Mortis and Malachai had walked for hours.
The day seemed never-ending. Mortis figured days were simply longer here.
At last, they reached a road.
"Where now?" Mortis asked, tired.
"We are at the outskirts road, my Lord," Malachai replied respectfully. "We may see a caravan and ask to join them soon."
Mortis sighed. "I see."
They waited in silence for a while before Mortis spoke again.
"Where do you live?"
Malachai looked surprised.
"Why do you bother with such questions, my Lord?"
Mortis shook his head. "I'm just curious."
A quiet warmth filled Malachai's chest.
Sister Millarca was right… our God truly loves us.
"All the followers of your holiness lived beneath the holy dais," Malachai said. "It is symbolic of how we exist beneath you."
Mortis blinked. "Underneath the dais? How?"
"The dais can be lifted. It is heavy, so we raised it together each night as a symbol of unity in devotion. Beneath it were stairs leading to chambers."
Mortis stared at him, both shocked and intrigued.
"Really? How many of you were there?"
"About two thousand, my Lord."
"And… what did you do for food?"
Malachai hesitated, as if the question itself was strange.
"Food? It simply appeared, my Lord. Whenever we needed it. We assumed it was a blessing from your holiness."
Mortis forced a smile and looked away.
That's… not normal.
He glanced at the blue screen hovering faintly before him.
[Sacrifice count: 2092Human Sacrifice count: 1]
"How many of you were human?"
Malachai thought for a moment. "Humans are quite rare. Perhaps only one of us was human."
Mortis stiffened. "Who?"
"I believe he was a newcomer, my Lord… his name was Cassian."
"Cassian…"
Mortis frowned.
Why does that name feel familiar?
"Tell me more about him."
Malachai's expression dimmed.
"I'm afraid I do not know much, my Lord. There were… many of us."
Mortis' shoulders sank slightly.
Malachai noticed immediately.
"I am truly sorry, my Lord. I will abstain from food and drink for three months to repent."
Mortis blinked in alarm.
"No—no, that's not necessary!"
He turned toward the road—and froze.
Something was approaching.
A large, box-like vehicle rolled toward them, painted blue, its surface chipped and worn as if it had traveled for years.
It slowed, then came to a stop beside them.
A bearded man leaned out of the window.
"You need a ride?"
Mortis grabbed Malachai's forearm and nodded eagerly.
"Yes! Yes—we're travelers. Lost in this distant land—"
The man clicked his tongue, baring his teeth slightly.
"Get in the back. And you better be able to pay."
Mortis slowly turned to Malachai.
Malachai looked… uncomfortable.
"I, uh… do not have money."
Mortis: ...…
The man let out an irritated grunt.
"Just get in the back!"
Mortis and Malachai hurried to the rear of the caravan. A wooden door, painted the same fading blue, hung loosely on its hinges.
Malachai opened it and stepped aside.
"You first, my Lord."
Mortis climbed in carefully, Malachai following close behind.
"It's… big," Mortis said, surprised.
The inside was nothing like the outside.
Spacious. Clean. Decorated in deep shades of blue, with intricate wooden patterns carved into the walls and furniture.
"Nice place you have here," Malachai said casually, running his hand along the carved wood.
Mortis glanced at him.
"Have you considered being an interior designer?"
Malachai blinked.
"A… what, my Lord?"
Suddenly—
The caravan lurched violently.
Both of them were thrown forward. Malachai hit the ground hard, dragging Mortis down with him.
The driver swore loudly from the front.
The caravan had stopped.
Abruptly.
Something moved outside.