Chapter 8
We left the temple and stepped out into the warm autumn air. The sun was already high in the sky, and my growling stomach reminded me that I hadn’t had food since this morning at breakfast.
“You are staying in the living quarters of the temple, where Auretheos is residing most of the time as well. We call the house the Lodge, because it used to be a popular hunting cabin among the old Gods,” Caelan explained.
“Get ready to use the pathways again, it should be much easier to stomach this time.”
And with that, Caelan opened the pathways, which lifted us up, going higher and higher.
Luckily the veil made it impossible to clearly see how high up in the air we were. The ride was short and after a couple of minutes we were above the clouds, standing on a cliff above the temple entrance.
The Lodge was seated on a serene mountain plateau, surrounded by trees.
The house was a two-story structure, seamlessly blending into the surrounding landscape with its elegant design.
The exterior featured a combination of stone and timber.
Large sections of the house were clad in smooth, dark wood and accented with sleek stone facades that reflected the natural tones of the mountains and the soft autumn colors of the surrounding trees.
The large, strategically placed windows stretched across the front of the house, offering breathtaking views of the surrounding nature while flooding the interior with natural light.
A porch wrapped around the front and one side of the house, with elegant wooden pillars supporting the overhang.
Lanterns hung at intervals along the porch, casting a soft, ambient light.
“I’m sorry we weren’t able to bring any of your belongings,” Caelan said as we walked up the steps to the house.
“We can go into town in the next few days to buy some new clothes for you. I have asked the house staff to provide you with some comfortable clothes for now, but I am afraid they won’t be your style. ”
“I’m not sure I even have a style,” I said and followed Caelan into the Lodge.
I was greeted by a spacious foyer with a high, vaulted ceiling and a stunning staircase leading up to the rooms. Built-in bookshelves along one wall held a curated collection of books, art pieces, and personal mementos.
Our first stop was the kitchen, where Caelan introduced me to Enbergin, the cook.
He was a rough-looking fella with nearly black hair and a weathered face.
His ears were small and pointy, so I assumed he had to be some kind of elf.
As odd looking as he was, as cheery was his demeanor.
He welcomed me with open arms and prepared a plate of food for me within minutes.
The other kitchen staff eyed me with thinly veiled curiosity.
It was an unfamiliar feeling for me to be perceived by others.
All my life I had tried to be invisible, to blend in, to not draw any attention to me.
I guessed those times were over for now.
“Don’t mind them”, Enbergin chuffed, “it’s been a while since they have seen a mortal lady, and especially one so pretty as yourself.
” I smiled brightly, and for the first time in two days I felt myself relax.
Caelan ordered Enbergin to send my plate up to my room.
We said our goodbyes and Caelan walked me upstairs to my room.
The floor of my guest room was covered in a cream-colored rug that made my bare feet feel like I was walking on clouds.
The walls of the room were covered in raw wood, the neutral colors of the bedding blending into the wood paneling.
There was a small sitting area and a desk to the right of the entrance, deep blue chairs added color to the space.
The large window next to the bed was framed by cream-colored curtains that were gently flowing in the breeze of the open double doors leading outside onto a small balcony.
The last of the light was already disappearing behind the mountains when Caelan finally shut the door behind him and left me to myself.
Since stepping into the Lodge, everything felt…
different. This house was not merely grand, but built in a way that seemed meant for ease rather than display.
It had been built by hands that understood comfort in a manner unknown in my world.
The floors were warm beneath my feet, and the light from the lanterns was steady and gentle, spilling across the smooth walls.
Thick rugs lay in their places, soft and welcoming.
The furniture was more than functional; it invited one to linger.
Chairs and settees were deep, arranged for convenience yet with an elegance I had rarely seen, even in the finest homes I knew.
Granted, I had not been invited to many grand homes, but what I had seen of them did not compare to the simple luxuries this place offered.
In my world, the grandest houses seemed built to impress, to display wealth and status, often at the cost of comfort—but here, the Gods had made comfort the purpose of their design.
