Elian and Lysa walked into the heart of the village, the weight of their mission pressing on them.
The market square was bustling, yet the people grew silent as they approached.
Eyes followed them with suspicion, and whispers of doubt filled the air.
Lysa, still trembling, clung to the cross around her neck, holding Elian's hand for reassurance.
The fear in her chest slowly melted as she felt the peace of their shared prayer.
"Stay close" Elian said gently, squeezing her hand.
They approached a group of beggars sitting by the square's edge.
Without hesitation, Elian offered them fish they had caught in the forest.
"For you" Elian said, his voice calm, filled with warmth.
A man with a scarred face glanced at the fish and then back at Elian with a sneer.
"What is this?" the man spat.
"A beggar giving food to another beggar?"
Elian's eyes remained steady.
"We are all in need of something" he replied.
"Take it. It will feed you."
The man hesitated, then took the fish, muttering a curse under his breath.
Elian and Lysa moved on, continuing to offer what little they had to the hungry and destitute.
But as they walked, the whispers grew louder.
A woman, her face twisted with disdain, shouted
"Go away! We don't need your charity, you filthy strangers!"
Another man, his voice harsh, called out
"Begone!"
The hostility was palpable.
Lysa felt her heart sink, but Elian's grip on her hand remained firm.
"Let us not stop, Lysa." he said quietly.
"We must continue to sow His seed, even in the face of rejection."
They knelt in the center of the square, their voices rising in prayer.
Elian's words echoed through the streets, simple yet full of power.
"Lord, we seek Your mercy, Your light in this dark place. May our hearts be a vessel for Your truth. Let Your love shine through us."
Lysa whispered along with him, her heart trembling but finding strength in the prayer.
The anger and bitterness of the villagers no longer seemed to touch her as it had before.
She focused on the cross in her hands and the warmth of God's presence.
That night, as darkness fell, they had no place to sleep. The villagers had shown them no mercy, no hospitality.
They found a stone bench in the square, lying down beneath the cold stars.
Lysa snuggled close to Elian, resting her head on his shoulder.
"Will they ever listen?" she asked softly.
"God's timing is not ours, Lysa." Elian replied.
"We must do what is ours to do. He will do His own way."
The next evening, a woman, pale and feverish, stumbled into the square.
Her steps were weak, her eyes glazed with pain.
She collapsed in front of Elian and Lysa, her body trembling as she gasped for breath.
Lysa knelt down beside her.
"Please, let us help you." she whispered, her voice filled with compassion.
The woman looked up, tears in her eyes.
"I... I can't bear it anymore... Please, help me."
Without hesitation, Lysa took the cross from around her neck and held it above the woman's head, these actions coming instinctively from deep within her being.
The cross began to glow faintly at first, then grew brighter, radiating a pure light.
The woman's fevered skin began to cool, her breath steadied, and color returned to her cheeks.
The onlookers gasped, stepping back in fear and awe.
Some whispered among themselves, their voices thick with confusion.
"It's magic!" one man said in disbelief.
"How could this happen? I thought mages went extinct a long time ago..."
Another woman shook her head.
"This is impossible! Ours would never—"
Before she could finish, another voice cried out
"We've never seen our god do anything like this. This is something else!"
Elian stood tall, his eyes fierce with conviction.
"It is not magic" he declared.
"It is the power of the true God, the Creator of all. The god you worship here is false. What you see before you is the work of The One."
The crowd fell into stunned silence, their eyes wide with shock.
"But... but our gods!" one man cried, stepping forward.
"What about our gods? What about the ones who protect this village?"
Elian's voice grew stronger, his eyes filled with the fire of truth.
"The god of this place is nothing more than a mere idol, false and hollow. They bring only suffering. I tell you now, they are not the source of power. You have been misled by lies."
The villagers recoiled, fear and doubt written across their faces.
"But we... we have always worshipped the god of the flame and the beast" a woman said, her voice shaking
"They've kept us safe for generations. How could this be... true?"
Elian stepped forward, his gaze unwavering.
"What you saw tonight was His power, not magic."
Lysa stood beside him, her heart full of courage.
She turned to the woman she had healed, who was now standing, her strength fully restored.
"I love you!" she smiled.
The woman looked at the crowd, her voice trembling.
"I don't understand... I was dying. And now... I am whole."
The murmurs grew louder.
Some villagers began to bow their heads in shame, others turned away in confusion, still struggling to grasp what they had just witnessed.
Elian raised his hand, calling the crowd to attention.
"You stand at a crossroad. Will you continue to worship the idols of this world, or will you turn to the One True God, who heals, who loves, and who offers eternal life?"
The crowd was silent for a long moment, their world shaken.
As they began to disperse, a man in dark robes watched from the edge of the square, blending into the shadows.
His garbs were black and crimson, the colors of power, but his presence was far from welcoming.
His eyes glinted with a sinister intensity, and his body seemed to hum with a dangerous energy, as though the very air around him recoiled.
He remained still, observing Elian and Lysa from afar.
A cold fury churned within him, his hands clenching in the folds of his cloak.
"No" he thought.
"This cannot be allowed to continue."
The voice of his god, a deep, reverberating presence, filled his mind.
"You are My servant. This heretic must be silenced. He defies Me."
The servant's lips curled into a grim smile.
"A-Azaroth" he thought, surprised.
"The Beast and Flame himself. My lord, it is a pleasure."
The servant could feel the stirrings of rage within himself, the energy of Azaroth flowing through him like a river of fire.
"Strike him down" the voice rumbled from within.
"Erase him from this land."
The dark believer took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest.
Soon, he will pay for his insolence. Azaroth wills it.
With a final glance at the two strangers, the servant turned and disappeared into the shadows, his steps silent, his mind consumed with the wrath of his god.
The time for vengeance would come, and when it did, Elian would fall.
Lysa held the cross tightly in her hands.
As the night grew even colder, Elian and Lysa continued to pray, their hearts filled with hope.