Enemy of The Gods

Faith is not the clinging to a shrine, but an endless pilgrimage of the heart

Okin's throat throbbed as he swallowed, his tongue rubbing against the sores at the back of his throat. The dirty water was more refreshing than any drink he had ever tasted; the temperature inside the church was finally bearable compared to the chill of riding at night.

Gendro let out a throaty breath. "I've never even been here before, but it feels like home. Why couldn't we have stopped earlier?"

Okin straightened his back, turning to the Rothar. "Who knows how far Billy has gone now? He was either living in Apathasaw or the Apathasawian colonies, that much was clear from his outfit and the strange weapon he held. If he gets back to Apathasaw, the chance we'll find him again is low to nil."

"Good thing I took his money," Gendro smiled.

Okin's eyes widened. "You didn't tell me that the whole ride here. You went on ranting about the Devinar Wilston for half an hour— and you never told me about something that is actually crucial to what we're doing!"

The young Rothar just chuckled. "Calm down, Okin. I get it, you're a very wise and established Ather for your age, but you don't need to be acting like the rest of the old bags yet."

Okin sighed. "Sometimes I wonder why you became a Rothar. You almost have a passion for disrespect."

Gendro grinned. "Well, Okin, I thought it was common sense that I took all of Billy's possessions."

Okin shook his head. "Ah, you insult a fly for being filthy and it proceeds to bathe itself in dung."

Gendro laughed. "You insult a thirty year old Ather for acting like a sixty year old Impalias, then he talks like an eighty year old Nihdanian Monk."

Gendro, Gendro. I often remind myself that your humour is part of your Dedication to the Joy of Nexon, but you just never know when to stop.

"Well, if Billy and Damian were planning to pay an Apathasawian ship for transport, your frisk has made a roadblock in their plans," Okin said. "I'm curious, do you have the cash on hand?"

"Yep," Gendro said, reaching into his pocket. He held out a wad of Apathasawian papers.

"I don't have too much knowledge of Apathasawian currency, but that seems like a good amount," Okin said.

Gendro nodded.

The door squeaked open slowly, and a thin woman, around Gendro's age, wearing a long black garb stepped into the room. She smiled weakly at the two men, and Gendro returned a smile.

"I apologize for the lack of hospitality," she said. "We usually don't have visiting Athers or Rothars at this time."

"There is no lack of hospitality," Gendro said, smiling. "We're just happy you let us in."

"Well of course, any house of Moden Versalism welcomes Athers and Rothars no matter where they're from," she replied. "I believe we have some spare rooms upstairs. Would you like me to lead you to them?"

"That would be wonderful," Okin replied.

The spare rooms were extremely minimalistic: a bed, a nightstand, and a prayer bench, all atop a fuzzy cream carpet. Okin smiled at the Istar; while he knew that a church would never turn away a High Ather, it was still a luxury which he was extremely grateful for.

Okin closed the door to the hall, and knelt down onto the prayer bench. Closing his eyes, he held out his placed his hands together as he spoke.

"I wish nothing more than to pursue Justice in your name. I will fight off the manipulation of Deionis and the envy of Tregale until I breathe my last, but I am more lost than I have ever been. I do not understand if it is your hand acting in ways I cannot comprehend, or if this is my duty to fight the forces of evil. Please, give me the strength to enact Justice as you see fit. Please, give me the guidance to perform your will. Aventa."