Tekla and the three Vaels sat in a room that had been hastily remodeled to serve as the council’s temporary meeting hall.
It was a plain wooden structure - one room, one long table, nothing more. Tekla hadn’t bothered with decorations this time, which was unusual for her. She always found time to adorn every corner of the temple. Here, however, she’d chosen simplicity - perhaps because the place would only serve them for a short while.
“Priestess,” Lyle began. “My tribe still refuses to choose a new Vael.”
Tekla nodded. She had already expected as much. The Brown Tribe would never replace Lyle. She embodied what her tribe valued most - honor and merit. Replacing the Vael who had fought in the front line against the spider mutants, received the God’s acknowledgment, and then willingly stepped down from power would have gone against everything the Browns believed in. If anything, their respect for her had only deepened.
“I am certain no one could lead the Brown Tribe better than you,” Tekla said with a gentle smile. “And your reasoning, that you cannot represent them because you must always place the High Father’s will above all else, is flawed. Unless…” She paused, watching Lyle closely. “Unless you believe our Lord’s will does not align with what is best for our kin.”
Lyle’s eyes widened. The thought clearly hadn’t occurred to her. Despite her strength, she was still young. She was the youngest Velmoryn in the room save for Tekla herself.
“Priestess,” Othrien spoke next, his deep voice echoing in the empty and quiet room. “While Vael Lyle remains as the Brown Tribe’s representative, who will speak for the Silver Tribe?”
Before Tekla could answer, Dariel raised his hand slightly, and she nodded for him to speak.
“This will be my last day as a Vael,” he said. “I’m not suited to rule. If I remain here, I’ll only be in the way. I can serve our Lord better in the field, fighting for our people instead of sitting behind a table.”
Othrien stroked his long beard, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “While I don’t agree with you, Vael Dariel, I can understand the sentiment. I’ve led the Green Tribe for centuries, and it’s begun to weigh on me. I look a hundred years older than I am,” he said, followed by a dry chuckle that lightened the room for a moment.
He leaned back, fingers still combing through the silver threads of his beard. “That brings me to another question - who will represent the Crimson Tribe? I met Vael Mirion earlier, and since he isn’t here, I assume he won’t be joining the council. Perhaps you will, Priestess?”
Tekla’s expression tightened. She pressed her lips together before speaking. The irritation toward her father still lingered.
“I cannot represent the Crimson Tribe,” she said firmly. “My duty, both here and beyond, is to carry the Father’s word. I live and die in service to our Lord. The Crimson Tribe will choose their own representative in due time, as will the Silver,” she continued. “. But the Yellow Tribe has already decided. Vael Dariel’s wife, Freya, shall join our council.”
The room fell silent once more. Lyle and Othrien had already heard about Freya. They knew she had been the one to organize the rebellion and that she was the first Velmoryn from the Yellow Tribe to bear my mark.
What they didn’t know, however, was that I had encouraged the appointment of Freya to the council in Dariel’s place. On the surface, the reasoning was simple: Dariel was better suited for the battlefield, and Freya’s sharp mind made her a more strategic choice. But there was another reason, one I didn’t share with anyone.
Tekla’s impulsive decision to allow Freya to be her voice among the Yellow Tribe had given the woman far more influence than I liked. To her people, she wasn’t just a respected figure anymore - she was beginning to be viewed as a Priestess, or at least something close to it. For all her bright mind and calculating skills, Freya was far too ambitious to be allowed to speak in my name.
Even without knowing how other gods ruled their followers, I understood one thing clearly: among the Velmoryns, a Priestess would always hold the greatest authority. That was quite normal. Priestesses carried my will to the people, ensuring the path I laid remained followed. But when that kind of influence landed in the wrong hands, it became a weapon; one that could be turned even against me.
And while I could erase a believer with a mere thought, there was no reason to create a problem that didn’t need to exist. Freya’s ambition could be dangerous, but her political talent was undeniable. Keeping her close to power, but not too close, was the best solution.
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“Priestess,” Lyle said suddenly, breaking the silence. “Lucas told us you wished to choose a name for our new tribe.”
“Oh, that is right,” Tekla replied. Her eyes lit up with the same spark she always carried when talking about creation or symbolism. She turned toward the Vaels, excitement building in her tone. “Do you have any suggestions? Also… I believe it is time we cease calling it a tribe.”
Lyle and Othrien exchanged thoughtful glances, both slipping into contemplation. Dariel, however, spoke without hesitation.
“Since we’re uniting all Velmoryn tribes,” he said, “why not call it the Velmoryn Nation?”
