Chapel of Sylvanor, Village of Engel

  The 15th Vulcarian day, year 2025

  “Tommy, I need to meet with Priest Hugo. Would you take the kids home?” Luanda asked, her voice tinged with unease. She needed guidance, but even as the words left her mouth, she knew what she was really asking: for her husband to do something seen as inappropriate by their society. In Granada, men staying home with children while women attended to personal matters was considered improper, even shameful.

  Granada’s culture was deeply patriarchal. So much so that few women dared question the norms; they were accepted as divine order, immutable, part of the world as it had always been – as the gods intended. But the gods didn’t manifest themselves openly, only indirectly. It was the Priory – the institution that claimed to speak for the divine – that taught what a woman should be: faithful, obedient, supportive. A man, by contrast, was to be strong, protective, dominant.

  These values were reinforced through society’s very structure. Combat-related or physically demanding classes were almost exclusively granted to men by the gods, while women were more often granted skills that tied them to the home: weaving, tailoring, caregiving. Exceptions existed, of course – but exceptions only served to highlight the rule.

  Professions like hunting, blacksmithing, and warfare were considered “men’s work.” Tanning hides, washing clothes, and spinning wool – these were women’s. Only a few classes, especially those related to agriculture, were shared equally between genders. These fell under the domain of Thalos, the Provider. Yet the Priory emphasized that this particular god – master of all natural resources, and the embodiment of generosity, resilience, and respect – had also laid down the most stringent rules enforcing family hierarchy and rigid gender roles.

  Adrian had begun to notice these structures, but he hadn’t yet had the time – or the luxury – to reflect deeply on them. Barely a day had passed since his arrival. Bandits, monsters, and slavery demanded his immediate attention. Ideology would have to wait. Soon he would find out that he wouldn’t have the privilege of postponing this matter, as it would quite literally knock on his door the next morning.

  Still, he had come from a very different place. His grandmother had seen to that.

  She was the cornerstone of his family’s wealth and power, not a passive matriarch but a sharp, formidable presence. The real estate agency his parents now ran had been built by her hands – from nothing. She was respected, yes, but also quietly feared. She didn’t part with a single coin she hadn’t wrestled from the world herself, and she never bowed to a man – not even her husband. She had left him, in fact, when he became a hindrance to her plans.

  Adrian had grown up under her shadow, and it shaped him. She wasn’t the kind of grandmother who baked cookies or told bedtime stories. She was a storm in heels. She taught him, without ever meaning to, that power had no gender. And though he wouldn’t have called himself a feminist – he distrusted all ideologies – he carried within him a deep and intuitive resistance to systems that told people who they could or could not be.

  Luanda, however, had simply to make do with her reality. When her husband answered, “What are you saying, Luanda? I’m going to the tavern with everyone else,” he didn’t even pause. In his mind, “everyone” clearly meant the men of the village.

  Sad at his response but unable to blame his choice – at least not in a way she could admit to herself – Luanda quietly accepted her place and turned to her next option, which, in hindsight, should have been her first. ‘Where was my mind? I’ll just ask the girls to take care of them for a while,’ she thought.

  The truth was, she didn’t want gossip spreading that she was meeting with the priest. She already carried guilt in her heart, and she didn’t want anyone to notice that something might be wrong. In such a small village, gossip reached every woman’s ears in no time. Simply being seen alone with another man – even for a work-related matter – could invite insinuations. A visit to the priest would only make things worse.

  But now, she had no choice. Her mind wouldn’t let her rest otherwise.

  She soon learned that many children were being hosted by Hanney, Engel’s wife, at her home. The elder woman no longer had children of her own in the house – all of them had married and left the nest. Some still lived nearby in the village with her grandchildren, which made her home a natural gathering place. As the wife of the village head, Hanney was well-versed in social matters and morale-keeping, though she would have been considered an amateur by the standards of any noble trained in such roles.

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  “Good evening, Hugo. Would your priesthood be available for some guidance?” Luanda asked, nearly an hour after the wake had ended. She had left her children in the care of her neighbors and fulfilled her obligatory socializing. The timing had worked in her favor, as the priest had spent the previous hour guiding those who had lost husbands or sons in the battle.

  “Welcome, Luanda,” Hugo said, eyeing her with quiet curiosity. To most, her expression might seem sorrowful – but the priest, seasoned in comforting people during their darkest hours, recognized something different. Though her eyes drooped and her lips trembled, it was the tension in her hands and the furrow in her brow that spoke of concern, not grief.

