The scent of roasted meat drifted through the air, warm and heavy, carrying with it the faintest trace of smoke. Candles flickered along the long wooden table as the villagers gathered, their faces bright with relief. They laughed, they sang, they thanked him again and again — the Holy Lord who had banished the demons.
Cael sat among them, a goblet of dark wine in his hand. The taste was rich, almost sweet, though a metallic bitterness lingered at the back of his tongue. He smiled politely when they praised him, but every cheer sounded a little too loud, every grin a little too wide.
He told himself it was only exhaustion. The fog outside pressed against the windows, thick and silent, like something waiting to be let in.
"Holy Lord!" A small boy tugged at his sleeve. "There are fewer demons now, right?" he asked, offering a small bouquet of forget-me-nots.
"Yes, young man," Cael replied with a gentle smile. He knelt and accepted the flowers, their faint scent drifting upward. "You and your family may rest easy tonight. The Goddess protects you all."
The boy beamed and ran off toward the tables, clutching a wooden cup too big for his hands. Cael watched him go. The petals in his palm were damp — not with dew, but with something darker. He frowned, blinked, and when he looked again, the stains were gone.
He rose, tucking the bouquet against his chest. Around him, the villagers feasted and laughed, the candlelight shimmering across their faces like halos. For a moment, Cael thought he saw their eyes glint red in the firelight — but the vision vanished as quickly as it came.
An older man approached, his robes marked with the sigil of the Goddess. His hands trembled slightly as he lifted a goblet.
"Holy Lord," he said, voice trembling between reverence and fear. "You've saved us again. The granary is clean — the darkness cannot touch us now."
Cael inclined his head. "It is by Her will, not mine."
The priest smiled, though it never reached his eyes. "Her will, yes… but Her chosen one must not rest. There are whispers from the forest. More demons, perhaps. The next hunt awaits."
A hush fell over the table. The villagers lowered their cups, their gazes fixed on Cael with something like devotion — or dread.
He straightened, the warmth of the wine gone cold in his throat. "Then I shall answer Her call once more," he said quietly.
Applause broke out, hesitant at first, then louder. The priest raised his goblet higher.
"To the Holy Lord! The one who cleanses our world!"
They echoed the words in unison, voices rising like a prayer. But to Cael, the sound felt heavier — like the chanting of something unseen beyond the walls.
Cael leaves the feast. The fog outside moves, and the bouquet of forget-me-nots in his hand is stained red.