"Otter, we never like any of your ideas," Jasper said with a chuckle.

"And, somehow, we still end up going along with them," countered Sage, smiling.

They wandered through the streets, not really having any destination in mind. But it was a good feeling—a little bit of freedom.

"Be that as it may, even I don't like this one much. But I think it might be necessary. If we really want to do something about this mess."

"Well, let's hear it," said Erin.

Otter took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I think we should talk to Marcus."

Jasper, who was walking just in front, stopped suddenly. He turned slowly to face Otter. "You mean that guy who wants to accuse us of treason in front of his whole church?"

"Yeah. That guy."

"You're right. I hate that idea."

"Otter," said Erin with a bit more patience. "Please explain why."

Otter rubbed the back of his neck, glancing between them. "Because he clearly knows things other people don't. I don't think it's a coincidence that he showed up when he did at the warehouse. Or that he found us in the ruins under Ironside. If anyone is going to take this threat seriously, it'll be him."

Milo frowned, dragging a stick along the gutter as they walked. "He's also half-mad. Remember? He might try to kill us all as soon as we show our faces."

"True," Otter admitted. He shoved his hands into his pockets, eyes on the uneven stones of the street. "But he didn't when he had the chance. I mean, he's clearly still holding a grudge, but ultimately, he let us walk away."

"That's a generous interpretation," Jasper muttered. "More like he knew he didn't stand a chance with Ebenezer there."

"Also a fair point. But he is clearly clued in to something. If we want answers—or allies—we may not get a better option."

Sage cleared her throat. "Divine Conduits are often granted insight into things others do not have. But he is not the only Divine Conduit available. Might I suggest a detour to the Temple of Elarion?"

Otter slowed his steps, considering. "That's… not a bad idea."

Erin tilted her head. "You mean go to your temple and just… ask if anyone has had a vision?"

Sage shook her head. "Not exactly. I will speak with the church leadership. Ask for advice and perhaps help."

Jasper snorted. "So our options are: talk to the madman who wants us hauled off for treason, or hang out at a temple where no one wants us dead or arrested. Yeah, I think that's the better choice."

"There are, of course, no guarantees when it comes to the Divine, but I think it is a more logical starting place."

Otter blew out a breath. "Alright. Elarion's temple first, then. But if that doesn't pan out, we need to be ready to track Marcus down."

Otter peered upward, toward the many spires soaring high over the city. One of them would be their destination. With that in mind, they began the trip in earnest.

There was no such thing as a "temple district" in Aurelia. The leadership had learned long ago that it was better to keep the faithful of the various gods separated to prevent conflict. While they could coexist peacefully in the same city, confining them all to a single geographic location was just asking for trouble.

All of which meant that Otter had no idea where he was going. But Sage did. She led them confidently through the streets, her pace brisk but unhurried, the others trailing behind.

The path wound through some of Aurelia's busiest quarters, where the city's marvels crowded shoulder to shoulder. Streetlamps glowed with captured starlight even in broad day, their crystals shifting color with the hour. A delivery cart rumbled past, wheels humming with the enchantments that kept it from splintering under its load. Overhead, the glimmer of a messenger-drake flashed between rooftops, a rolled note tied to its leg. Children darted after it, laughing, their wooden toys sparking faint motes of light from the glyphs etched into the cobblestones.

The smell of spiced nuts drifted from a vendor's stall, mingling with the sharper tang of alchemical smoke that hissed from the open shutters of a nearby workshop. On one corner, a bard strummed a lute whose strings plucked themselves in counterpoint, creating a shimmering harmony that drew a small crowd. And beyond it all, dominating every skyline they passed, the forest of spires stabbed upward like a sea of spears, each marking the place where faith and magic collided.

Otter caught himself staring more than once. For all his time in the city, Aurelia's strangeness still had a way of sneaking up on him when he least expected it.

"Eyes front, Otter," Jasper muttered as a woman carrying a tray of glassware swerved around him. "You're gonna walk straight into somebody's shop window."

Sage didn't look back, but her voice carried clearly. "We're close. The temple stands at the edge of the Lantern Market, near the brazier square. You'll know it when you see it."

They turned a corner, and there it was.

