Kyren opened up Wendy's journal and started reading.
It had been nearly forty years since I last wandered these villages, but time had left its mark on them—even if it hadn't touched me. The roads, the buildings, and the people had all changed, some for the better, some for the worse. Yet, as I approached Zybana, I felt a familiar pull. The landscape was the same, untouched by time, but the city itself had grown. The narrow dirt roads I once knew had been replaced with wide streets lined with shops. At the center of it all stood a massive pavilion, grand and imposing.
As I neared the gates, I noticed the guards—two men dressed in striking red robes, spirals embroidered over their mana pools. Interesting choice of attire.
"State your purpose," one of them called out.
"I'm just a traveler, visiting the villages around Epsilon," I replied, keeping my voice calm and unassuming.
The second guard nodded. "Then welcome to Zybana. Enjoy your stay."
The gate creaked open, revealing a bustling city beyond. The roads were paved with smooth bricks, leading straight to the pavilion. Towering buildings lined Main Street, their lower floors filled with shops. Beyond them, homes stretched toward the outskirts, where a vast field of lush green grass and wildflowers framed the horizon. A soft breeze carried the scent of blossoms through the streets, a rare and welcome freshness.
As I walked, I couldn't help but notice the robes—nearly everyone wore them in varying colors, each adorned with spirals over their mana pools. Those who didn't wear robes had the symbol stitched into their clothing instead. When did this become the norm?
Ignoring the shops, I continued toward the pavilion, marveling at its craftsmanship. It hadn't been here before—when had construction begun? My thoughts were interrupted when I spotted a three-story building with a wooden sign swaying gently in the breeze. Marigold's Tavern and Inn.
Curious, I stepped inside. The warm glow of lanterns lit the room, casting a cozy ambiance. On one side, wooden tables were arranged neatly, while the other half housed a polished bar. A sturdy staircase at the back led to the rooms above.
Behind the bar stood a man with a welcoming smile.
"Hello, stranger," he greeted. "You must be new here. I'm Samuel Marigold, and this is my family's inn."
I took a seat at the bar. "Windy Divertas. I'd like some food, please."
The moment I said my name, Samuel's expression changed—his face tensed, and he quickly leaned in. "Don't tell anyone else your last name," he whispered. "You must not know what your bloodline means to our church."
My brow furrowed. "I don't," I admitted. "But I'll keep it to myself."
Samuel seemed relieved and gave a firm nod. "Good. Now, let me get you our daily special."
A few moments later, he placed a steaming bowl of roast beef stew before me. The rich aroma made my stomach growl.
"I hope you enjoy," Samuel said, watching me curiously. "And if you're looking to experience the culture here, you should come to the sermon tonight."
I swallowed a spoonful of stew—it was delicious. "I'll go," I said, wiping my mouth. "I came here to experience the villages, after all. Also, I'd like a room for the night."
"That'll be one gold coin."
I placed the coin on the counter. "Which room?"
"Second door on the left," he answered. "Come back down when you're ready, and I'll give you the key."
After settling into my room, I found myself eager for the sermon. It had been a long time since I'd heard anyone preach about anything other than strength—the foundation of Epsilon's brutal society. What could my family have done to leave such a mark on this place? My father had never fought against a church, so it couldn't have been him. That left only one person—my grandfather, Leon.
But there was nothing in the family records about Zybana, let alone its church. My sister might have known something, but she was gone. I pushed the thought away before grief could creep in.
When I returned downstairs, Samuel handed me my key. "Are you heading to the sermon now?" he asked.
"I am."
The pavilion was already filling with people when I arrived. I took a seat near the stage and waited. Soon, a figure emerged—a man draped in a golden robe, a silver spiral stitched over his mana pool. His hood concealed his face, but his voice carried through the crowd, melodic and commanding.
"The Church of Conversion will always care for the weak."
The crowd fell silent, hanging on his every word.
"For too long, the weak have been trampled upon in this city we call home. Power determines status—without it, you are nothing. That is the reality your government has forced upon you. But we reject that fate. The All-Father has shown us another path—one where the weak may rise. One where we may all be strong. We have the means to stop aging, to claim Epsilon as our own. A world where the weak are no longer cast aside."
He dropped to his knees, his voice turning to prayer.
"Holy All-Father, we know you still listen. We follow your lead. We will fulfill your will. I know you are still out there, preparing for the day that Epsilon becomes yours. Forgive me for my lack of speed, but we will see your promise fulfilled."
Then, without another word, he stood and left the stage.
The sermon had ended.
I remained seated for a moment, my mind racing. The Church of Conversion? This wasn't around when I was a child in the inner city. So how did it become so prevalent here?
I returned to the inn and lay on my bed, but sleep didn't come easily. My grandfather had erased this church from the inner city—yet here it was, thriving. And somehow, my family name was tied to it.
The thought nagged at me.
After a while, I made up my mind.
I went downstairs and placed fourteen gold coins on the counter.
"I'm staying for two weeks, Samuel."
He gave a knowing nod, pocketing the gold.
Back in my room, exhaustion finally caught up to me. As soon as my head hit the pillow, sleep claimed me.