Tekla approached the altar and bit into her thumb without hesitation. She licked the faint smear of red from her lower lip, then pressed the wounded thumb with her index finger, forcing a drop of blood to fall onto the dark pillar, staining it like ink seeping into parchment.
“O Father of Velmoryns, keeper of crimson,” she whispered. “Take what I surrender, and know my devotion. Reveal what you would have me see.”
I watched the sphere closely, ready to intervene if it malfunctioned - if it tried to show Tekla something beyond what I intended, or worse, showed her everything. The moment her words left her mouth, the sphere reacted. Its glow deepened into a richer red, its slow rotation quickening as it drew on my divinity.
For the first time, I felt my power moving without my command. It formed a tiny crimson cloud, which then slowly shifted into the blood Tekla had offered. It hovered just above the sphere, and then the Guidance responded.
The sphere didn’t try to interpret the information or hold it. It simply filtered everything through itself, stripping away what I’d forbidden and shaping what remained into a vision.
Did I tell it to form a vision?
My initial plan had been simple - transmit the knowledge directly, without shape or form. Yet the sphere had refined the process on its own. It hadn’t disobeyed me; I had never specified how the information should reach Tekla. Even so, the fact that it had chosen a method on its own was telling.
Despite the limitations, this thing seems to have some level of awareness.
I focused on it, probing for thought or sentience, but found nothing. There was no will or emotion of its own. It wasn’t alive; it operated more like a mechanism, performing its duty perfectly and without hesitation.
The sphere pulsed once, releasing the vision gently toward Tekla. Then the glow faded as its rotation slowed, settling back into its calm, steady hum.
Tekla’s eyes widened as the vision unfolded before her. She whispered slowly, the words almost lost beneath her breath, still trying to grasp the meaning behind the numbers and symbols now etched into her mind.
“Thank you, Father,” she murmured at last, closing her eyes as though to preserve the vision and focus on the image of her status window before it faded from sight.
My attention, however, had already shifted back to the sphere. After confirming that it worked properly, better than I had planned, I decided it deserved a name. Calling it a sphere felt crude, especially since I intended to create many more like it in the future.
So, what should I call you?
I observed the crimson orb floating before me. Its shape was plain, unremarkable, offering no inspiration. So I went with its purpose. It whispered filtered truths into the minds of my believers, reshaping the information into what I wished them to see.
You’ll be called Grima. No… Red Grima.
Its color had only a small part to do with the name; it mainly came from the first offering the Red Grima had received. Tekla had chosen to offer her own blood instead of any object or food. I’d hoped she would use something that decays, something I could test in my realm to see whether time itself froze for mortal life. But blood would serve that purpose as well.
Well… what else could I use it for? Wait, doesn’t the Night God accept flesh and blood? There must be ways…
The only potential use I could think of was transforming the blood through divine power and reshaping it into living tissue, merging it with a fragment of myself to create a sentient being. But a single droplet wasn’t nearly enough. So I let the thought pass, content for now to test how the droplet behaved within my realm - if it would dry or remain fresh.
As I observed the small bead of Tekla’s blood hovering weightlessly in the air, my attention shifted elsewhere.
Avenor and Aria had finally reached the Velthwyn tribe.
There was no fence or fortification, nothing that could offer even the illusion of defense. Their territory was marked only by strange runes drawn in yellow paint across the bark of ancient trees. Each symbol resembled a curved letter Y, its edges curled like roots. Despite the marks clearly being old, I could still sense a faint trace of mana within them.
Aria and Avenor passed through without opposition. The Velthwyn continued their work, seemingly indifferent to the uninvited guests, though their golden eyes followed them in silence.
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“What now?” Avenor whispered, pretending to scratch the back of his head as he checked the hilt of his sword with his fingers.
“Stop touching the blade,” Aria said sharply, though her tone remained calm. “I told you already that the Velthwyn don’t attack unless provoked. Why did we leave the tharuuns behind if you still meant to bring the sword…”
“Better safe than sorry,” Avenor muttered, letting his hands drop as his gaze caught on a nearby creature gnawing noisily at a strip of bark.
This particular Velthwyn was smaller than most. It wore a crude jumpsuit stitched together from cloth, moss, and vines. The bark it held looked rough and dry, yet the way it chewed, eyes half-closed in contentment, made it clear it was enjoying the meal.
“Aria, are we just going to walk around until someone decides to talk to us?” Avenor asked after a moment. “Wouldn’t it be better to politely ask for their leader instead of wandering like this?”
