The journey back is grueling, every step a battle against the ache in my legs and the searing pain from my wounds. Still, I manage it, using the club as a walking stick.

  I even manage to retrieve the bag of herbs I had tossed aside during the chase. When the gates of Ravencroft finally come into view, my chest tightens with relief.

  The guards spot me immediately, their eyes narrowing as they take in my bloodied state. "You alright there, newcomer? Those wounds..." one of them asks, his tone a mix of concern and suspicion.

  "I'm fine," I croak, my voice rough and strained. But the way their gazes linger on me makes it clear they don’t believe a word of it.

  "Brigands." I sigh "They accosted me on the road. I slew two of them, but..." I gesture to my wounds.

  "I see." The guard nods, his expression turning grave. "Then you've done us a service. What I wouldn’t give to get my hands on one of those whoresons..." He exchanges a glance with his companion, regret etched on both their faces. They seem to take their duties seriously.

  "What was your name again, newcomer?" the guard asks. My voice is hoarse as I wheeze out a reply. "Seven."

  The guard nods. "I'm Dale. This here is Philip."

  "Nice to meet you again, guardsmen," I manage, inclining my head slightly.

  "You should see Mayor Edwin," Dale continues. "He’s offering a silver for every brigand's head. If your story holds true and the bodies are still out there, you can claim the reward."

  A silver for every brigand killed? Luck must be on my side in this town, though the sharp sting of my wounds suggests otherwise.

  “Could you confirm the bodies for me? I’m not exactly in the best shape to drag them back. They’re not far, just down the road past the trees to the east.” I ask, wincing at each slight movement.

  Philip gives me a concerned look. “We’ll send someone in the morning. First, though, you need to see Father Alric at the Lantern Chapel, east side of town. He’ll tend to your wounds."

  I nod with genuine gratitude. "Thank you."

  They both nod in return, their expressions softening. "Be safe, Seven," Dale adds as they step aside to let me pass. Clutching the bag of herbs tightly, I stagger through the gates, the faint warmth of the town’s walls a welcome reprieve from the biting cold of the night.

  I make my way through the streets of Ravencroft, it's dark, the moon and stars providing the only light. The town is quiet at this hour, the bitter cold keeping most people indoors, resting after a hard day. A few figures shuffle by, but they barely glance in my direction, likely all heading home themselves.

  The Lantern Chapel comes into view at the end of the street, its modest stone structure illuminated by a soft, warm light. The intricate ironwork of its lanterns glows gently, swaying slightly in the icy breeze, having it stand out in the darkness.

  "Lantern Chapel," I murmur, "I can see how it got the name."

  My breath clouds in the air as I approach, each step feeling heavier as exhaustion and blood loss threatens to overtake me. Finally, I reach the chapel's door, the faint sound of murmured chatter and the crackle of a fire drifting from within.

  My hands press against the heavy oak doors, the wood cold against my palms as I push them open. A rush of warmth envelops me, almost overwhelming after the cold outside.

  A great fire burns at the far end of the chapel, bright, almost too bright, after so long in the dark. My eyes adjust slowly to the light, and I make out two figures near the altar: a thin man draped in a simple green robe, and a young woman with long dark hair, and a familiar streak of gold. They pause their conversation, both turning to look at me.

  "Good evening, traveler. I know thee not."

  The priest's voice is calm but cold, his gaunt features tight with suspicion. Even with my wounds, there’s no flicker of sympathy in his discerning gaze. His pale, sunken eyes study me as though weighing my worth, searching for hidden sins written on my face.

  The young woman beside him crosses her arms, her expression mirroring his displeasure. Her dark hair cascades over her shoulders, framing a sharp, irritated glare. It takes me a moment to place her, but recognition dawns, she was at the bathhouse this morning, and her demeanor is no friendlier than it was then.

  "I'm Seven," I say with a grimace, leaning heavily on my looted club. "And you are?"

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  The priest hesitates, his gaze fixed on me with an unnerving intensity. "I am Father Alric," he says at last, his voice strict and formal. "Priest of blessed Lumina, Chaplain of the Order of Saint Lude. A pleasure to make thine acquaintance."

  He bows, stiff, but courteous.

  I shift my focus to the woman at his side. She still hasn’t softened, her arms crossed tightly against her chest.

  "Luna," she says curtly. She offers nothing else, looking away.

  Despite her demeanor, my eyes linger. Her golden eyes catch the firelight, glimmering like molten amber. Her delicate lips are pressed into a thin line, and her frame, while slender, offers just the right amount of womanly curve.

  "Beware thy wandering eyes, here, in the light of blessed Lumina," Father Alric intones, his voice low. "Sin may be inevitable, but there are limits to even the goddess’s charity." He speaks harshly, though I notice a small twitch in his expression. Almost a smile.

  "Now, what is thy purpose here?" Father Alric’s says. I grimace, gesturing toward the crimson stains seeping through my clothing. "The guards said you could tend my wounds."

  As I lift my cloak, the full extent of my injuries is revealed. Blood has soaked through the fabric of each cut. Alric’s gaze shifts to the wounds, his expression unchanging. Luna crosses her arms tighter, her golden eyes narrowing as she glances briefly at my injuries.

