Kasarys was quite nervous. The scent of saltwater filtering into his nose didn't help, nor did the cold breeze seeping through his purple and grey silk garments. Still, he merely swallowed hard and checked the weight of his coin pouch before marching resolutely towards a bridge — the first of many that connected a series of islets, each crowned with a different kind of temple.
The first temple was made of grey stone like the others, but it was more squared, almost giving the impression of a fortress. Above its entrance were eight engraved symbols: a white star set above seven smaller ones.
Common folk and people of faith moved in and out of the temple. Kasarys felt out of place until he decided to approach someone who looked like an important man of faith and ask directly.
"Excuse me, do you know where the high priest is?" he asked. A tall blond young man turned toward him.
"He is currently inside the temple. You'll have to wait a moment while he finishes speaking with others who arrived before you, young man."
"Thank you very much," Kasarys replied before stepping into the temple. From there, the rest involved speaking with another temple attendant who placed him in a queue. He must've been lucky because he didn't have to wait long before finally facing the man he sought.
"Tell me, young man, how may this humble servant of the Eight-Star Faith help you?" The man's tone was calm yet firm, comforting to hear and giving the impression of great wisdom. His brown eyes reflected — faintly and oddly — a yellow star-shaped pattern, and for a moment Kasarys swore he could see a starry halo above his head, but it vanished instantly.
"Sir, I beg your counsel. I am in a desperate situation. I am Kasarys Sylvaroth, prince of the continent Vandelar. My parents were murdered and my throne usurped. I find myself in dire straits. Please, tell me — how do I escape my misery and reclaim my throne?"
The priest closed his eyes for a moment and meditated.
"I'm sorry, but I don't think I can help you," the elder said with a long sigh.
"Why not?"
"Whether you want it or not, you've already begun walking another path. Abruptly changing course often brings chaos — and that chaos leads to misery, especially the kinds that lead to thrones. My recommendation is to resign yourself and wait, young man. Misery and suffering are inevitable. The gods have given us this world; you would do well to appreciate even its shortcomings."
These were obviously not the answers he wanted. His breath turned erratic, and his mind clouded. He rose abruptly and said, "Thank you for your advice," then left the temple with loud steps.
"What kind of damned advice is that?" he thought bitterly as he walked away from the Temple of the Eight Stars, heading for another. After all, he hadn't come to the "Island of the Gods" just to visit one temple.
The next temple was quite different. Unlike the previous fortress-like structure, this one had a domed roof with softer, though not fragile, finishes. It was built half from pale green marble and half from a bright orange stone.
The acolytes of this temple were more flamboyant than those of the previous one, with a clear preference for mixed-gender acolytes, though with distinct roles. The men wore both ornaments and actual weapons with turtle, crab, and fish motifs.
The women, on the other hand, dressed radically differently — some in orange robes that revealed nothing but their eyes, while others wore only garments below the waist, leaving their torsos entirely bare. Kasarys ignored it and went straight to his audience.
He was met not by one priestess, but two. One wore orange garments, and her bronze-toned skin gleamed with a beautiful, otherworldly sheen. The other had a dull olive complexion.
Kasarys knew only the basics of many religions in his city. This was one of the few he knew a bit more about. They worshiped two twin goddesses: Nyressa, the green goddess of the river, and Tyrrana, the orange goddess of the land.
A pang of pain and melancholy coursed through his body as he recalled how he had learned that, before burning away his emotions to face his current reality.
He explained his situation again, hoping for a different answer from a religion and culture so distinct.
"Your situation is painful, but not unbearable," said the olive-skinned priestess. "The melancholy and powerlessness you feel over what happened are understandable, but you should understand that none of it was under your control. You were just a child — your brother, your father, your kingdom — all of it was beyond your reach."
"Sometimes, the best thing one can do is simply survive," added the bronzed priestess. "Look at this city. We are descendants of slaves from all over the continent and outcasts from Lemyr, yet here we are. We survive and grow while our masters collapsed under their own weight."
"If you pursue the path to the throne, death awaits you," the priestesses concluded in unison.
Again, he cut the conversation short with a simple "Thank you for your time," clearly dissatisfied. But it was his free day, and he was on the Island of the Gods. He wouldn't stop until he found an escape.
Kasarys continued his routine at each temple. He went to the floral temple of the people from the Island of Insects, where they worshiped a humanoid god with butterfly wings. The temple was surrounded by flowers and butterflies. A priest of a small race told him that beyond the city, only unhappiness and violence awaited.
Then he visited the primal temple of a monstrous bird god worshipped by the people of Neandor. There, a tall, muscular shaman with coarse, primordial features, adorned with raptor claws, told him: "You are a hare for the hawks of fate."
A marine god's temple followed — its surrounding waters adorned with vibrant, beautiful seaweeds. The young master of the sea warned him that he had seen him drowned in despair.
It didn't matter how different the temple, the priest's race, or the god's domain was.
Whether it was a god shaped like a silver tree or a colossal lady with three eyes crying golden tears, all without exception agreed on one thing: he had a fate, and it was to stay in the city — or die.
Kasarys's mind was more exhausted than his body. He couldn't stop asking himself: Why? About everything. For a moment, he even thought maybe he should resign himself and do as they said. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the remaining temples on that side of the island — one modest and one massive, standing taller than any he had visited.
The first heretical temple in the city, and the most important.
The Temple of the Shifting Moons. With little left to lose and annoyed whispers behind him, Kasarys walked swiftly toward the last temple standing between him and the place where his destiny would truly be decided. This second-to-last temple had unimpressive architecture, save for the fact that it was built from obsidian-black stone, accented with crimson details. From his perspective, the designs seemed to resemble veins or nerves running through the stone.
The people were different, as with every islet. They were children of Lemyr, just like Kasarys, and shared many features — pale skin, radiant hair, and, in his case, amethyst-colored eyes. Others had ruby-red eyes or sapphire-blue ones.
He should have felt warmth and comfort being among people like him, but his family had emigrated to another continent many generations ago. As with every other islet, the customs and traditions here felt foreign.
Several of the more ostentatious individuals wore leather clothing that appeared to be made from reptiles, accompanied by small lemur-like creatures the size of a cat. On the other hand, the typical temple guards were present — each temple had its own — apparently to represent the warlike aspect of their respective deity or pantheon.
He ignored the brutish guards in black and white armor and walked straight into the black stone temple.
As he walked to find someone who could guide him as before, his attention locked onto a strange statue made from the same black stone. The statue depicted a triad of dragons: one chameleon-shaped, one crocodile-shaped, and one monitor lizard-shaped, all locked in a fierce battle over two wild-looking feminine figures carved from white stone, with colorful gems in their eyes and wombs.
It was disturbing in some way, and he struggled to look away. Eventually, breaking his trance, he managed to find a young acolyte and asked permission to speak with the temple's priest. Fortunately, he would be seen soon.