"Lo, though the years forsake thy voice, the dead yet keep thy prayers in tender remembrance."
— A Mourning Saint
While I was a tad curious as to why they wished to hide their faith—especially since the Goddess of Death was a known and worshipped deity—I ultimately set the thought aside. I wanted as much rest as possible for the upcoming dungeon and its rather curious adventures, rather than trying to fully understand the reasons these residents concealed their beliefs.
I looked at the berry bush again, noting that most of its fruits were already quite ripe. I plucked one and ate it; an instant sourness assaulted my tongue. Just as I remembered it. I did not spit it out but forced myself to swallow. Weirdly enough, this berry had no seeds.
After eating the first, I plucked another and continued on my way. While I did want to return to my room, I wished to enjoy the moonlight a little longer.
This time I walked quite slowly, returning the way I had come and shifting the berry between my fingers. This fruit, the walk, the wind, and the moonlight… This moment brought back nostalgia. I remembered when my group would move from town to town, village to village, bringing songs and festivals.
I brought the songs while the spirits brought the dance. Leguin would capture the moment in paintings and anything else that caught his eye. Kris would cook meals upon meals, while his twin brother Krow would serve them, occasionally tailoring clothes on the side.
I remembered we came upon a village that had no food or water and whose people were badly sick. We fed and healed as many as we could, but some still died—even children. When we asked what had happened, we learnt they worshipped the Goddess of Death. When they went through hard times, their neighbours simply said it was their goddess calling them home.
I remembered how furious Krow had been. We had to hold him down, or else he would have burnt an entire village to the ground. When we finally calmed him, he left to help the other villagers. Though his brother Kris later followed, we all knew he had the same plan, and it might actually happen.
Before we left, we held one of our largest festivals yet. I did something I rarely ever did: I asked the spirits for a favour. Yes, it cost me almost ten years of dancing to pay off, but seeing the fortunes brought to that village made me satisfied. All they could pay us with was this very fruit.
As I tossed the berry into my mouth, the sour taste was not as strong as before. I ate it slowly as I gazed at the moon. As I swallowed it, the shadows enveloped me and carried me back to my temporary room. I also used them to undress, leaving me in my underwear and a sleeping robe.
I went to the window, trying to catch another glimpse of the moon, but it was no longer visible. Still, I stared, trying to remember a song we once made for the berries.
During my thoughts, I heard a knock on the door. I went to open it and found a rather young man who was taller than me and carried an intimidating presence.
"Why is your light still on?" he asked in a low, raspy voice.
"Oh, forgive me. I was lost in thought, reminiscing about old friends. No worries—I am off to bed, as you can see."
He gave me a long stare, then nodded and turned to leave. What were they feeding that man? I closed the door, turned off the lights, and headed to my bed.
It took me some time to fall asleep due to the nostalgia, but I eventually did. Sadly, I also felt a bit lonely, with no spirits to comfort me.
I woke the next morning to the singing of birds and a ray of sunlight on my face. I sat up, stretched, and headed to the bathroom.
When I was done, I dressed in the suit I had bought and held my cane. I had noticed the colour looked a bit more defined, but now that I was holding it, it felt almost alive. I felt it pulsing, as if waiting. I switched it into its rifle form, and not only did it look more majestic, but even its "Cawww" sounded more intimidating. I switched it back and left the room, twirling the cane in anticipation.
As I reached the stairs, I met Miranda heading up. I gave her a pleasant greeting, which she returned. She also told me that we were ready to head for the dungeon and made a slight comment on my outfit, but she was hardly one to judge while wearing a butler uniform.
When we got to the door, the same man from the previous night was there with the old lady, possibly waiting to see us off. Miranda gave a small greeting as she passed, but I stopped to look at them. If they were truly worshippers of the Goddess of Death, perhaps they would know this prayer.
"Be guided in your path, oh wanderer, and fear not, for she shall guide you home in her loving embrace."
As I said the prayer, their eyes widened in surprise—especially the old lady's. I never knew someone's eyes could become that wide. And please, close your mouth.
I gave them a pleasant smile and went to meet Miranda as she called me. I entered the car and watched as the two still gave me surprised looks while we drove away. But it was good to see that she was still using that same old prayer. Maybe I would pray to her later. After all, I too was a worshipper of the Goddess of Death. Though I had not prayed in many years, did it still count?