The Temple of Elarion rose above the other buildings like a living flame carved into stone. Its walls were white granite veined with copper, catching the sunlight so that the whole façade seemed to ripple with firelight. Tall windows of red and gold glass blazed even brighter from within, where unseen flames lit them from behind. At the apex of the spire, a brass brazier burned openly, its smoke carried upward by a funneling draft so it never dimmed the brilliance below.

Even here, at midday, the square before the temple bustled with the faithful. Vendors hawked candles, charms, and little glass vials of "blessed flame." A knot of pilgrims waited by the broad steps, each clutching a slip of parchment scrawled with prayers. The air was hot, heavy with incense and the faint crackle of enchanted fire.

Sage slowed at the base of the stairs and turned to the others. "This is sacred ground," she said quietly. "Speak respectfully. Follow my lead."

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They nodded, falling in behind her as she mounted the steps. The great bronze doors opened at her touch, and heat washed over them—not unbearable, but steady, like standing too close to a hearth.

Inside, the temple's vast hall was awash in light. Hundreds of candles flickered in alcoves along the walls, their flames dancing in patterns that seemed just shy of deliberate. The central brazier roared, its flames shifting from gold to crimson to pale blue as though answering to an unseen rhythm. Murals swept across the high vaults, depicting Elarion in her many aspects: the Shifting Flame, the Spark of Ambition, the Fire of Renewal.

Sage crossed herself with the sign of the flame and bowed low before the brazier, then knelt, lips moving in prayer. The others hung back a few paces, watching the firelight shift across the stone floor.

They stood quietly while Sage finished her prayer. The temple was hushed despite the bustle outside. Not complete silence. There was still a low susurrus of worshipers moving into and out of the sanctuary, the rustle of robes, of whispered prayers.

The shifting colors of the brazier painted the walls in restless patterns, making the carved saints and angels seem alive in the glow.

When Sage rose, she did not immediately turn to them. Instead, she looked down one of the side aisles, where robed figures moved between alcoves, tending candles or offering blessings to petitioners.

"Come," she said softly. "I will take you to the elders' hall."

They followed her through a series of archways into a quieter wing of the temple. Here the air was cooler, the light dimmer, though still lit by steady flames in wrought-iron sconces. Their footsteps echoed faintly on polished stone.

A priest approached them before they reached the far door. His vestments were a deeper red, trimmed with black, and his face was lined but kind. He inclined his head to Sage, his eyes lingering on the badge pinned to her collar.

"Welcome, Sister. I regret I do not recognize you. What brings you here today?"

Sage bowed respectfully. "Brother, I need counsel. The matter is urgent."

His eyes flicked over the group at her back—Otter shifting uneasily, Milo craning his neck to take in the murals, Jasper and Erin standing stiff and soldierly. His gaze sharpened, but he asked no questions, merely gestured toward the carved wooden doors at the end of the corridor.

"Then come," he said. "The Council of Flame is gathered. If your need is as grave as you say, they will hear you."

Otter exchanged a quick glance with Erin. Council of Flame sounded… intense.

They entered a chamber where half a dozen clergy sat at a long table, the air thick with incense and the glow of a low-burning hearth. All conversation stopped as the younger priest ushered them inside.

"Honored Fathers and Mothers, forgive the intrusion. Early this morning, I heard the Holy One whisper in my ear that one would come seeking guidance." He gestured toward Sage. "My duty is fulfilled."

The eldest of the clergy, a woman with hair white as ash and eyes sharp as coals, inclined her head. "Thank you, Brother Alric. Elarion's timing is never chance. You may go."

Alric bowed again and withdrew, leaving Sage standing at the threshold with her companions behind her.

The white-haired priestess fixed her gaze on Sage. "Step forward, child. If Elarion has sent you, then speak. What trouble weighs upon you?"

Sage stepped forward, bowing her head respectfully. "Honored Fathers and Mothers, I thank you for your time. Such an audience is an unexpected boon. My companions and I have discovered a potential threat to the city. Just this morning, we fought Kaosborn within our borders."

A ripple of surprise spread through the elders, but they held their tongues as Sage continued.

"We dealt with the immediate threat, but we we suspect someone might be attempting to orchestrate further invasions. We have made our report to the Adventurer's Guild who promised to bring the little evidence we gathered to the proper authorities, but we fear our concerns will fall on deaf ears."

