"Haaah!"
The breath tore out of her the moment the doors closed.
They stepped into the main hall. The air smelled heavy and sweet. The scent clung to the throat, left a bitterness on the tongue.
High arches climbed skyward; the vaults were painted with winged angels. They gave off a golden glow. The walls were smooth and cold, chased with gilded carving. Between the columns, statues of saints gazed down.
Sofya walked evenly, her steps barely touching the floor. Her hood cast a soft shadow over her face. Roxy looked up from below, squinting. She wrinkled her nose at the smoke. There was too much gold. It shoved itself into your eyes, as if every little thing had to shout about holiness.
"That Harry… your boss?"
Roxy's voice broke into a small laugh. Her glance slid over the statues.
Sofya didn't slow.
"You could say that…" Her answer was even.
They passed a side chapel. Glass gleamed; behind it lay a relic. Candles burned in a straight row. The little flames shivered in the draft.
Roxy snorted.
"He's got a lot of baubles." She cut a look at the stained glass. "Does he set bones in gilded frames, too?"
Sofya's lips twitched; a faint smile.
"They're not his. All this was here long before him."
Roxy tossed her head.
"And you… you're here by choice?"
The answer didn't come at once. Sofya looked up at a statue of a saint and folded her hands before her.
"I took a vow," she said at last. "So I stayed…"
"I don't get you churchfolk… You like banging your foreheads for the man in the sky that much?"
Sofya narrowed her eyes, but didn't break stride.
"You don't believe? What god do the Migurds serve?"
Roxy snorted. She glanced toward a window where the glass burned blue.
"The Migurds have no gods…" she gave a sour little huff. "We worship earth spirits and admire trees with especially pretty branches."
Sofya's head tilted the slightest bit, as if she couldn't decide whether to laugh or pretend she hadn't heard.
"Sounds… poetic," she said evenly, a flicker of amusement in her voice.
"Poetic?" Roxy bared her teeth. "Our shaman would bash your skull in for that. 'Mother Nature, your branches are so straight they'll make you come.'"
Sofya covered her mouth with her hand as if to cough. In truth, laughter pushed to get out; her eyes sparkled.
"You're awful," she whispered behind her fingers.
"And you're too holy," Roxy snorted. "Balance restored."
They went on along the rows of candles. The flames stretched upward, whispering of silence. Sofya was calm again. Her face smoothed out, though the corners of her mouth still trembled.
At the exit, Roxy pulled her hood deep to hide the blue hair.
That bastard—Harry—still floated in her mind. The irritation wouldn't let go.
She'd crossed the Dark Continent end to end. Plenty of bastards there. Plenty of monsters. And degenerates worse than monsters.
But that feel of danger that radiated off him—she'd met its like only rarely.
"So I'm really going to work for the Church now… damn…" She exhaled through her teeth. "Didn't think life would drag me this low."
Sofya cut her a sidelong look from under the hood.
"Work… or tolerate it until they yank you by the scruff out of whatever hole you crawl into?"
Roxy snorted; her mouth twisted in a grin.
"I don't see the difference yet."
They were already being waited for at the door.
A tall young man in a church knight's armor. The metal shone, polished to a mirror. A blue cloak lay straight, covering his shoulders.
On seeing them, he moved to meet them.
"Dominus vobiscum.
(The Lord be with you.)"
"Et cum spiritu tuo.
(And with your spirit.)"
Sofya stopped and bowed her head in answer.
"Edgar… This is Roxy. She's with us now…"
The knight halted a pace away. His gaze slid over Roxy. First the hood. Then the hands hidden in the folds of her cloak.
"With us?" His voice was level, without surprise. "Interesting decision."
"Yeah… don't rush to celebrate." Roxy tipped her head slightly to one side.
"Harry knew about her right away from somewhere… The moment you left—bam, the knights show up… Ha-ha… What a coincidence." Sofya pressed her lips together; her eyes darkened.
"…"
"Why so quiet? Go on—tell me I'm wrong."
"A knight's duty is to intervene. But you didn't want that. So I had no choice."
Sofya fell silent. She let out a heavy breath.
Edgar cut her a glance but said nothing. Steel on his shoulder flashed in a shaft of sun.
Sofya stopped beside him. She lifted her eyes to the knight and said calmly:
"This is Edgar. A close friend of mine. High Knight of the Church, Order of Saint Lazarus."