  “Come to my study. I’ll make us some tea.”

  Luanda began with pleasantries – concerns that were genuine, though not the reason she had come. They spoke of the neighbors they had lost, of the duty to care for grieving families, and of how grateful she was for Tommy’s recovery.

  When their teacups were empty, and Luanda still hadn’t found the courage to raise what truly troubled her, Hugo gently took the initiative.

  “Luanda,” he began, voice calm, “your heart is in the right place. Your care for your family and your community is seen – and blessed. Thalos smiles upon those who uphold the harmony of home and kin, for it is through diligence that we honor his will.”

  At those words, Luanda flinched. Guilt tightened her chest. The priest, unaware of the wound he’d brushed against, went on: “But I sense there is something deeper weighing on you. You came not merely to speak of others, but to seek guidance. Speak, daughter. The gods see what we carry in silence.”

  “I am concerned about Lord Adrian’s presence in our village,” Luanda began, her voice barely more than a whisper, as though saying it aloud might solidify her fears. “He looks at me... with lust.” The words tumbled from her lips – words she had rehearsed silently all day. She had told herself she was the victim, that it was he who had led her astray. But deep inside, she no longer believed that.

  Hugo straightened immediately, the weight of his office falling across his features. “Are you afraid of him, Luanda? Has he harmed you in any way?” His tone was firm, steady, full of priestly authority – but also warm, urging honesty, promising protection.

  “No, for Vulcarius’ sake, no, Hugo.” She shook her head, aghast at the misunderstanding. “It’s not like that.”

  How could she let this spiral further? How could she one day face Vulcarius at the gates of the afterlife? And even if she were allowed to enter, would Thalos turn his gaze from her in disappointment? Would she be forbidden to watch over her children?

  She felt as if a sharp dagger were pressed against her heart – a fear vivid and absolute, buried deep in her soul. The kind only religion teaches: the fear of accepting the very things that make you human.

  “No, Father... It’s me.” Her voice cracked. “I am the one who cannot let go of my carnal desire. He showed interest, yes... but I – I didn’t refuse. I have been with him once. I fear not his power, but my own weakness. I fear what I might do again, and what that could mean for my family.”

  The shame flooded her face, red and burning. Her hands trembled in her lap, tears sliding freely now as the truth left her chest like a sickness being purged.

  Hugo exhaled slowly, eyes closed, his thoughts heavy. It was sin – plain and clear by the laws of the Priory and the teachings of the Gods. But confession was the first step to forgiveness. He would need to assign a penance, guide her back to divine grace, preserve her soul and her family’s honor.

  He rose and stepped toward the shelf where the Book of Thalos was kept – the sacred tome outlining divine law, family duty, and the structure of the world. He reached for it, prepared to begin the long work of penance – when something stopped him.

  A thought, sudden and sharp as a flare of light: Adrian is a Freeborn Sovereign.

  The laws did not apply to him. He was beyond the hierarchy, outside the social order laid down by Thalos. It was not just folklore, then – what they said about the Freeborn, about their ability to sway, to dominate without force, was true.

  Hugo stood still, astonished by how close he had come to condemning a woman for something she could never have resisted. He turned to her, the weight of his position tempered now with humility.

  “Luanda,” he said gently, “I cannot judge you – not in this matter. What you’ve confessed may not be sin at all, but something woven into the fabric of divine mystery. I know that may sound strange, but... think of it as if I’ve just received a kind of divine clarity.”

  He smiled – not cruelly, but with the weary acceptance of someone accustomed to the strange exceptions the gods allowed. “Go home. Rest. Do not torment yourself with questions that are not yours to answer. For now, this matter lies between you, Adrian, and the will of the heavens. If the gods wish to speak, they will. Until then, keep your heart steady and… come to me again, later, with news.” He added, already imagining how wonderful it would be if she got pregnant.

  Luanda blinked, stunned. Relief didn’t come, not exactly – only confusion. She didn’t know whether to feel comforted or condemned. Was this priestly approval? Was it madness? Had the gods truly spoken – or was Hugo simply overwhelmed?

  She stood, murmured a farewell, and left the study as if waking from a strange dream. At Hanney’s, she gathered her children and made excuses about exhaustion. On the way home, she looked up at the sky, hoping for a sign – but there was only silence.