  "And how camest thou by such grievous wounds?" Father Alric enquires. He steps closer, his bony fingers gripping my sleeve and pulling it back with little care. I wince as the gash on my arm is revealed, the raw, torn flesh glistening with blood.

  "I was attacked by brigands," I say, my voice slightly strained. "And they left you alive with just those wounds?" Luna speaks for the first time since introducing herself, her golden eyes turning to me. "I killed two," I reply, before cursing loudly as Alric lifts my tunic, exposing the gash across my belly. "The third fled."

  Luna’s gaze lingers on me for a moment, before turning away, ignoring me once more.

  "Hmm. Thy wounds run not too deep. They shall mend in time, so long as we stave off the creeping rot of infection," Alric declares, his tone measured yet firm. He gestures for me to sit, his bony hand briefly steadying me before he strides off with surprising vigor for a man of his years.

  Left alone with Luna, I find my eyes drifting back to her. Her irritated gaze meets mine and she speaks. "Didn’t you hear the priest? Keep your eyes to yourself you mangy animal." Her tone is sharp as a dagger, her words just as harsh.

  She doesn’t like me…. I like that.

  "Never been good at controlling my gaze. When you're in my profession, you want to look at everything."

  She arches an eyebrow, her interest piqued despite her annoyance. "Your profession?"

  I pause, admitting my line of work, looting, rarely wins favor with anyone. Most folk view it with disdain, suspicion at best. But then again, Luna seems far more suspicious to me, even Zaenith doesn't know anything about her. Maybe if I speak a little candidly about what I do, it will reveal something about her...

  "I'm a looter," I say plainly. "Good eyes are a requirement." She doesn’t reply immediately, her golden eyes holding mine for a moment too long.

  "I see, another vulture." she says at last, her tone neutral despite the insult. "Do you search ruins and the like?" The interest in her voice surprises me.

  "Sometimes..." I admit, scratching the back of my neck. "My last delve was in a crypt."

  She nods slowly, as if weighing my words. "Mmm, a crypt..." she murmurs, more to herself than to me. Then, with a sharp turn, her focus locks onto me again. "Listen closely. I’m looking for a book, leather-bound, thick, large. If you stumble upon one in any ruin or crypt near this town, you bring it to me first. Do that, and I’ll pay you thirty gold pieces. More than scum like you will see in a lifetime."

  My jaw nearly hits the floor, I don't even register the insult. Thirty gold pieces? With that kind of money, I could buy a shop, with enough left over to stock it full of wares. I wouldn’t have to loot another crypt or scavenge another ruin ever again.

  "Do you have any idea where it might be? If you know, I’ll go fetch it right now. I’m good at spotting traps and the like, as well as spotting hard to find things." My eagerness spills out unchecked, I don't even try to hide it.

  "Of course not, idiot. If I did, I’d already have it." she replies angrily. "But if you find it before I do, come to me. I’ll purchase it from you." Her golden eyes bare into mine, her seriousness unmistakable.

  "You're a little rude, aren't you?" I say to the glaring woman.

  Not that I mind.

  "And? What if I am? It is my right." She crosses her arms, glaring. But before she can continue...

  "Take off thy tunic," Father Alric says, returning with a basin of water and fresh bandages. I comply, wincing as I peel the bloodied fabric away from my skin. He sets the basin beside me, dipping a sponge into the water before methodically cleaning the wounds. The cool water stings at first, but his movements are practiced. He applies a pungent oil to each gash, the scent medicinal, before wrapping the injuries tightly in clean linen.

  "If the pain troubleth thee overmuch, seek Zaenith of the apothecary. She shall provide thee a poultice at a fair price," Alric says as he finishes, his hands deftly securing the last of the bandages.

  "Right," I mutter, unsure what I’ll tell Zaenith myself, about all that's happenned.

  "May Lumina’s light shine upon thee," Alric intones solemnly, placing a hand lightly on my shoulder. His lips move in a murmur of prayer, the words incomprehensible yet strangely soothing. As he finishes, I feel the edge of my pain dull, leaving only a faint ache.

  "What in the...? How did you do that?" I exclaim, my voice rough with disbelief. "I did nothing. Faith hath granted thee thy boon," Father Alric replies, his tone calm but unwavering. I’m unsure how to respond, but Luna cuts in before I have the chance.

  "Alright, he’s taken care of. Back to my business, Father," Father Alric glances at her briefly, his expression unreadable, before his attention returns to me.

  "Walk in the light, Seven," he intones, his voice smooth but edged with something I can’t quite place. "And remember, should thou require confession, I would gladly ease thy burden of sin." He places a bony hand on my shoulder, his gaunt face twisting into what might be a smile.

  "I... right. Well, farewell, then," I manage, stepping back.

  "Iter Lux," the priest intones, inclining his head solemnly. I nod in return, leaving Luna and Alric to their business. Neither of them spares me a second glance as I step out into the cold. The chill of the night returns, feeling even harsher in contrast to the chapel’s warmth, but I feel steadier than before. My wounds ache faintly, dulled by Alric’s ministrations. Though the encounter wasn't exactly comforting, I leave the chapel in surprisingly good condition.