Today was one of those days. A day like any other day. A day indistinguishable from the endless chain of days that came before. A day so ordinary it might have been a perfect replica of yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that.
Selene woke up in the quiet atmosphere of dawn, as she always did. She rose from her bed without a second thought, as if pulled by invisible strings, and moved through her morning rites. She cleaned her modest quarters, careful and methodical. She prayed, kneeling before the simple shrine beside her bed. She ate a humble breakfast in the temple's common hall. She prayed again, this time with the others.
She served the temple in small ways, in ways she always had. She carries water, clean altars, and tends to those who needed comfort. And when her tasks were done, she prayed once more.
It was a life of habit, a life built from repetition. Anyone who knew her, or who had followed her path for even a short time, would find nothing unusual about the scene. It was a rhythm so familiar that it hardly required thought. A life so deeply worn into her bones that even her breathing seemed part of the cycle.
And yet, beneath that heavy "sameness", like a crack under the surface of a still water. There was a change. A small yet significant change.
Today, Selene’s prayers did not rise to the gods praised by the temple, the figure whose name had filled her lips since childhood. Today, her words bent toward something unseen, a helper whose face she could not name. A presence who asked nothing, yet answered all the same.
Her prayers were no longer stiff recitations to a distant ideal. They were whispered hopes for the health of the town’s common folk, for the weary and the sick, for those forgotten by wealth and power. The shift was almost unnoticeable, yet to Selene, it was everything.
And so she moved through the town as she always did. She prayed for the ill. She helped lift burdens too heavy for old hands. She spoke of the temple’s kindness in places where hope was thin. On the surface, it was a day like countless others.
But it was only the day that had been ordinary. After all, it was only mentioned to be an ordinary day, not an ordinary night.
Darkness filled in the corners of the town. Most windows dimmed, only the distant glow of the castle and temple towers shines throughout the town. The streets emptied quickly, save for the occasional hurried figure retreating home. The silence descended upon the alleyways.
Selene moved quietly through that silence, her cloak covering her from the chill of the night. She passed through the winding alleys she knew so well, continuing her quiet work even after most had locked their doors. The few she found awake received her prayers and gentle aid beneath the scattered light of flickering lamps.
When her work was done, she returned to her quarters.
There, she knelt once more by the worn shrine, but her heart turned not to the temple's patron. She whispered her prayers into the stillness, sending them to that nameless helper, the one she trusted now more than the carved icons.
And then, with a soft sigh, she lay down. Sleep found her easily, wrapping her in dreams.
Another day completed. Another prayer offered. Another small shift in the life she once thought unchanging.
---
Another day arrived. A quiet and nothing of ordinary day. It was a day like any other day. A day with no grand announcement nor an apocalyptic event. It was a day so ordinary it seemed to barely affect the currents of the future.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Selene rose before the town was illuminated by the morning light. Her body moved before her mind was fully awake. She then folded her blanket, washed her face in a basin of cold water, and offered her first prayer of the morning. The prayer was simple, but it was no longer towards the temple's distant god. It flowed outward instead, into something softer, unseen, but no less real.
She ate her breakfast before she worked her way through the temple corridors, carrying out her daily tasks without a question nor delay.
She swept the tiled floors. She polished the wooden pews. She tended the fading herbs in the temple gardens. And when the bells rang out the hour, she joined the others for a prayer. Her lips moving in practiced recitation, in synch with others, but her heart was elsewhere.
It was the same pattern she had followed for years, one foot after the other, the steps of a life she walked blindly for so long. And yet, under the surface of that still pond, something had shifted. Or shifting. It was a subtle difference, so slight that even those who spoke with her daily might not notice it. But Selene knew.
Her prayers had changed. Her intentions had changed. And in time, so would everything else.
The daylight passed without incident. She did what was expected, offered kindness where she could, and smiled when it was polite to do so. There were no questions. Nor accusations. Only a few brief glances, wary and uncertain, from those who had once greeted her with warmth. She noticed them, yet she said nothing.
And when the sun fell, and the darkness of night covered the town, Selene proceeds to continue her secret work once more.
The streets were almost empty, the air smelled with a slight scent of smoke and damp stones. Selene pulled her cloak tighter around her and stepped into familiar alleys, the ones where she had offered blessings.
But tonight, a figure waited for her where she least expected—at the mouth of a narrow passage between two crumbling buildings. And then another. And another.
Before she could speak, they approached carefully. Their faces were familiar. They were the faces of townsfolk she had helped before in the quiet moments of the night. They spoke in hushed voices, asking her to follow. Asking her to trust them.
Curiosity stirred within her. Wariness too. But the helper she prayed to had not failed her yet.
So she walked with them, deeper into the labyrinth of alleys, until they reached a low, abandoned cellar tucked beneath an old weaver's shop.
There, a gathering awaited. There were no grand banners nor golden thrones. There were just rough wooden chairs, battered cloaks, and eyes full of hope.
They told her of their purpose. Of the silent gratitude that had grown among those she had healed. Of their decision to form something... new.
It was a gathering built not on the temple's rigid ways, but on the quiet light she shared with them.
It was then when they called themselves the Followers of Light. To honor the healing she gave freely, the comfort she whispered into their worn and weary hearts. They spoke of helping her, protecting her, and growing her reach.
Selene listened, heart beating slow and steady beneath her cloak. She said little and promised nothing. And yet something warm, almost painful, bloomed quietly within her chest.
When the meeting ended, she left them with a nod. The streets were even darker now, the lanterns fewer and the night colder. But she moved with renewed certainty. With each passing night, more came to her. More asked for healing. More whispered thanks.
She returned to her quarters near dawn, cloak damp with the morning mist. Her fingers aching with exhaustion. She prayed as she always did. And then, slipping beneath her thin blanket, Selene closed her eyes.
Sleep came swiftly, embracing her like the presence she gave to the common folks.
---
The nights passed quietly, yet change wove itself into the fabric of Selene’s new world all the same.
The Followers of Light, yesterday just a loose gathering of grateful souls, had begun to shape themselves into something more. They did not meet openly. They did not speak their names aloud. They wore plain cloaks, blended into the streets, and moved under the cover of night.
Tonight, they had chosen four among them to serve as their voices. They called these four the Bearers of Light. Each one carried messages between the scattered groups, organized the offerings of food and medicine, and offers Selene a guide to allow her an opportunity to perform healing acts to those who needed it most.
Selene, too, had been given a name among them, whispered like a prayer or a promise. They called her the Light Giver. A figure half myth, half healer, known only to those willing to believe in something gentler than the temple's stern hands.
At night, the Bearers would meet her in one of the alleys. They spoke humbly, heads bowed, offering no names nor histories, only a quiet devotion. Their words were simple. Always starting with “We are yours, Light Giver. Command, and we will obey.”
The town remained the same to any casual eye. But in the deep places, in the places behind the front of the streets, something was blooming. A light, carried by those who chose to believe.
Info Dump #19:
- The God in the temple's scriptures was once said to roam the lands, blessing the life of all it met. Yet, because of a disaster made by men, the God was put into a deep slumber. In an atonement, men should fulfill its duties towards the world itself.