"So that's it then? We just go back to the tents for the night?" I asked Tav as we walked away from the fire. I could already see the other refugees opening up their tent flaps to go to sleep.
"Yeah, seems like it." He shrugged. "But it seems Kindness expects us to do some work in the camp from tomorrow onwards. I mean, it makes sense. We'll need a lot of work to turn this place into something more than bushes."
"What kind of work?" I glanced at him.
"Work like farming and gathering food, I suppose." He rubbed his neck. "Maybe cutting down trees and building some actual houses from the wood, instead of living in these tents."
We entered the tent. It was much darker than it had been earlier since the fire outside was being burnt out. Tav flexed his shoulder, which reminded me of my dislocated shoulder.
I had completely forgotten about it after everything that had happened. Tav had said he used a blessing to take a bit of the pain, and it definitely didn't hurt as I thought it would, which meant it had worked.
"So you're still feeling the pain on your shoulder?"
"Huh, what?" He looked up, confused. Then he realized what I was talking about. "Oh, yeah, that. It still hurts, but don't worry about that. I'll get rid of it soon."
"How?"
"Umm, just look." Tav said awkwardly.
He shuffled over to the ground, got in a kneeling position and started... praying.
"What are you doing?" I asked. This looked like the kind of shit the people in humility would be pulling. Why was Tav doing that?
"It's how the blessing works." He grunted. "It's the rules for having Charity's blessing. Just watch."
As he said that, something rose from Tav's body. Something like smoke, or no, aura.
The 'thing' wafted as it rose above Tav and vanished before it hit the top of the tent. Then Tav opened his eyes and flexed his shoulder. "Good as new."
"You said it was from Charity, right? How does that work?" I asked. So many strange things have been happening since I left.
"Charity defines itself, herself, as giving generously, or even taking generously from her people. That's how she's able to take away people's pain. She gives her blessings to people as extensions of her Holy Mandate. That's what I used on you earlier."
"So you willingly took her blessing?" My hands clenched involuntarily, a familiar tension creeping up my spine. The Virtue Priestesses had never been friends to people like us.
"Look, I don't want anything to do with the Virtue Priestesses either, but having the Charity blessing is pretty useful, even essential as a healer, so I need it." Tav concluded as he lay down, done with his nightly ritual to get some sleep.
For a while, we just sat there in silence, listening to the wind rake over the camp like a lazy predator. I could hear distant voices—the low murmurs of refugees trying to piece together a sense of safety. The canvas walls of our tent rippled softly, the only barrier between us and whatever waited in the darkness beyond.
"You know," Tav said, breaking the quiet. "This whole place won't last."
I turned my head to look at him.
"Kindness' safe haven," he elaborated, his jaw tightening. "It's a nice dream. But it's not built for reality. No walls, no weapons, no order. Just hope. Hope and 'kindness.' That won't protect us when winter comes, or when Chastity or Diligence send scouts to 'correct' us."
His voice was low, but there was something hard underneath it. Something preparing for inevitability.
"You think they'll come?" My throat felt dry at the thought.
"I don't think," he murmured, eyes fixed on the darkness above. "I know. I've heard of the Virtues sending scouts with blessings to fix the outliers outside domains. The only way we'd survive is if Kindness maintains authority against them."
The thought made my stomach churn. We were living on borrowed time. This whole place was just a crack in the wall of the Virtues' dominion—and cracks either widen... or get sealed.
Tav leaned back against the tent pole and closed his eyes.
"We have a month if we're lucky. A quarter, tops."
"And what happens then?" I whispered.
He didn't answer.
I pulled the thin blanket over myself, feeling every bruise, every weakness still clinging to my body.
What am I really made of? What do I have now that all my strength has left me?
I was utterly nothing. The thought of it kept making it feel like lead was sinking to the bottom of my stomach. I don't want to move if I don't have any purpose anymore. Even if this place lasted, what then? Would I make friends with the other refugees? Would I live here till the end of my life? Would I get a wife and children here?
