The party followed a derelict road off the main path. Along the way were stone markers with runes carved into them. They stood at irregular intervals, some barely visible through years of erosion, while others still bore the faded symbol of the Light.

  "This was once the main pilgrimage route to the Cathedral of First Light. Back when that meant something,” Brother Tacitus pointed out as his staff clicked against the stone. “Thousands travelled along this path, seeking blessing and absolution."

  Clive studied the markers. Wind and rain had worn the sharp edges into gentle curves. Lichen grew in the deeper grooves, creating patches of green and yellow that almost looked decorative.

  “Must have been quite some time ago, judging from their conditions.”

  Tacitus nodded. “From the third century. It’s been hundreds of years since the last real pilgrim walked this road. Back then, each of these markers was a protective rune to defend the pilgrimagers.” He pointed at a triangular stone leaning to one side. “Ward against pestilence.” Another marker, this one split down the middle by tree roots. “Protection from the dead.”

  "And why did the pilgrimages stop?" Clive asked.

  “It's hard to visit a cathedral that has been reduced to rubble.” Tacitus let out a soft chuckle as if stating the obvious. “Tends to dampen the religious experience.”

  Clive scratched his head, feeling a little confused. He had assumed the road was for travellers to visit the cathedral in Marblehaven. But the cathedral there was not rubble. They had just came from there. Unless…

  Tacitus caught Clive’s expression and nodded. “Different cathedral entirely. It was from a time before the founding of Marblehaven. The one there was built after the war, a replacement. The original Cathedral of First Light? Ruins. Nothing more.”

  “But still, a cathedral stands. Why should that stop the pilgrimages?”

  "Who's left to make them? Ever since Vendiel carved up the Northern territories, the faithful are scattered across a dozen different kingdoms. Half have converted to whatever faith their new rulers prefer. Hard to maintain centuries of tradition when your pilgrims have been dispersed to the winds."

  The Saintess's voice interrupted their conversation. "Such serious talk for a pleasant walk."

  "Just sharing some history with our friend here," Tacitus replied. "The old roads have stories to tell."

  The Saintess glanced at the broken markers scattered along the roadside. "Stories of ruin, from what I can see. Perhaps we might focus on brighter subjects?"

  "The past informs the present, Your Holiness. Sometimes, it's important that we remember our traditions."

  A moment of silence stretched between them. The Saintess's serene expression never wavered, but Clive caught the slight tightening around her eyes.

  "Of course," she said finally. "Though I find hope serves better than history when facing the road ahead."

  Captain Auron's voice called out from the front of the formation. "Saintess, we're approaching the wildland borders. We should make camp within the hour if we want defensible ground."

  The Saintess nodded, shifting her attention from their conversation to the road ahead. "How far to our destination?"

  "Half a day's march once we break camp tomorrow morning. Assuming the corrupted beasts don't slow us down."

  "They won't," she replied with certainty.

  "As you say, Your Holiness." Captain Auron turned to address his men. "Prepare the camp."

  The templars moved as a unit. Some gathered deadwood while others cleared stones from a flat area near a cluster of oak trees. Within minutes, they established a defensive circle with bedrolls arranged around a central fire pit. Brother Tacitus muttered blessings over the camp boundaries while the Saintess settled herself on a fallen log.

  Clive was sketching the camp layout when the howls began.

  They started as distant calls echoing through the trees, but grew closer with each repetition. The templars reached for their weapons, but none seemed particularly alarmed.

  "Shadowwolves," Captain Auron observed. "Pack of six, maybe seven."

  The creatures emerged from the treeline. Clive dropped his pencil and reached for his paintbrush, already visualizing the white strokes that could purify them. But before he could open his palette, the Saintess rose from her log.

  She didn't speak, nor did she look concerned. With a casual grace, she extended her hand toward the approaching pack, and a sphere of pure white light materialized above her palm.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  [Holy Light]

  The light pulsed once, then expanded in a silent wave that washed over the shadowwolves. Where it touched them, they ceased to exist. One moment they were there, the next they were wisps of dissipating darkness.

  "As I said," Captain Auron remarked, settling back down beside the fire. "No need to worry."

  Clive stared at the empty space where seven corrupted predators had stood moments before. While the wolves weren’t particularly strong, to eliminate all of them with the wave of a hand was impressive nonetheless.

  He stood there for a moment, admiring the beauty of the Saintess strength. The residual holy energy still clung to the air around the Saintess, casting her in a soft luminescence against the surrounding darkness and accentuating the fine details of her face.

  The Saintess caught him staring and offered a gentle smile. "Lost in thought? Come, it's time for dinner."

  The meal consisted of the same dried rations he'd grown familiar with during his journey to find the midnight blossoms—hard biscuits, salted meat, and dried fruit that required considerable chewing to become palatable.

  The templars ate without complaint, their conversation focused on watch schedules and the next day's route. Clive, though, was hesitant. He'd been satisfied with such fare then, grateful for any sustenance. But having experienced the richness of proper cooking at the Thornwald estate, the bland flavours of travel rations left him craving for something more.

