God’s Perspective

Gavrin's throat tightened as he weighed his options. His instincts screamed to turn back, to leave this strange, dangerous village behind. But he also knew he needed to say something—to warn them.

"This... this will not go unnoticed by the Church," Gavrin muttered under his breath, trying to keep his voice steady. He glanced nervously at Eliza, then at Brennan, lowering his voice. "When the priests find out, they’ll declare this heresy. You know what happens to heretics." His eyes flickered with fear, imagining the Inquisitors descending upon this village, fire and iron in their wake.

Brennan, however, stood unshaken, his expression resolute. "Let them come," he said quietly but firmly. "Our god will protect us, as he always has. We have faith, Gavrin. You should, too."

Brennan clapped a hand on Gavrin’s back, guiding him forward. "Now, don’t worry yourself with things not worth your trouble. Come on in! Let’s celebrate! There’s an event—uh, I mean, festivities happening right now."

Eliza, bouncing with excitement beside them, added, "Did you know we have a fighting competition starting tomorrow?"

Gavrin’s eyebrows shot up, his face clouded with concern. "Fighting competition? Like a gladiator arena?" Images of blood-soaked combatants, hacking each other to death flashed through his mind, making his stomach turn.

Brennan chuckled. "No, no, nothing like that. It’s just a sparring match. We’re testing the abilities and strength of the fighters we have. No one gets hurt; it’s all in good fun."

Eliza looked up at Gavrin, her eyes wide and gleaming with anticipation. "Let’s watch it tomorrow, mister! It’s going to be amazing!"

Gavrin blinked, still unsure. "Hoo, okay..." He glanced back at his caravan, the weary faces of his men showing their fatigue. "But first, we need to settle down for tonight and let my company rest. It’s been a long journey."

"Of course, of course," Brennan said, nodding. "There’s plenty of room for you all."

***

The small inn was bustling with the usual evening crowd—villagers enjoying their meals, clinking mugs of ale, and exchanging stories by the fire. It was the only commercial establishment in Ravenshade, and tonight it seemed as lively as ever. But to Gavrin, something still felt off. The shimmering barrier they had passed through earlier lingered in his mind, casting a shadow over the otherwise familiar atmosphere.

He scanned the room, eyeing his company. "Listen up," he said in a low voice, making sure only his men could hear. "All of you, stay sharp tomorrow. We don’t know what’s going on in this village. Don’t touch anything you don’t have to. We’re here for one reason—buy their crops, sell our wares. Nothing more, nothing less. Got it?"

A chorus of “Yes, sir” followed, the men nodding in agreement, with faces hidden of a mix of concern and compliance.

 But then, predictably, one of his less... bright employees raised his hand. "Uh, sir, can we drink the ale here? What about the food? Might be enchanted or somethin'..." It was one of the carriage caretakers, a big man whose main job was tending to the horses, not using his brain. His voice was full of genuine concern, but the glint in his eye betrayed his real interest—he was eyeing the barrels of ale like a man who’d been on the road too long.

Gavrin sighed, following his gaze to the room full of people. People were gathered around, drinking, chatting, laughing, and even arm wrestling. Everything looked... normal. He sighed, his gaze returning to the man. "It looks fine. Just stick to what you know. Order the usual and don’t accept anything unfamiliar."

The man grinned wide, eyes gleaming at the thought of a cold drink. "Copy that, boss!" he said, already eyeing the barrels of ale nearby with enthusiasm.

Gavrin rolled his eyes but allowed a slight smile. At least for now, things seemed... ordinary enough.

***

Morning arrived with little fanfare, and Gavrin descended from the upper floor of the inn, intent on a quick breakfast before getting down to business. His company was already hard at work, as usual—tending to the horses, checking inventory, and unloading the wares they had hauled all the way to Ravenshade. Everything was running smoothly, just as he liked it.

As Gavrin ate, he spotted the village head, Brennan, entering the inn. The old man’s face lit up when he saw Gavrin, and he made a beeline toward him. 

