juggler till sending his flame into the night sky. Nannade sighed; it really was a beautiful sight. If she had just thought for a moment, maybe she shouldn’t have snapped at Timaeus like that.

She was torn from her contemplation by a sudden scream, sounding from less joyous parts of the terrace below her. Through dark alleys the scream echoed. Something was already boiling within Nannade. She took the air in, it was filled with fear, a fear that called for her.

Another scream. A scream for help. Nannade was already unsure on her feet, willing to give way, when a red haze filled her, eager to burst forth. It filled her limbs with strength and her throat with thirst. Thirst for... Purpose. PURPOSE!

A third scream came, pleas for mercy. Nannade felt the wind her hair as strength carried her across the city’s roofs at great speeds, towards her destination: purpose.