Roxy curled her lip but held her tongue.
Sofya went on in an even voice, like a lesson learned by heart:
"Lazarus stayed in the holy city when the Beastmen hordes took it. The nobles fled. The army scattered. He alone climbed the walls. Led the last defenders. Said the Mass among the ruins."
She paused a heartbeat; her breath hitched.
"After the city fell, they took him alive. Impaled him on a stake. Drove him down the main street. And he prayed the whole time…" Sofya lowered her eyes. "Only with his dying breath did he fall silent."
Silence hung beneath the vaults.
"They say his blood soaked into the paving stones. No one could wash it out. Later pilgrims carried the stones off as relics. And years after, the city was rebuilt. They called it the city's resurrection."
Edgar stood motionless. His face stayed cold, but his hand rested on his sword hilt like a man who had heard these words before and kept them inside.
"Well… he clearly fought for what he believed in." Roxy said it quietly, a hint of doubt in her voice.
Edgar turned his gaze on her. His eyes were light, but heavy.
"He didn't fight for a cause," the knight said. "He fought for faith."
Sofya inclined her head slightly, as if in agreement. Roxy adjusted her hood and looked aside.
"Sofya leaves out the fact that your tribe played an active part in the storming and looting of the holy city."
"Tch…" Roxy jerked her hand; the words snapped loose. "Listen, I'm not answering for what my people did three hundred years ago!"
Her echo struck the walls. Sofya pressed her lips together and lowered her eyes. Edgar stared straight ahead; his face remained stone.
"Especially since I was born there…" Roxy shot the breath out, her fingers balling into a fist. "And they're the ones who threw me out!"
Sofya raised her head and studied her.
Edgar frowned, but said nothing. His armor creaked as he turned his shoulder a fraction.
"Of course," he said simply.
And those words grated worse than any bluntness. Sofya stepped in close, smiling at the corners of her mouth:
"All right, that's enough. Roxy still needs to buy all sorts of things… so we'll be going."
She nudged Roxy forward, leaving no room for argument.
"…"
They walked the city's paving. The stones gleamed in the sun underfoot. A few passersby bowed to them. Odd, but the priestess's garb came with perks. Even funny ones.
"Hey! I'd love to see their faces if they knew who they were bowing to!" Roxy squinted, thought a second, and laughed.
Sofya glanced at her from under the hood but said nothing. She only shook her head.
The city greeted them with light.
White paving stones glittered in the sun. House walls stretched in even rows, smooth, with carved cornices. At the corners stood statues of saints, palms raised in blessing.
They walked past rows of merchants.
The stalls were orderly. Even with fruit and textiles on display, there was still a stamp of sanctity. Tiny icons hung above the booths. Carved crosses over the doorways.
Beyond opened a square. White tiles spread wide; a fountain stood in the center. Water ran through stone angels and fell in clear streams. People passed murmuring soft prayers; some crossed themselves without stopping.
A bridge led to another quarter. Stone arches dipped downward, resting on massive piers. The railings were carved—vines and flowers interlaced with winged figures.
"Living large, aren't you?"
Roxy ran her hand along the stone rail. The stone was smooth and cold.
Sofya glanced at her; the edges of a smile trembled.
"It isn't luxury. It's a symbol."
Roxy smirked.
"A symbol that your asses sit on cushioned stone?"
"Not like this where you're from?"
"Pff… not even close," Roxy snorted. "After the Emperor fell and the Eternal Empire with him, only shards were left. A clutch of idiots still beating each other bloody."
She looked aside.
"And around them either wasteland or magical anomalies. Tribes that smear their faces with their own shit and bellow praises to the Dead God…"
Sofya slowed, her step quieter.
"Sounds… grim."
"Sounds?" Roxy arched a brow. "It is grim."
With that, Roxy shifted her gaze to Sofya.
"How about you—are you okay? You've been off since that Harry."
Sofya blinked a couple of times, as if coming out of a trance. Then the corners of her mouth twitched.
"Fine…" she drawled. "I'm just still digesting the picture of your homeland. I pictured you with a painted mug, bare ass, standing in a shaman choir yelling 'Glory to Laplace!'… and I'm still choking on laughter."
Roxy rolled her eyes, though a hint of a smile tugged at her lips.
"What? You said it yourself. I just added a few details for realism… Better tell me where we're trudging to. Decided to show me the city?"
