God’s Perspective

As the Silverroad Trading Company approached the village, Gavrin squinted against the fading sunlight. What lay ahead was not the familiar sight he remembered. The quaint cottages and bustling market stalls of Ravenshade were obscured by an unexpected, shimmering dome that enveloped the village, casting a surreal glow across the landscape. 

“What in the gods’ names is that?” he muttered, his brow furrowing in confusion. The shimmering barrier shimmered in iridescent colors, almost mesmerizing in its beauty, but it set his nerves on edge. He had traveled these roads countless times, and he had never seen anything like it.

The caravan slowed as it neared the edge of the village. The usual sounds of children playing and villagers trading were muted, replaced by a strange stillness that hung in the air like a spell. Gavrin exchanged uneasy glances with his drivers, each of them as bewildered as he was.

“Keep your wits about you,” he ordered, gripping the reins tightly. “We don’t know what’s going on here. It could be a trick, or worse.” His mind raced with possibilities. Had the villagers turned against outsiders? Or was this some sort of magical protection?

As they drew closer, he could see figures moving within the dome—familiar faces of villagers he had come to know over the years. But now, they appeared to be engaged in some ritual or gathering, their movements deliberate and solemn. The usual warmth and friendliness that marked their interactions seemed replaced by a newfound intensity.

“Something has changed,” one of his drivers whispered, his eyes wide with trepidation. “We should turn back.” 

Gavrin shook his head. He had come too far to retreat now. This village was still his best opportunity for profit, and he intended to make his presence known. “We’ll find out what’s happening. There must be a way in,” he declared, determination flooding his voice. 

He urged the caravan forward, his heart pounding with both excitement and fear. Whatever magic enveloped Ravenshade, he would uncover it. He would barter with the villagers and bring home the bounty he had anticipated, dome or no dome. The shimmering barrier might be a mystery, but it was also an opportunity—one that Gavrin intended to seize.

As Gavrin’s caravan inched closer to the village, his eyes locked on a figure standing just inside the shimmering dome. The light rippled around the figure like water against a stone. As they neared, the distinct silhouette of an older man came into focus—Brennan, the village head, with a small girl by his side. Gavrin immediately recognized her as Eliza, Brennan’s granddaughter. 

The dome seemed to pulse in response to their approach, and then, as if commanded by an unseen force, the shimmering barrier parted. It was as if the dome was made of liquid light, opening a passage along the road. Gavrin's men exchanged uneasy glances, hesitant to move forward, but Gavrin waved them onward. He wasn’t about to let something like a magical barrier stop him from doing business.

As the caravan rolled through the opening, Brennan stepped forward with a broad smile, his arms outstretched in welcome. "Gavrin! Good to see you! Come in, come in!"

Gavrin, still wary, scanned the village with sharp eyes, taking in every detail. "Brennan, my friend, what happened here?" he asked, his voice low and cautious as they started walking side by side.

"Do not worry, my friend." Brennan's tone was light, and his smile never wavered. "This place is the same as before. It’s just that the god has finally blessed our land."

Gavrin cast a long glance around the village as they walked. Everything looked normal—yet so different. He saw people practicing what appeared to be elemental magic, sparring with flashes of fire and water in the distance. Others were selling crafted items, strange and glowing trinkets that radiated a faint aura of enchantment. This was not the humble, struggling village he remembered. The villagers were wielding power like he had never seen.

His eyes widened. "Are they—?" Gavrin gestured to a young man conjuring fire in his hand as casually as if he were holding a cup.

Brennan chuckled, clearly proud of what his village had become. "Yes," he said, glancing at Gavrin with a knowing smile. "They have all been blessed by our god."

Gavrin’s brow furrowed. "Who? Sun? Harvest? Sea? War? Who blessed you?"

Brennan paused for a moment, savoring the moment before answering. "Imagination."

Gavrin blinked, confusion flashing across his face. "That’s not one of the Seven," he said, his voice trailing off as realization dawned. Confusion quickly morphed into shock, and then worry. What sort of power had this village tapped into? And more importantly, was it safe for him to be here at all?

He glanced nervously at the shimmering dome behind him, realizing there was no easy way out.

Gavrin’s mind raced as they walked further into the village. His instincts, honed over years of shrewd deals and close calls, screamed at him to get out. 'What if this god is dangerous?' The dome, the magic, the strange power these villagers wielded—none of it sat well with him. He was already plotting his escape route, planning to leave quietly after making some excuse about a sudden need to return to the capital.

Just as he was about to subtly step back, Eliza’s voice broke through his thoughts. "He's a kind god," she said softly, her innocent eyes looking up at him. "He heals the sick and gives strength to warriors."

Gavrin turned to her, trying to hide the skepticism in his eyes. "Is that so?" he muttered, glancing at Brennan as if looking for confirmation.

Eliza smiled brightly and took a step closer. "Look, I can heal people with prayer!" She clasped her hands together, closing her eyes as she murmured a few words of devotion. Within seconds, a warm, golden light radiated from her small form, spreading out gently to envelop the caravan personnel and Gavrin himself.

The sensation was immediate—like stepping into the first rays of morning sun after a long, cold night. His muscles, stiff from the journey, relaxed, and a deep sense of calm washed over him. The tired expressions on his men’s faces softened, replaced by looks of quiet wonder as they felt the same rejuvenating touch.

Gavrin's breath hitched, caught off guard by the sudden peace flooding his senses. The tension that had built up inside him, the worry and suspicion—it all melted away under the warm glow of Eliza’s prayer. He blinked, trying to process what had just happened, feeling lighter than he had in months.

Gavrin’s eyes widened as the golden light faded, but the feeling of warmth and vitality lingered in his veins. His mind raced, connecting the dots. 'This... this is the power of the priests of the Seven Gods!' He had seen it before—priests of the Sun healing the sick, warriors blessed by the God of War, the Harvest’s bounty being multiplied by prayer. But this village girl... she wasn’t one of them.

His voice trembled slightly as he asked, "Are you one of the priests of the Seven Gods?"

Eliza shook her head, her face calm and innocent. "No, this is a gift for me from the God of Imagination." 

Gavrin stared at her, stunned, his mind struggling to process. 'The God of Imagination?' That wasn’t one of the Seven. Could this god be as powerful—or more? Doubt gnawed at him, but the evidence was undeniable. This village, these people... they wielded power he had only seen in the most devout followers of the major gods. 

Brennan stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Gavrin's shoulder. "I told you, Gavrin, there’s no need for fear. Our god blesses us in ways we never imagined." 

Gavrin’s eyes darted from Brennan to Eliza, uncertainty and intrigue warring within him. "A god outside the Seven..." he whispered to himself, the realization settling heavily. 'What does this mean for the world beyond this village?'

His mind churned as he thought about the implications. This is not a good sign. His heart beat faster, a cold sweat forming on his brow. If the Church of the Seven Gods ever found out about this, they wouldn’t hesitate. Everything heretic—anything outside their doctrine—was purged without mercy.

Gavrin clenched his jaw, knowing the weight of what Brennan was saying but unsure if the village truly understood the danger. Heresy wasn’t something you could just pray away.