"This is grave news," said one of the priests, a man with a shock of hair that stood at odd angles from his scalp. "Surely it will be taken seriously by the Watch."

"Our evidence is paltry, and our suspicions barely more than a hunch. With their attentions already turned outward, they may not have the resources to investigate."

The man pursed his lips and sat back in his chair.

A severe looking priestess in her late forties leaned forward. "And what is it you seek from us? A blessing? Soldiers?"

"Neither," Sage said. "I seek counsel. Where to turn. Who to trust. This corruption is deliberate, and we believe it is tied to a wider design. But those who might know more…" She hesitated. "…are not inclined to treat us kindly."

"Speak plainly," said the white-haired elder. "Who is it you mean?"

Sage drew a breath. "A Conduit of Caelum. He helped fight the Kaosborn, but he is no friend of ours."

"If he has leant you aid already, why do you think he would not again?"

Sage paused, then looked pointedly at Otter. He could see a question there, and knew what she was thinking. Fear gripped him, but he shook it off. What was done was done. And it was Elarion herself who had shown them the way. If they couldn't trust the Council of the Flame, then they couldn't trust anyone. Otter nodded once.

Sage turned back to the council members. "We were at odds several months ago. By now, you surely know of the change in the System—the new Classes being given."

The elders nodded, but said nothing.

"I was tasked by Elarion to help Otter accomplish that."

Eyebrows rose, but silence still reigned.

"This Conduit, a man named Marcus, was sent to stop us. It…did not go well for him."

Murmurs stirred at the table, like the crackle of dry wood catching flame. The elders exchanged glances, some startled, some skeptical, others unreadable.

The severe-looking priestess steepled her fingers beneath her chin. "So. You admit to setting yourself against a servant of Caelum."

"I do," Sage said steadily. "But only because he set himself against us first. He declared our work heresy, yet I know it was the will of Elarion."

The wild-haired elder's sharp gaze shifted from Sage to Otter, his lined face unreadable. "And you, boy? You bear this change?"

Otter swallowed. "I do."

The elder's eyes narrowed, as if weighing his soul. Finally, he leaned back in his chair. "Then perhaps Elarion truly did send you. Still, if this Marcus believes you to be heretics, you will find no warm welcome in Caelum's hall. Such men are rarely forgiving."

The severe priestess inclined her head. "Yet if he holds knowledge of this corruption, and if he has already crossed your path twice, then ignoring him would be folly. Still…" She tapped the table with one finger. "…you cannot go unshielded.

Another priest, broad-shouldered and soft-spoken, leaned forward. "A Conduit speaks with the authority of their god. If he believes you accursed, he could act against you in Caelum's name, and none would gainsay him. But with envoys beside you—representatives of Elarion—the balance shifts. He cannot touch you without offending the Flame itself."

The white-haired priestess nodded slowly. "Two of our number will accompany you as witnesses and mediators. Their presence will not guarantee his goodwill, but it will ensure your safety. And it will show him that the matter is not yours alone, but bears the weight of another god's concern."

Sage bowed deeply, her voice warm with gratitude. "Your wisdom honors us. Thank you."

The severe priestess studied her with narrowed eyes. "Do not mistake this as license to quarrel. Words can wound as deeply as steel, and Conduits are proud. If you seek answers, approach him with humility. The flame that guides can also consume."

"I understand," Sage said.

Otter glanced around the council table, then gave a small nod of his own. "If this is what it takes to get closer to the truth, we'll do it."

"Very well," the wild-haired elder said at last. "Branthor will see that you are provisioned and that the envoys are chosen. May the Shifting Flame grant you clarity."

The youngest council member—Branthor, Otter presumed—rose and gestured for them to follow. He led them out of the room and down the corridor to a spiral staircase. They ascended to another floor, where Branthor took a smaller hallway lined with half a dozen wooden doors.

"The hour is getting late, and you are no doubt tired from your exploits. Our accomodations here are modest, as befits piety, but you should find them comfortable. Rest here tonight. It will take some time to make the proper arrangements. In the morning, we shall have your envoys prepared."

"Thank you, Father," said Sage. "Your hospitality is most welcome."

"I'll send a brother around with clean robes and an evening meal."

"Thank you," said Otter.

Branthor smiled, then left them to their own devices.

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