Tekla smiled faintly, almost as if she had expected that answer. “Because we are naming this settlement, not our entire people. Our Lord shall one day unite the forest. There will be other settlements, other followers, perhaps even beyond the Velmoryn.”
“I agree with the Priestess,” Othrien said, stroking his beard with satisfaction. “Then how about Vaeldorn?”
Tekla tilted her head slightly, weighing the sound of the name. Lyle’s eyes softened, and Othrien’s gaze turned proud as he sensed approval.
“Protection of the Oak… I like it,” Lyle murmured, nodding slowly. “I was thinking of something similar, but instead of divine guardianship, I was planning to suggest the Crimson Heaven.”
I liked both names. Either would have suited them well, but what Tekla had prepared was perhaps even better.
“I already had a few ideas myself,” she said at last. “But earlier today, I met Avenor and discussed the matter with our Lord’s chosen one.”
She paused for a moment, her gaze drifting across the table to gauge the Vaels’ reactions. None seemed offended that she had consulted Avenor first. Had it been anyone else, they might have protested, but Avenor’s standing among the Velmoryns was too high for such thoughts. Those who had seen him that day, his body lifted by divine light as my power reshaped him, had not forgotten.
“The name he suggested is Eriavel, awakening of Velmoryn,” Tekla continued, her voice bright with excitement. “Avenor believes that if we are to grow as a nation, we must one day raise many more settlements, and that the first should bear a name to remind us where it all began.”
The Vaels exchanged approving looks, murmuring the name under their breath.
I understood the sentiment behind Avenor’s words and liked the name more than others, though for different reasons. I wasn’t entirely certain there would ever be many Velmoryn settlements. Even with procreation woven into my commandments, their growth was painfully slow. Pregnancy lasted nearly two years, and a newborn would need close to a century to reach maturity. Without centuries to build, the Velmoryns would always be few; vastly outnumbered by almost every other race.
Yet their longevity gave me hope. Once Vaelari perfected the catalyst that would make Essence absorption easier, my followers would no longer need numbers to compete. Power would bridge the gap where flesh could not.
“With the name of our new home decided, we must now speak of duties,” Tekla said once the Vaels had voiced their agreement. “We need to determine how each of us shall serve and how we will mend our lack of knowledge in crafts beyond dark magic. Lastly, I believe we must send two envoys - one to the outer lands to study their ways, and another to Velthwyn.”
The table grew tense. All three Vaels shifted in their seats. Even Dariel seemed uneasy with the idea. And I couldn’t blame them. I wasn’t fond of it either. Sending Velmoryns beyond the forest was too dangerous. If any of the gods still sought to exploit Elven immortality through Velmoryn blood, then I’d be handing them perfect test subjects who bore my mark. Unless Tekla gave me a reason worth the risk, I would not allow it.
“I can understand sending someone to Velthwyn,” Othrien said carefully, stroking his beard. “We need to trade for potions and perhaps learn how to craft them ourselves. But the outside world?”
“I know the danger, Vael Othrien,” she answered calmly, meeting his gaze. “I know what it means to leave the forest, especially now that we understand why our kin were hidden here. Yet those who survived Akrion’s wrath told us the Blue Tribe once traded beyond these woods. It brought them strength and understanding. If they achieved it, so can we.”
The Vaels exchanged wary glances. None of them seemed convinced, though none dared to speak against her. To them, it wasn’t merely the Priestess who spoke, it was the will that stood behind her, the unseen presence they had all sworn their lives to serve.
Little did they know that I wasn’t on board with her plan either.
“Priestess,” Lyle said finally, her voice careful. “Isn’t Vael Akrion’s corruption and his decision to forsake his kin proof enough that nothing good waits for us beyond the forest?”
“Normally, I would not have dared to propose such a thing. Yet I do not fault the poison for its nature when the poisoned chooses to drink.” Her smile remained, but a faint trace of disgust tainted her expression. “Still, I would never expose our people to temptation, not without Father’s guidance. But I believe our Lord wishes us to take risks, to grow beyond comfort and ignorance. And when Aria told me she was close to mastering a spell that could veil her form and that of another, I saw His will within it. If we are destined to face the world, then we must first know it; and who better to walk ahead of us than the one who cannot be touched by its poison?”
“Priestess,” he asked carefully as he straightened in his chair, “do you truly believe Aria is immune to temptation?”
“No,” she said simply, without hesitation. “But the one who cannot be tempted is not Aria, it is the Lord’s chosen, Avenor.”