My request to become a priest of the temple wasn't a sudden one, or not to me at least. My options were extremely slim, even non-existent, and I had no way of rallying anybody to fight against the hordes of abominations that would soon come after us.
The fact I couldn't even provide a clear time for their arrival would grind any such attempt to a halt. Sneak around the temple for weapons or secrets? If I was a Faceless or Psychiatrist who had Psychological Invisibility maybe, but I was just a Spectator.
My only option was to use the system and work my way up it until I could find something better to do. At the same time, I needed to convince this Saint, a pillar of this crumbling temple, radiating a power that could either be our salvation or our final undoing, to fight and support me. To move freely, to have my voice heard when the darkness came, I needed to stand beside him, not beneath him.
The Saint's dried-gold eyes widened a fraction, the stern lines of his face softening into pure, unadulterated surprise. He was silent for a long moment, studying me not with suspicion, but with a deep, weary curiosity. "A Priest?" he finally said, his voice a low rumble. "Child, the path of the cloth is not a shelter from the storm. It is a commitment to stand within it, to be a lightning rod for the fears of others. It is a life of service, not safety. Why would you seek this now, in the world's ending?"
This was the test. I couldn't mention the vision. I couldn't speak of the nightmare or the Spell. My lie had to be built on the foundation of the truth I'd just been given—his truth. I met his gaze, allowing the lingering shock and grief from Father Malachi's death to resurface, channelling it into my performance. "My village is gone.
The world is madness, as you said. I have nothing left but the memory of a priest who showed me kindness before he… before he died. He believed in sanctuary. In light. When I saw this temple, when I felt… I felt a semblance of that peace here…" I let my voice tremble, just slightly. It wasn't entirely an act. The scale of what was coming was truly terrifying.
"I don't want to just hide. I want to help. I want to be a part of whatever light remains. Please. I have nowhere else to go." I saw it in the micro-shift of his expression, the slight relaxation of his jaw. The Spectator ability translated the signals instantly: he saw my youth, my palpable loss, and a desire he interpreted as pure, if naïve, faith.
He saw a reflection of the idealism he himself had likely once possessed, now worn down by the silent heavens. He let out a long, slow breath, the sound like wind through ancient stones.
"The old ways are breaking. Perhaps new blood is what is needed, even if it arrives drenched in sorrow." He stood, his movement fluid and effortless, the power in his frame unmistakable. "Very well. I am Saint Theron. I oversee the spiritual well-being of this sanctuary. I cannot offer you formal ordination—such things require years of study and the blessing of a higher authority that does not answer.
But I can offer you a place among the acolytes. You will work, you will pray, and you will learn what it means to hold fast to hope when there is none. If you still wish this path after you have seen the true depth of the despair we face, then we will speak again." It was more than I could have hoped for. Legitimacy. Access. A reason to wander the temple halls unsupervised, if only openly. "Thank you, Saint Theron," I said, bowing my head. The gesture felt foreign, but right.
"Come," he said, his tone shifting to one of practical command. "The first lesson begins now. You will help me take inventory of our medical supplies. The refugees bring not just fear, but injury and sickness. To tend to the body is often the first step in tending to the soul." He led me back inside, not towards the main courtyard, but down a side passage. As I followed, my mind was already racing, cross-referencing the vision with this new reality. Medical supplies.
They would be critical when the siege began. Knowing their location, their quantity, would be the first strategic step in altering our doomed future. Saint Theron had given me a chore. But to me, it was the first move in a war for survival, and I was now perfectly positioned behind enemy lines. Not that I had any intention of bring harm to these people of course, we all stood on the same side after all. Now, the biggest issue was figuring out the exact timeline shown to me.
From what I'd seen, the flood of refugees will stop for a time, which was rapidly accelerated in the opening. Then a man presumably connected to the Shadow God will arrive, followed by another accelerated period of time. Then the monsters. So I had at around two weeks after the last of the refugees show up before we all die.
From now, maybe 20 days. While Theron had showed me some favour by agreeing to my request, I was sure I couldn't achieve much more in such a short time by doing chores. I would need an opportunity to stand out, to prove my worth. For now though, I obediently did what was asked of me and started going through the boxes of herbs and labelled potions.