Lapsus led them to a secluded bar.
It was a stark contrast to The Holding.
Where The Holding had been loud, crowded, and overflowing with energy, this place was quiet—almost unnaturally so. It was smaller too, tucked away in a lonely street lined with old, many-tiered buildings. Their windows glowed softly in the dim light, like silent proof that someone still lived there.
The bar itself faced the street. A large window overlooked the pebbled road, the occasional strange passerby, and the plain, underwhelming houses opposite.
Mortis liked it.
Just before entering, he glanced up at the sign he had ignored earlier.
The Silent Room.
He smiled. It fit.
Lapsus pushed the door open, and a small bell chimed softly overhead.
The bar was dimly lit and nearly empty. The only person inside was the bartender—a thin, elderly man with a rough beard and only a few wisps of hair left on his head. Despite his age, his hands were steady as he wiped down a glass, his demeanor as unmoving as an old mountain.
He looked up and smiled at Lapsus. "The usual?"
She shook her head. "I'm here for business today, Gerald."
Gerald nodded and gestured toward a table in the corner.
Lapsus walked over, and the others—Mortis, Malachai, and Blossom—awkwardly followed.
She took a seat, and they did the same. Once they had settled, she began:
"So, you cultists—"
"No, not cultists," Mortis cut in quickly.
"We're not?" Blossom asked, confused.
Malachai nodded solemnly. "Our Lord's words are universal truths."
An awkward silence followed.
Mortis cleared his throat, avoiding Lapsus' raised eyebrow.
"You see… we are not a cult."
Malachai nodded even more enthusiastically. Blossom looked even more confused.
Lapsus sighed lightly. "Back to the point."
Mortis felt immediate relief.
"You approached me in The Holding," she continued, "and now I'm expected to teach you how to fight?"
Mortis blinked. "Approached?"
Lapsus raised an eyebrow. "What else would you call grabbing me without warning?"
Mortis glanced meaningfully at Blossom.
She caught the look and lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry, Ms. Lapsus. I didn't mean to offend you."
Lapsus' expression softened instantly.
"Oh, not you," she said. "I meant them." She cast a distasteful glance at Malachai, who only looked confused in return. "I was going to take you under my wing anyway."
Blossom lit up.
Mortis let out a quiet breath. At least that was settled.
Now… for the harder part.
He cleared his throat.
"Ms. Lapsus, we are deeply grateful for your help with Blossom. But we have another request."
She nodded. "Go on."
Mortis couldn't help but admire her composure—bold, distant, untouchable.
Perhaps this is what a god should be like.
He lowered his head slightly.
"We are new to this city. Orphans, with no work, no money, no place to stay. We have nothing but each other."
Beside him, Malachai sniffled dramatically and wiped his eyes.
Mortis felt a flicker of discomfort… but continued.
"If you know of any work—even humble—and somewhere we might sleep, we would be very grateful."
Lapsus didn't hesitate.
"That won't be a problem. Blossom can stay with me."
Blossom gasped with delight.
Mortis' smile stiffened. "I see… thank you for your generosity."
Lapsus nodded. "Of course."
Mortis glanced at Malachai, who was still sniffling.
So it's just us, then.
Lapsus truly was like a god—offering just enough to those she favored, while the rest were left to fend for themselves.
Mortis smiled faintly, his gaze drifting back to Malachai.
Am I any different?
Perhaps worse.
A god who possessed something was better than a wanderer who dragged others into his own poverty. No wonder Blossom was drawn to Lapsus—the starlike figure—rather than him.
He was just a boy in worn robes who had given her a voice… and nothing more.
He barely had followers.
And already, they were slipping away.
He wasn't even a god yet—yet somehow, he felt like one who had already fallen.
More than anything, he wanted to go home.
Malachai noticed him and smiled.
Mortis returned it, tired but genuine.
I hope he stays.