Chapter 25: The church and the five main Gods

After asking around with her barbecue now long gone, Lylia eventually found herself standing before a grand cathedral. Or church. Or temple. Honestly, she wasn’t sure what to call it. It was big, and shiny.

Still, she’d decided to come here. Slade mentioned something about visiting the church before, and… well, she figured she might as well learn more about the gods of this world. Also, she did want to thank the one who sent her here. It just felt polite.

She took a peek inside from the open doorway. The interior was quiet, filled with that faint echo of footsteps that big stone halls always had. Sunlight poured through tall glass windows, scattering colored light over the pews.

But what caught her attention immediately were the statues.

Five of them stood tall near the altar, each carved from a different, shimmering material. In the very center was one made of radiant gold, or something very close to it.

Her eyes widened.

That statue looked exactly like 'him'.

The god she met.

The posture, the throne, even the calm, distant expression. It was all the same.

She stared in stunned silence until,

“May the light guide your curious soul.”

Lylia nearly jumped out of her skin. She turned to find a woman standing beside her, who's hands clasped neatly in prayer, eyes serenely closed, dressed in pure white robes trimmed with gold. Even her jewelry gleamed faintly, as if reflecting unseen sunlight.

“Oh! Uh, greetings,” Lylia greeted awkwardly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to just… stare.”

“There is no sin in seeking,” the nun said softly, her voice melodic, every word measured like a practiced hymn. “The eyes that search are the first to see truth.”

Lylia blinked. “Mhmm... Well, may I… come in?” Lylia asked.

“Of course,” the nun said, stepping aside gracefully. “The doors of the divine are never closed to those who walk with an open heart.”

“Thank you,” Lylia said silently while bowing as she stepped inside.

The place was empty except for them. Rows of polished pews stretched before the altar, and the faint scent of incense lingered in the air.

After a few moments of quiet admiration, Lylia pointed toward the golden statue in the center. “Um… that one. The one in the middle. I'm curious as to who is he.”

The nun smiled gently. “He is the Creator. The one who shaped the first dawn, breathed the first wind, and gave voice to the silence. He is the beginning and the everything, the highest of all.”

“Whoa…” Lylia whispered, staring up again. “So he really is the God.”

“He has no name, for no name may contain him,” the nun continued reverently. “He is simply God, the One.”

Lylia nodded slowly. “I see...”

Her respect deepened. It was oddly comforting to know that the god who’d dropped her into this world was kind of a big deal here too.

“His statue’s made of gold, huh?” she said.

The nun shook her head lightly. “Nay, child. It is not mere gold that reflects his form, but orichalchum, a sacred metal that does not fade nor rust. As eternal as the one it honors.”

Lylia muttered under her breath. “Orichalchum… that sounds like... a rare and expensive ore.”

Her eyes wandered to the other statues flanking the central one. Two stood to the left were orange then red, while the two to the right were silver-lavender then blue.

“And them?” she asked curiously.

“They are his first creations,” said the nun, her voice flowing like a soft sermon. “The pillars of the world, born of his light and shadow. Each governs a path, each a virtue.”

Lylia nodded along. “Okay… so, who’s the orange one?”

The orange statue depicted a figure in a hood, hugging a large, spiked sphere that looked like a sun on fire. The figure’s face was hidden, buried against the sphere as if clinging to it affectionately.

“That,” said the nun, “is Solmeris, god of the sun and day. His statue, carved from sunstones. Proud is his heart, and bright his flame. He blesses those who rise with courage, and scorches those who walk in arrogance.”

'He sounds... powerful, I guess.' she thought. 'And sunstone huh, I know that. That it is orange.'

Her gaze moved next to the right statue, carved to be silver-lavender, shaped like a woman with long hair, lying gracefully on a crescent moon as if asleep.

“And that’s."

“Somni,” the nun answered softly. “Goddess of the moon and night, keeper of dreams. Though she slumbers, she sees all within the dark. Her statue is carved from moonstone, which catches the gentlest light even in shadow.”

“Woah… moonstone for the moon goddess. That’s pretty on brand.”

The nun chuckled quietly. “The divine weave seldom lacks harmony.”

Lylia then turned to the red statue. It depicted a tall, broad-shouldered man standing proudly, flexing biceps. Like the rest of the statues, his hood cast a shadow over his face.

“And that one’s gotta be the strong guy,” she said.

“Tharus,” the nun intoned. “God of the path of strength, the guide of warriors, and the judge of kings. Only by his acknowledgement can one be the king of a nation. He cherishes those who bear power with compassion and lead with purpose. His statue is of cinnabar, for strength that burns and does not yield.”

Lylia nodded thoughtfully. “So if I took the path of a warrior, I’d probably be under his guidance, huh?”

“Indeed,” the nun said, her eyes still closed but her tone approving. “For he favors those who raise arms not for pride, but for people.”

“I see,” Lylia said.

Finally, her attention drifted to the last one—the blue statue. A hooded man stood tall, both hands raised, holding a floating orb between them that shimmered faintly even in stillness.

“And this one… that has to be the god of magic, right?”

The nun’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “Azurel. Composer of the first spells, the one who taught the world to weave thought into power. The endless scholar who seeks perfection in every spark.”

Lylia’s eyes softened. “Wow… that’s amazing.”

She stared a little longer. A god of magic, huh? If she could ever become his disciple, that would be… something.

After a moment, she turned back to the nun. “Can I, um… pray to them? Just to say thanks and all that?”

The nun’s expression brightened. “You may, child. Gratitude is the root of faith, and faith is the seed of miracles. The heavens always welcome a heart that remembers to give thanks.”

Lylia smiled faintly as she thought, 'Well, I guess if a god gives you a second chance, you should be sincere about it.'

“Come,” the nun said, leading her gently toward the front pews. “Sit, breathe, and speak what your heart wishes to be heard.”

Lylia sat down quietly, clasped her hands just like the nun, and closed her eyes.

For once, she didn’t joke or overthink it. She just… felt thankful.