"Gavrin, my friend!" Brennan called out with a grin. "How was your sleep?"

Gavrin, chewing on a piece of bread, managed a quick, “It was fine—”

"Good, good. Come with me. The fighting competition will begin shortly!" Brennan’s tone was eager, as if this was the highlight of the village’s day.

Gavrin blinked, confused. "But my wares—I need to sell them, and—"

"We’ll be gone for just a short while! You can sell them later. The buyers will still be here, don’t worry. After all, they all live in this village!" Brennan didn’t seem to care about Gavrin’s objections, his enthusiasm pushing the conversation forward like an unstoppable force.

Gavrin glanced at his men through the inn’s window—busy unloading crates and setting up the usual display of goods. They’d be expecting him to manage the sale, as always. "Uh, okay, let me just inform my—"

"Great, let’s go!" Brennan said, clapping him on the back before pushing him out the door with surprising force for a man of his age. Gavrin barely had time to react, let alone give his men any instructions.

As they left the inn, Gavrin’s company stood there, watching in bewilderment. Their boss never deviated from his routine—arrive, unload, sell the goods as quickly as possible. To see him whisked away before any deals were made left them scratching their heads, unsure of what was happening or how to proceed.

Gavrin, too, felt the unease creep in, but Brennan’s jovial insistence left little room for protest. Whatever this competition was, it had clearly taken precedence over business—at least for now.

***

They arrived at the arena, a large circular platform made of fine yellowish stone. It was far bigger than Gavrin had expected, large enough to fit three inns side by side. As he looked around, there were no mystical feats happening, no floating objects or people casting spells. Instead, the villagers were behaving oddly. Some clutched something near their chest, eyes closed in deep concentration, while others had eager expressions, their focus fixed on the arena. Stalls were being set up around the perimeter, selling food and snacks, giving the entire event a festive air.

But Gavrin couldn't help but notice the strange trinkets people were holding close—something hidden beneath their shirts, held tightly to their hearts. He squinted, noticing they seemed to be necklaces. He knew the value of such things, far too extravagant for ordinary villagers, especially in a remote place like Ravenshade. His eyes darted back to the crowd, noting the repetitive pattern: clutch, close eyes, open them again, repeat. It was unnerving.

He turned to Brennan, who was doing the same thing. The village head stood with his eyes closed, fingers curled around something tucked inside his shirt, muttering softly under his breath. Then Brennan opened his eyes and caught Gavrin’s gaze. 

"It's starting," Brennan said, his voice full of quiet reverence.

Gavrin felt his heart race. He couldn’t shake the anxiety growing inside him, his thoughts circling back to the strange god the villagers now worshipped—the god of imagination. His mind filled with questions, and he instinctively glanced at Brennan’s hand, where he held the object tight.

"What is—?" Gavrin began, his eyes zeroing in on the necklace Brennan held.

Brennan noticed his look and held it up for Gavrin to see.

It wasn’t some simple wooden trinket, as Gavrin had assumed. Instead, the pendant was a beautiful bluish crystal gem, shimmering like a fragment of the ocean and sky fused together. The light caught in its facets, casting subtle waves of blue hues, ranging from deep azure to a soft sky blue. The gem was intricately set in a delicate silver frame, with fine, swirling designs that looked almost like currents of water or gusts of wind.

"Oh, this?" Brennan said, a smile tugging at his lips. "It’s our way to communicate with the god."

"God's emblem?" Gavrin asked, the tension easing slightly in his chest. He was familiar with the emblems of the Seven Gods—each one distinct, a symbol of divine authority. Heretics, he knew, rarely had such marks of legitimacy, as their gods lacked the power or presence to manifest one. Seeing this emblem made of wood, however strange it was, helped calm his worries a little. Only for a little.

"—Yes," Brennan confirmed, looking at the cross with a kind of reverence.

But still, the strange atmosphere and the fact that this was a god he had never heard of before kept Gavrin on edge. Something was different here, something unsettling, and despite Brennan’s reassurances, he couldn’t help but feel like he was standing on the edge of something far beyond his understanding.