"Besides the pretty views?" Sofya lifted a brow. "We need to buy you proper clothes—and do something about your hair…"
Roxy stopped short.
"What's wrong with my hair?!"
"Hm." Sofya tilted her head, pretending to study her. "Nothing—if you want to be recognized a mile away. A blue torch on your head is hard to miss."
"And how exactly do you plan to fix that?"
Sofya didn't answer. She just nudged Roxy with an elbow, and they went into a building.
A signboard showed a little vial with steam curling up.
The smells hit at once. Harsh perfumes, dried herbs, and something sour that stung the eyes for a moment.
Inside it was dim; shelves were crowded with bottles. Glass glinted in the low light; crooked lids, tufts of dry roots poking out here and there.
After a while, Sofya came back from the counter with a vial of golden liquid in her hand.
She held it out to Roxy.
"Here. For you."
Roxy shot it a sideways look and took it carefully.
"And if I drop dead from your alchemy?"
Sofya smirked.
"Then it'll be the most spectacular thing you've ever done."
"What is it?"
"Simple stuff. Hair dye…"
"Huh?"
Sofya's smile sharpened as she met her eyes.
"I forgot which dumpster you crawled out of. This is dye made specifically for hair—it changes the color. They make these in civilized cities: Arse, Sharia… and here."
Roxy lifted the vial to the light and grimaced.
"If it's like chamomile infusion or whatever—forget it. I've tried."
Sofya snorted.
"It's expensive dye, made for hair. Don't worry, it'll work."
She squinted slightly and added with a lazy grin:
"Even on your head… Oh! And by the way—" Sofya plopped something onto Roxy's head, right over the hood. "This hat will suit you."
Roxy yanked it down and pulled it off.
In her hands was a pointed wizard's hat. The fabric was sturdy, the brim wide, the edge a little frayed.
"You're kidding?" Roxy lifted a brow.
Sofya spread her hands.
"What? With your temperament it's perfect. People will see you and think, 'Oh, a witch, best keep our distance.'"
"Pff…"
Roxy spun the hat in her hands and tossed it back to Sofya.
"Witch I could live with. But like this I look more like a stage prop for clowns."
Sofya caught the hat and smiled.
"Clownish? At last you're starting to see yourself from the outside. But take the hat… Call it a gift. For making your acquaintance."
She offered it back with a little shake.
Roxy scowled, but took it.
"Magnificent," she muttered. "First thing I get from a priestess is a stupid hat."
"Heh-heh…" Sofya cocked her head. "At least now you've got something that perfectly matches your personality."
***
The stone underfoot was clean and smooth. Houses crowded together, roofs stepping down the slope in tiers. The air here was quieter than by the square. The noise didn't reach; only the occasional footfall sounded somewhere far off.
Sofya walked in front. Her hood hid her face, hands tucked into her sleeves.
Roxy a step behind, cutting glances around.
White walls, small windows, shutters closed. Wind ran the alley and tugged at the hem of a cloak.
"Peaceful place you've got," Roxy grumbled. "A little too peaceful."
Sofya turned her head a fraction; the corners of her mouth stirred.
"The people here serve the Church. They've no time for noise."
"Hm… convenient explanation." Roxy snorted, glancing at the empty stairways between the houses. "Looks like they really aren't around."
She paused a moment. The wind slapped her face and brought the smell of burnt oil. A thin line of smoke rose from a lower tier.
They climbed higher. Stone façades terraced one above another, each house looking down on the roofs and balconies of its neighbors. Far below were courtyards with laundry strung up and clay pots hanging.
The city stacked itself like a stairway: Step—house. Step—balcony. Step—a narrow yard with a little gate.
Roxy slowed. She looked down. The stones glittered in the sun; white walls fell away into depth. Courtyards and roofs cascaded until the eye lost them below.
"Pretty…" she breathed. "Like the whole city was built so the folks up top could gawk at their neighbors."
Sofya turned her head slightly.
"Everyone here is used to it. To them, that's order."
They turned aside.
A narrow street climbed upward; stone steps carried them higher. With every step the street opened a new row of houses and another layer of the city. The air grew fresher, the wind stronger. The houses pressed closer, walls nearly touching.
The steps ended in a dead end.
Two small houses stood there. Low, with simple shutters. No road beyond.
Roxy lifted her head and froze.