  Clive opened his sketchbook and began drawing. The templars glanced over occasionally, wondering what he was doing. When the drawing solidified into reality, the templars stared at the elegant presentation of a carefully arranged sushi set.

  "What... exactly is this?" Captain Auron asked, poking at a piece of nigiri.

  "Food," Clive replied. "From the eastern continents. Try it."

  The templars exchanged glances of skepticism. Raw fish wasn't exactly a staple of their cuisine, and the unfamiliar presentation clearly triggered their caution.

  Brother Tacitus wrinkled his nose. "It's … not cooked."

  "It doesn't need to be. The fish is prepared specially—perfectly safe." Clive picked up a piece and ate it, demonstrating. The sushi piece melted in his mouth. It was heavenly.

  "I've heard of this," one of the younger templars said, his voice carrying a note of recognition. "The Thornwald merchants import it sometimes. Costs more than most people make in a week, though." His eyes lingered on the sushi with obvious hunger, but he made no move without permission from his superiors.

  The Saintess was the first to try it, picking up one piece. She took a small bite. Her eyes widened, and she let out an unexpected moan before covering her mouth in embarrassment.

  "It's... quite good," she said, reaching for another piece.

  Her approval seemed to break the invisible barrier holding the templars back. Captain Auron tried the tuna, his face cycling through surprise, consideration, and finally approval. Within minutes, the entire sushi set had disappeared, distributed among the group.

  "That was extraordinary. I owe you an apology," Brother Tacitus admitted, looking somewhat embarrassed by his initial reluctance. "The flavors are so... clean. Distinct."

  "Could you make more?" one of the younger templars asked hopefully.

  Clive was already reaching for his pencil. As he sketched a second round of sushi, the younger templar—who'd introduced himself as Brother Josephus—settled beside him with obvious curiosity.

  "How do you decide what to draw?" Josephus asked. "I mean, could you create anything?"

  "Within limits," Clive replied, adding detail to a piece of yellowtail. "Has to be something I understand well enough to visualize completely. And nothing too complex—I couldn't draw a working clock, for instance."

  "But food works?"

  "Food works. Weapons work. Simple tools." Clive glanced up from his sketch. "What made you join the templars?"

  Josephus's expression shifted, becoming more serious. "Family tradition, mostly. My father served, his father before him. But also..." He gestured toward the Saintess, who sat apart from the group, her attention seemingly focused on the stars. "Someone has to stand between people and the darkness. The stone curse, corrupted beasts, things like those shadowwolves. Regular soldiers aren't trained for it."

  Captain Auron joined their conversation, accepting a fresh piece of sushi with considerably less suspicion than before. " Josephus here survived his first shadowwolf encounter at sixteen. Barely. Been hunting them ever since."

  "Sixteen? That's young to face something like that," Clive said.

  "Was guarding a supply convoy when they hit us," Josephus said. "Lost three good men that night. The Saintess's power, what you saw earlier? That's what we need more of. "

  The Saintess watched their exchange from her position by the fire, her expression unreadable but attentive. She seemed content to let them talk, but Clive noticed how her gaze lingered on each speaker, as if cataloguing their words for later consideration.

  The conversation quieted after that, but the camaraderie remained. Clive found himself sketching smaller portions for the group to share, while the templars traded stories of their various encounters with corrupted creatures. Even Brother Tacitus contributed a few tales from his younger days, when he'd served as a combat chaplain.

  Clive smiled to himself. For the first time since joining this expedition, he felt like part of the group.

  The next day brought gray skies and heavy wind. The road deteriorated as they traveled north. By midday, the landscape had transformed completely into a barren scrubland dotted with dying trees.

  "Ashfall Cliffs ahead," Captain Auron announced, pointing toward a line of dark stone that rose from the horizon like broken teeth.

  The Saintess called for a halt at the base of the cliffs, where a narrow path wound its way up the rock face toward the ruins. "We go no further as a full group," she announced. "Too many bodies will draw unwanted attention."

  Captain Auron stepped forward. "I'll take a small team. Jecht, you're with me. Josephus, bring your crossbow."

  "Two more should be sufficient," the Saintess said. "Brothers Mello and Nera, you'll accompany us. And of course, Clive, you and I will take the point. The rest of you, keep a watch out down here. "

  The remaining templars established a perimeter at the base of the cliffs, ready to provide support at a moment’s notice. Brother Tacitus looked disappointed to be excluded, but his age made him a liability for what promised to be dangerous terrain.

  The path up the cliff face proved treacherous, carved into the stone but poorly maintained after centuries of neglect. Loose rocks skittered away under their boots, and more than once Clive found himself pressed against the cliff wall as wind gusted around the exposed face. The drop below grew steadily more intimidating as they climbed.

  "The cave entrance is up ahead," Jecht said, “We should move quietly now.”

  They found it eventually, a jagged opening in the cliff face, partially concealed by a tumbled pile of stones.

  They entered.