In the weeks since she’d visited Alex’s bakery, Carey London dreamed.

Every night, she would offer up her prayers as she’d always done. Yet, her recent dreams were different from her past ones.

For it was not to Uldar that she now prayed.

It was not even to St. Avelyn.

Now, she would call on the Saint of Alric. The story Alex had told was a wonderful one to hear—as glorious as any of the parables she’d heard growing up—and she recognised the similarities between the life path she aspired to, and the life that the Traveller had lived.

In many ways, she felt at peace, reminding her of her younger days when she felt alone or afraid and how Uldar’s tales would bring her comfort.

The first night she’d prayed to the Traveller after her conversation with Alex, she’d dreamt of shining lanterns and distant lands. And for nights after, the dream had repeated.

She couldn’t say that she worshipped the Traveller with the same intensity as she once did Uldar, but her prayers to the Patron Saint of Alric provided her with a peace and contentment she hadn’t felt in a long time.

And it was this peace and contentment that had her humming by the fire this evening.

Winter had fled the land and it was well into springtime, and the Thameish and Generasi war-party were camped beside a road on the way to another dungeon, after an earlier victory. Spirits were high, and bonds had formed between the groups.

Knights of Thameland laughed alongside Watchers of Roal.

Soldiers drank with wizards.

Priests sang with Generasian mercenaries.

Even the new group of reinforcements sent by the church—able-bodied scouts that could move through the woods with as much ease as any forest creature—had settled in with the war-party.

As fires crackled, the sweet scent of woodsmoke mixing with that of newly bloomed wildflowers, Carey could only think of one thing:

“A good night,” she said quietly.

“I think so too,” a familiar voice said from behind her.

She looked up, catching sight of Merzhin scurrying to the fire with a cup of steaming barley soup in each hand. “Good evening Carey,” he sighed as he took a seat beside her, offering her a cup. “Did you already eat?”

“I did,” she said apologetically.

“Ah, well, I suppose there’s soup enough for me to have two cups, by Uldar’s grace.” Merzhin gave her a tight smile, sipping from one. “The supply lines have flowed well, and the Rhineans have been generous. The harvest from the military farms has been blessed by Uldar as well, so I would have to say that we have not been forgotten.”

“May they continue to feed us,” Carey said, looking back at the fire.

She’d noticed Merzhin seemed to no longer get on her nerves quite as much, these days. She was glad for that: it made nights like these far more pleasant.

“Did something good happen?” he asked, taking another long sip of soup. “Your mood has improved. I was giving you some space for a time, as you seemed…agitated.”

“Ah, nerves, I suppose,” she said. “It’s ever so easy to question why all of this happens to us.”

“I see, I see.” Merzhin nodded, awkwardly. “These questions are natural: the fog rises across the land by its own will, but Uldar’s light will guide us.”

Carey thought of lantern lights and far distant lands. “Indeed, we can be guided.”

“Mhm!” Merzhin said enthusiastically. “And it’s a comfort. He is warmth when there is no fire. He is companionship when one is alone.”

She looked at him as he drank his soup, wondering just what went through his mind. Then again, she’d once been quite similar to him: she could probably guess the kinds of thoughts that passed through that mind on any given day.

But still, she found herself curious…something about that, ‘companionship when one is alone’, struck a chord in her.

“Have you been lonely, Merzhin?” she asked directly.

To her horror, her question quite nearly killed the Saint of Uldar.

Merzhin startled, aspirating soup, his eyes flew wide as he doubled over, coughing. The Saint turned as red as one of the nearby spring flowers as a panicked Carey pounded his back.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” she cried, turning to call the priests.

But he stopped her, holding up a hand while he cleared his throat and jumped to his feet, tears running down his face. By some miracle, he hadn’t spilled the soup. “I am fine! I am fine!” he said, raising his voice and giving Carey a weak smile. “You nearly did what thousands of Ravener-spawn couldn’t do in the last two years.”

“I’m ever so sorry,” she apologised, looking concerned, but sheepish. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I think so,” he coughed again. “Your question surprised me. And, at the risk of boring you, Carey, I have been lonely, as ashamed as I am to admit it. Though, Uldar has been a great comfort. With my faith in him, I have never felt alone. Not truly: all moments of loneliness have been just that, moments.”

She looked at him closely, as though trying to look through him. “I have felt that way in the past, and I do wonder if Uldar is enough at times. The church brought many of my friends to me, but circumstances made them drift away.”

“That sounds…difficult,” Merzhin said, a moment of discomfort crossing his face. “Circumstances can be punishing. That is why the gains of the material world are fleeting, while Uldar is eternal and undying. He will always be there. We can feel him in all things, especially when we come together in worship.”

“Come together,” Carey muttered, thinking on his words carefully. “Yes, come together…”

Most of her friends had come from her faith in Uldar. How many of her childhood companions had she met in the church school, or during times of worship? Nearly all of them, if she was honest.

Her parents’ friends were all people they’d met through the church as well.

The community held gatherings all the time, some organised by the local priestess and others held at the church, but planned by the community. Now that she gave it some thought, she couldn’t help but wonder how many people were drawn to the faith for the community surrounding it.

After all, it was once comforting to her, being around people that she knew were united by the same values and faith. How many other people were drawn to Uldar by that community alone? How many would stay with the faith without it?

