I can still remember my first Holy Communion in church. My family was extremely religious, and church was a thing you did together. Some of my friends’ moms would just go to church alone, leaving their husbands at home to watch football. If my father had ever done that, my mother would have divorced his ass before he could say ‘touchdown.’

Having Italian roots meant that my family could pull enough strings to have the Communion in Italy. That was one of the first trips I can remember. It was nice, and it felt special. I’m not a huge fan of religion, nor am I a practitioner. But if your average American kid becomes atheist at a very young age, in Italy, you can’t really tell that to your parents before a certain age. Church is an extension of your family functions. In Italy, church precedes the Sunday lunch at your grandparents’ house. Every single Sunday. No exception. Nowadays, obviously, traditions tend to die and slowly wither away in the face of modernism. However, most Italians still follow the same rules.

And when I put my feet in an Italian church for the first time, I was intimidated. My family, like every other Italian, is Catholic Christian. It’s a big surprise, considering the Pope lives in Italy, right? But yes, the Catholic Church. So, as I entered this Italian Cathedral, I felt a different vibe compared to the churches back home. Everyone was extremely serious. Even older male parents would joke around for no more than a few seconds before checking if the priest had spotted them. That place felt holy. I have no better term for it. It gave you the impression that if you misbehaved, God would literally smite you out of existence. In a good way, though.

My Italian at the time was not perfect. It was passable, at best. But I had been trained to be able to listen and understand every single word spoken in church. My mom also got me the pamphlet with the day’s Gospel and helped me translate the parts I didn’t know.

So, what I’m trying to say is that I was impressed. Never in my life had I been so thoroughly convinced that God existed. Italy, unlike home, is a place of deep-rooted traditions. And that has its pros and cons. But entering a church with a full-on formal tailored kid suit and listening to everything from the first row, waiting to receive the biggest sacrament of your life, was different. It was a unique experience.

It was meditative. It was transcendental.

But it was still figurative. The incredible atmosphere couldn’t change the fact that I understood one out of every three words, nor could it hide the sounds of coughing, the bored sighs, and the sneaky glances at the wristwatches.

As I look at this sanctuary of Lauridiana – something that, from what I understand, is very rare – I feel the same emotions I felt back then. But this time, it’s more than real. There’s a palpable aura, a pressure of divinity surrounding the statue. In Amorium, people have cool skills, but most of the time, everything looks normal. Like, at first glance, you wouldn’t know that it’s a land of fantasy and magic.

But as soon as you entered the hall with Lauridiana’s sanctuary, allegedly one of the Canti, you would feel it. You would instantly know you were not on Earth. You could even start believing in Gods, with tangible – or at least convincing – proof.

“Very impressive,” I say under my breath to Aurelius and his younger brother, Plinius.

They nod, both skittish in the presence of the statue.

“Do we know who made this?”

“No record documents its creation or any other work done to it. Usually, halls this enchanted and this big require maintenance. As far as I’m aware – and I have consulted [Archmage] Marcus about it – that’s never been the case for this place. It’s as if it existed outside of time itself.”

Well, doesn’t this sound like the creepy place that would give me more missions to save the world? You know what.

“See ya, Lauridiana,” I wave my hand and walk out of the haunted sanctuary.

Both kids immediately scutter.

I ask them to show me around for a little more before telling them that I’m done and will go rest. But in truth, I use one of the trinkets that Stan left me.

[Invisibility]

[Muffled Step]

I turn the corner and find them walking back to the library.

“The Human was weird,” Plinius says.

“I think he was just stupid,” Aurelius answers.

Ouch.

That hurts more than hearing something speciesist.

“Is he going to stay here?”

“I don’t know, Plin. It’s not like he secretly told me. You were there with me, no?”

“Fuck you.”

I almost snort aloud after hearing the diminutive kid swear.

“Fuck you!”

“No, fuck you!”

So far, to be honest, it doesn’t seem like they are particularly speciesist. After a more prolonged bout of insults, they calm down. We are almost at the library. This place is ginormous. And it definitely has too many stairs.

“Mother will get angry if she finds out we are friends with a Human, Auri.”

“Fuck mother, Plin. And fuck father, too.”

Unless they are two spies trained in counterespionage, that should settle it. I’m almost pressing on a communication stone that Stan gave me, but then something interesting comes out.

“So, can we hang out with him? He seems funny.”

“He can’t do much about Appius, Plin.”

“We should tell Laura,” Plinius sulks.

“Yeah, go tell her that her boyfriend’s brother is a big bully. Good luck.”

Oh?

Plinius looks down, balling his fists.

“Listen, at least we are with [Archmage] Marcus, now,” Aurelius sighs. “I don’t know why we got transferred from the main body, but he can’t really bother us much while we are here.”

“But when I go to the lessons…” Plinius starts whining.

“He’s Appius’s brother, Plin. Being a Prince doesn’t change the fact that his brother will be someone we can’t offend, not even as royalty. Plus, if Appius marries Laura, he’ll also be her King.”

Well, well, well.