I inspected the on-suite bathroom which was just as lovely as the bedroom itself. I spied the large bathtub right beside the floor-to-ceiling window.
“Thank the Fates,” I murmured, already looking forward to a hot bath.
I stepped to a washstand in the corner and turned the handle. The water was warm, startlingly so, and I could not help but marvel at such effortless convenience.
Even these small details spoke of a life lived without want, without struggle.
All of it felt natural, effortless—a luxury born not of pride or wealth, but of long centuries and endless time to perfect comfort. The Gods, I realized, had no need to rush, no need to labor. They simply… lived, and in that living they had made the world itself a place of quiet ease.
The summer dress I had put on this morning was ruined.
There was blood on the front and it was covered in sweat and dust from the fight.
While the bathtub was filling up with deliciously hot water, I got undressed and inspected my wounds.
The bruises on my back and neck were slowly becoming visible, and I winced as I rotated my shoulder, feeling every blow to the back that the Heralds had dealt me.
I was too impatient to wait for the water to cool, so I stuck my toes into the hot bathwater.
The burning sensation on my skin was a welcome distraction from the pain in my back and neck and so I slowly immersed myself in the water.
A bar of soap had been placed next to the faucet and I started washing my hair.
The soap smelled heavenly, even though I could not identify the plant that had been used for the soap.
It was sharp, like mint, but at the same time sweet, like a ripe peach.
I stayed in the tub until my fingers were wrinkly and only got out when the bathwater was getting cold. I wrapped myself in a soft dark blue towel and walked back into the bedroom. On the bed I found white linen trousers, a matching blouse with short sleeves, and some undergarments.
Walking over to the desk, I grabbed the stationary and a quill and jumped onto the comfy looking bed.
I wanted to write a quick note to my mother, letting her know I was doing all right and that I would be back for her as soon as I could.
I had no idea if the letter could even be delivered to the human realm, but I would have to find out tomorrow.
After finishing the delicious meal Enbergin had fixed, I crawled underneath the covers and fell into a deep sleep.
* * *
I woke up to birdsong.
Except it wasn’t the kind of birdsong I was used to. No sparrows or crows cawing. This was melodic, almost like a lullaby, and it was coming from somewhere outside my window. I sat up slowly, blinking against the soft light pouring in, and remembered with a jolt: right, not home.
Definitely not Sevalis. The birds here had… range.
For the first time in what felt like actual centuries, I had slept like a rock. One of those big, ancient ones that hadn’t moved since the dawn of time. I felt weirdly rested. Like someone had pressed “reset” on my soul.
I brushed out my hair, washed my face with water that smelled faintly of herbs and padded my way downstairs. The hallway was lined with enormous paintings, each one drenched in strange, mythic detail. I slowed when one caught my eye.
A battlefield. But not one of swords and shields, but a lone figure in the center.
Soldiers fell around her. The dark figure was cloaked in ink-black robes, her mouth open mid-speech, arms lifted as glowing runes spilled from her palms like venom.
Her face was turned just enough that I couldn’t tell who she was, but my stomach tightened anyway.
The figures at her feet wore the armor of her own people.
She had destroyed them. An inscription at the bottom of the painting simply read “Entire cities crumbled under her whispers.”
The uneasy feeling in my stomach grew, the notion all too familiar to contemplate. I moved on before I could think too hard about it.
There were more beings around now than there had been last night.
Servants drifted through the halls, weirdly enough they all seemed to be male…
or so I thought. It was hard to say. One had wings like a hawk and carried an armful of laundry.
Another was so tall and thin he looked like he might bend with the breeze, and the last guy I passed had skin the exact shade of moss and eyes like polished amber. Not judging. Only… observing.
The kitchen was a full-on symphony of chaos when I entered. Steam was rising, pots were clanging, and voices were overlapping, all blending into a comforting composition of the mundane everyday life. I was immediately hit with the smell of fresh bread, spices, and something sizzling.
Enbergin beamed when he saw me, his face practically glowing.