As though reading her mind, Merzhin spoke again. “In life, it’s a fine thing to have the church and others around you, but with Uldar, one is truly never alone. That’s why I know my own feelings in the past were mere bumps in my path. Uldar is with me, and so I am never alone.”

“Is Uldar enough?” she asked. “You can say that in all honesty? Is just having him alone enough?”

Merzhin looked away from her at those words, staring into the fire instead. He took a deep breath and exhaled. “I must confess, I have sometimes wondered. There are times when I feel distant from those around me. Even those I am supposed to be close to.” He smiled sadly. “The Heroes should be united as one, in the face of Udar’s enemy. I know we are merely—at minimum—supposed to be slayers of Ravener-spawn. We are the ones appointed to destroy the enemies of Uldar’s people…but…”

“But what?” Carey asked.

“...but I recall legends of friendships forming among Heroes. I know…I know I am not the easiest to get along with.” He looked at her seriously. “Uldar is my life, and few people can equal my dedication. Many think my love for my god is an unhealthy obsession. The other Heroes—the Holy Sage in particular—is distant from me, and does not understand such matters. Lately, as the Heroes form bonds with the people of Generasi, I feel the distance between us growing. Sometimes, I think on the legends of how past Heroes became lifelong companions and friends. Some, I dare say, even grew to be lovers.”

He shook his head. “It is a mortal weakness to yearn for such things…but I am but a mortal man. I cannot be perfection, even if I try to live as a mirror for my god’s divine wisdom. Because that is good. That is right. And in the end, he cannot be among us, but our people deserve to have his glory and blessings sown through our lives. To cleave together under the light of his divinity, but yet, he cannot be here in person to do this. So it falls to the priests, the Heroes…and to me.”

Merzhin smiled. “Do you recall the tale of Lord Manaeus.”

Carey frowned. “A little. He was a Chosen, I believe.”

“He was indeed a Chosen from six cycles ago,” Merzhin smiled warmly. “Originally, he was a humble cobbler. He made shoes, you see, but he rose to become the Chosen of Uldar.”

“Right…I think I remember that part.”

“But did you know that he was one of the most pious of all the Heroes in the last thousand years? He took Uldar’s blessing to be a favour that he had to return ten-fold. And so he dedicated his life to the faith, long after the Ravener of his time was slain. He was named Lord of Fellendale, but he did not let earthly matters twist him in his divine purpose. Up until his seclusion and sickness, he lived his every moment in Uldar’s light, and he made the world a better place for it. I cannot be as Uldar was, but I can be like some of his greatest servants.”

Carey thought of what Alex had told her: how the Traveller had spent her entire life in the pursuit of a ‘holy task’ of her own. She wondered if Merzhin would have thought of her as a worthy role model.

“Mortal need tests my faith, Carey, as it tests all of us.” The Saint raised his head. “But I must be better than that, with utmost effort. After all, it is upon me—and the other Heroes—that the greatest task has fallen. If I do not burn away my weaknesses, then others suffer.”

“That sounds hard, Merzhin. And cold, too,” she said, feeling pity for the young man. “Surely you deserve warmth and a little mortal reward for your efforts. In the Parable of Occludus, Uldar restored sight, and gave wealth to the blind beggars of Asban. He said that they deserved reward in this life for the goodness of their hearts.”

A sickening thought crossed her mind: that this young man in front of her might burn away everything for the dream and purpose of a master who did not care for him at all. She could understand suffering and sacrifice for a good cause…but what did such things matter if they were for a god who hid the truth from his people? Perhaps even conspired against them?

So she asked one final question.

“What if…it could all end? What if this cycle was the last? What if, this time—when we defeat the Ravener—it was vanquished for all time. What then?”

Merzhin gave her a gentle smile. “From your mouth to Uldar’s ears, Carey, and I have faith that—one day—we shall have such a sweet victory. But such things are for Uldar to decide, not for us. One day, his glory shall return, and we will be rid of the Ravener forever. I trust in this. And such a dream can motivate me to burn away my mortal weakness.” He paused, “Ah, the soup’s cooled.”

The Saint quickly gulped both cups of barley soup, and let out a pleased sigh. “Well, I must lead the evening prayers. Will you be joining us, this time? Even if Uldar is enough for me, I understand if you’d like to spend time with others. Come, it’ll be fun.”

Carey smiled at him a bit sadly, once again seeing her old self in his enthusiastic eyes. The nostalgia didn’t hurt so much anymore. She didn’t need Uldar anymore.

Not in the way she once needed a deity.

“I’ll be fine, I have some more work to do before I tuck in for the night. And—for what it’s worth—you should be easier on yourself, Merzhin.”

He smiled again. “That is not for you or I to decide, Carey. My duty is clear.”

Once more, he stood, stepping away from the fire. As she watched him go, she wondered how he would react to what she knew about the dungeon cores…but she dismissed the thought.

She doubted he was ready to learn what she had…and what it could mean. She’d barely been ready, and Merzhin was more devout than she’d been.

“One day,” she whispered. “We’ll get the cycles to end. We’re closer than you think. And I don’t believe you about ‘mortal weakness’. If you don’t want to be alone, you shouldn’t be.”

Her whispers were quiet enough she could barely hear her own voice.

The words seemed to disappear in the crackle of flame.

Which was one reason why she did not consider that anyone could hear her; one reason why she didn’t notice the gazes that fell on her from across the camp. Gazes from men and women who had newly joined the war-party as skilled wilderness scouts.

Men and women who seemed to have heard her every word.