From here the whole city opened up. Roofs lay below in ranks. White façades, balconies, narrow yards. Stairways trailed downward and were swallowed by shadow. Farther still, sunlight struck squares and towers.
She squinted; her gaze snagged on a familiar spot.
"I only just realized…"
Sofya turned.
"Right there." Roxy pointed down. "That's where the knights took me—to bring me to your Harry."
Sofya nodded calmly.
"Right…"
She raised a hand and indicated the house on the right. The stone walls were whitewashed, the shutters neat, a lantern hung by the door. No gold, no luxury. But someone clearly took care of it.
"I live here."
Roxy narrowed her eyes, taking in the façade.
"This? Seriously? I thought priestesses had chambers with stained glass and carpets."
Sofya's mouth tipped in the faintest smile.
"This is enough for me. Quiet, clean. And the view is good."
She stepped to the door and slid in a key. The hinges creaked softly. Inside met them semi-darkness.
The room was small. Stone walls smooth and whitewashed. Nothing extra—just a table by the window, a chair, a narrow bed, a shelf of books. Everything set squarely in place; things lay where they belonged. Clean, but cold.
All of it breathed her nature: austere but tended. Order and control in every detail.
Roxy glanced around and curled her lip.
"Cozy as a crypt," she muttered. "All that's missing is candles by the coffin."
"At least it's clean…"
Sofya took a little key from a hook on the wall. A red ribbon was tied to it. Worn, but neatly knotted.
"Come on."
She stepped back outside and headed for the neighboring house. It looked just as tidy: whitewashed walls, a sound roof, a straight door. But at a glance you could tell no one lived there. Shutters closed, not a mark on the threshold. Empty windows.
Sofya turned the key in the lock. The door yielded easily, as if it had been oiled and opened all along. She pushed it in and stepped aside.
"Go in."
There was hardly any dust—clearly, it was kept up. But the air stood still. The emptiness was immediate: little furniture, bare shelves, not a single personal thing. Clean and cared for—and dead.
Sofya stopped in the doorway and nodded to Roxy:
"This is your place now…"
Roxy stepped inside. Looked around. Snorted, her voice breaking into its usual sarcastic drawl:
"Why's it so neat if no one lives here?" She squinted and ran a finger along the windowsill.
Sofya didn't answer at once. She just calmly set the key on a hook by the wall.
Roxy turned to the bare shelves. Something pricked inside her—strange and foreign. She couldn't name it. She'd never had this behind her back—a place where everything was straight, clean, ready to wait for its owner for years if need be.
Her tribe never stayed put. Migrations, temporary camps, tents, fires. Houses lived in for generations were alien to her.
She left early—and from that day knew only the road and loneliness. In cities, telepaths weren't welcome: eyed as a threat, driven off or kept at arm's length. And the wilds of her home continent didn't forgive weakness. Any mistake there cost your life.
A thought pricked:
What is it like—to live in one place, to come back and know it's yours?
She snorted and buried it under a smirk at once.
"All right, out with it… whose crypt am I taking over?"
Sofya adjusted the key on the hook without looking at Roxy. Her voice was even, calm:
"My brother lived here. Before he died."
The words hung in the air. She said them off to the side, almost into the empty room.
"…"
Silence stretched a second.
Roxy looked away; her lips twitched. She wanted to snort, to blunt it with edge.
"Fine by me," she muttered, then, a touch quieter—"At least the place is free."
Her mouth tugged sideways, but something else flickered in her eyes. She understood—Sofya kept a memory, preserved it through order and upkeep.
Roxy felt awkward. As if she'd stepped into someone else's ritual where she herself had no place. A stranger among strangers.
Sofya smiled faintly; the corners of her lips stirred. Her voice came soft, like a line from a liturgy:
"The Creator will receive him among His angels. He's in a better place now…"
"That's enough! Don't pour that crap on me." Roxy cut her off with a sharp wave, grimacing.
Sofya shook her head, but mischief flashed in her eyes.
"Why not? Picture him with wings, in shining robes. Singing hymns, plucking a harp…"
"Oh no." Roxy squeezed her eyes shut and snorted. "If he's really doing that, then I'm definitely headed for hell."
Sofya laughed. Quietly, plainly pleased that her words had gotten a rise.
Then she was calm again.
"It's yours now. Live here. It'll be simpler…"
Roxy said nothing. Her gaze lingered on the two houses facing one another.