When Aria didn’t respond, he leaned toward one of the dwellings, peering through the open doorway. The interior was swallowed by darkness, and the faint moonlight did little to help. The Velthwyn lived in rounded homes made from packed earth, each crowned by a living tree whose roots twisted down through the roof.
“Their homes have no windows… some don’t even have doors,” Avenor muttered. “They seem smart but still… they are strange beasts.”
“They aren’t beasts,” Aria corrected him. “They’re intelligent, perhaps even more than us.”
“Speak for yourself,” Avenor said with a short laugh, though the sound faded quickly when one of the Velthwyn began walking toward them.
A Velthwyn child approached Aria - small, green, yellow eyes curious. It hesitated for a moment before shoving a reddish flower into her hands and then stared right into Aria’s eyes. She bent slightly, offering a kind smile and a polite bow. “Thank you.”
Avenor froze, caught off guard. Aria had been relatively kind to him, but never this kind of warm.
“When they see that we do not simply pass through but wish to speak, someone will come,” Aria said, still watching the child as it ran back toward the dwellings, ignoring the puzzled look Avenor gave her.
They spent nearly half an hour wandering through the Velthwyn settlement, neither speaking nor interfering - simply observing. The Velthwyn did the same. Neither side seemed in a hurry to bridge the distance between them.
Eventually, Avenor and Aria stopped before a dwelling that stood out from the rest - not for its beauty, but for its decay. The tree growing above it had long outgrown the dome of packed earth supporting it, and thick roots had cracked the roof apart. Yet, this home wasn’t abandoned. And unlike others, a dim, warm light glowed faintly from within.
“Aria, let’s check what’s inside,” Avenor said, voice caught somewhere between pleading and excitement.
“That’s likely their leader’s dwelling,” Aria replied, shaking her head. “If we approach without permission, we may offend them.”
“Why would they?” Avenor countered and stretched his neck, trying to get a better look inside the house. “We’ve been walking through their tribe for an hour, and no one’s said a word.”
“They do not see the land as something to own,” Aria explained. “But a home is sacred. To peer within is to trespass upon trust.”
“Fine,” Avenor sighed, stepping back. “Aria, how do you know so much about them? I thought our tribe never traded with the Velthwyn.”
“We do not.”
“You never answer questions about your past; it makes me think you don’t trust me.” Avenor frowned.
“Then stop asking,” Aria said with a faint chuckle. A silver diagram shimmered into existence before her, mana coiling around her hand as runes took shape. “This is my favorite kind of magic, Avenor, the formless one. It is the only art that leaves the mind untouched.”
Avenor smirked. “Are you telling me that to make up for dodging my question?”
“Know when to accept a win, Avenor,” she replied, her tone cooling as the runes flared.
The diagram pulsed, releasing a column of silver light that rose skyward before curving like a fountain. The falling particles rained softly over the forest, each droplet brightening what it touched. The small plants beneath them stirred, their colors deepening as they straightened toward the glow, as though waking from a long sleep.
“Did you do all this just to draw their attention and stop me from asking more questions?” Avenor laughed, though his smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“Maybe,” Aria replied, turning toward a Velthwyn who was slowly approaching.
I recognized the creature immediately; it was the same one I’d seen before, gathering yellow flowers near my tribe. It bowed to Aria and gestured silently toward the old dwelling with the faint light.
They followed it inside. The moment their steps touched the floor, the entire dome shuddered, loose soil and dust falling from above. The interior was carved entirely from earth, the walls uneven, roots hanging down like twisted decorations. Some reached low enough to brush their shoulders as they walked.
In the center sat a Velthwyn on a dark chair, leaning over a wooden bowl filled with a thick yellowish liquid. It stirred the contents with its index finger, murmuring words that I could not understand.
“Come,” it spoke after a while, setting a lid over the bowl. Its voice was deep and rough, like old wood creaking under pressure.
Aria and Avenor stepped toward the center as the Velthwyn who had led them slipped soundlessly back through the doorway. Everything inside felt damp and aged, the air heavy with the scent of soil and moss. Even the leader’s garments, once yellow perhaps, had faded to a weary gray that refused to brighten, no matter how the warm golden light flickered across the room.
“Thank you for granting us audience,” Aria said, bowing deeply. Avenor followed her lead, lowering his head in respect.
The elder nodded slightly. “We are… thankful for the offering you have granted us,” it said. “Now speak, child of darkness and light. For what purpose do you tread beneath our roots?”