This moment was nothing, hearing Tav's slow breaths as he slept, the scent of the earth below me strong as I lay in my bedroll. But I wanted to stay in it forever if it meant I didn't have to confront the future.
"Good night, Tav," I muttered to the darkness.
I woke slowly to the sound of canvas flapping in the wind. The gray light of early morning seeped through the seams of the tent like a patient flood.
Tav was gone.
I sat up, muscles stiff and slow, my joints popping with the motion. My limbs still carried the heavy, wasted feeling from Waiting. No strength. No fire. Just... function.
His bedroll was neatly folded beside mine. Figures. Tav had work to do—probably off healing sprained ankles or setting broken fingers among the camp.
I lingered for a moment, breathing the damp air, willing myself to move. No reason to rush. No reason to exist.
The tent flap rustled. I instinctively tensed, expecting one of the refugees, or maybe Kuti with that perpetual scowl on her face. Instead, it was her.
Veraque Mitis. The Priestess of Kindness herself.
She stepped into the tent with a careful, almost guilty hesitation. She still wore the soft, dirt-stained robes from last night, her golden ring glinting dully in the weak light. In her hands, she carried a blanket—thicker, newer.
She smiled warmly. Not the blinding smile of merchants or the other Priestesses. A small, human one.
"Hey there, um, gosh, I still don't know your name," Veraque said, smiling sheepishly.
Ah. She still didn't know my name, not that it was important. I didn't tell her when I woke up from waiting, and she wasn't in the temple when I shouted my name to Domita Praxis. Good.
"It's Bon."
She blinked, then chuckled. "Bon. That's a strange one."
After a long moment, she came closer, brushing her hands down my arms with the practiced touch of someone accustomed to assessing injuries. She studied my face with her soft brown eyes.
"I saw your injuries when I held you at the cliff," she said, her voice carrying a hint of regret. "It must have been rough for you. I'm sorry I couldn't do more when you fell sick. I should have noticed sooner. If I had—"
"It's not your fault," I croaked, voice rough. I was tired of people trying to help me. I simply didn't deserve it.
She sighed, her shoulders dropping slightly. "You know you can come to me if you need help with anything, right? If the effects of Domita's mandate are too harsh on you, if you're feeling sick, or if you just need a shoulder to rest on—"
"You're too kind," I told her. Truly, she was too kind for her own good. What sort of leader could afford to make these sacrifices for each of their people?
"Thank you, Bon. That is kind of my entire thing." She chuckled, the sound warm against the morning chill.
"I came to ask if you'd be willing to help today," she said, switching topics with a careful lightness. "I don't want to push you too hard after everything you've been through. But... we need every hand."
I nodded stiffly. I couldn't expect to just stay here without doing any work. That guy from yesterday's dinner did say that we'd have to work to build this place up.
"Good," she said, her smile blooming just a little. "We're sending small teams into the woods to gather materials. Wood for housing, stone for fire pits, vines for rope. We'll be laying the foundation for a real village here."
"I'll be leaving for the day," she continued, voice lowering as if sharing a secret. "There are still outliers—people hiding near the domain borders. If I can find them, maybe save them..."
"You'll bring more mouths to feed," I said without thinking.
She chuckled softly, not unkindly. "Yes. And more hands to build with. More stories to hear. More people to heal."
I hesitated, then decided to ask what had been bothering me since last night. "Tav said something yesterday. He told me that the other Priestesses of Kindness before you didn't do anything to help during the centuries. Why are you different?"
Veraque's expression clouded, her smile fading. "I...don't know why they didn't act," she admitted, fingers absently tracing the golden ring on her hand. "But all that matters is that I'm here now."
Veraque moved to the tent flap, pausing there, silhouetted against the morning light.
"You have a future here, Bon," she said quietly. "I know it might not feel like it. But you do."
She left without waiting for a response.