After that, they were guided through the stone corridors of the cathedral and led into the main hall.
As Alric stepped inside, his eyes were immediately drawn to the far end of the room, where a massive statue of white marble stood at the center.
It would be more fitting to call it the statue of a giantess. The figure was so enormous that from where their group stood, they could only see her feet—great, pale pillars of marble. Alric had to crane his neck upward just to glimpse the rest.
As his gaze ascended, he felt a strange sense of enchantment. The figure was immense, with heavy, maternal proportions, and only loosely draped in stone-carved folds. Her breasts were so vast and full they gave the impression of being able to nurture the entire world. Yet, when his eyes finally reached her face, there was no hint of vulgarity—only serenity.
Her eyes were closed, and her hair flowed in delicate, intricate strands over her body, covering it only partially but with an intentional grace.
And yet, the image—so vast, so bare—stirred not lust, but warmth in his heart. A deep, aching warmth, like looking upon a mother he had never known… or perhaps the mother of all.
The statue radiated compassion, standing there silently, seeming more alive than many who breathed.
He hurriedly lowered his gaze, as if ashamed, not daring to take another look. His eyes remained fixed on the colossal feet of the goddess.
The white-robed man who had introduced himself as Juandrez placed a hand over his heart and bowed deeply to the statue, murmuring a quiet prayer before turning back to face them.
Though they did not understand the words, the others instinctively followed his gesture, bowing to the statue and offering silent thanks.
Then, Juandrez stepped forward and knelt upon a small circular pattern carved into the stone floor before the statue. With slow, deliberate movement, he pressed both palms together before his chest, then raised them high above his head. A soft whisper escaped his lips—an invocation or perhaps a greeting. He then lowered his hands, touching them to his forehead, heart, and finally to the ground in front of him.
This act—elegant and rhythmic—seemed to mark the completion of a sacred salutation.
In response, a faint hum echoed through the great hall. It was unclear whether it was the wind moving through ancient stone or something more.
Juandrez stood, calm and composed. He turned back to them and nodded once, solemnly.
"This is the Mother's Grace," he said. "A greeting to She Who Watches."
The group remained silent, moved by the moment, and followed him through a side corridor branching from the great hall, leading toward the guest quarters.
As Alric glanced around, taking in the stonework and the flickering torches that lined the hallway, a group of women in white robes passed by. He froze for a moment, abruptly turning his head to watch them.
For a breath of time, he stood still—captivated. One of the women reminded him of the statue. There was something eerily familiar about her.
"Are these the nomads who recently arrived seeking refuge?" a voice asked as the group of nuns continued toward the main hall.
They moved together in quiet conversation."What do you think, Serena?" someone asked the girl walking at the center of the group, glancing toward her.
Serena merely nodded, her expression unreadable. She didn't reply.
"Hmph. As cold as ever," the girl muttered under her breath.
"Karina, be respectful," another nun chided gently.
"She's the one most favored by the Mother Reverend," she added, almost in reverence.
"So what, Beatrice? It's not like she's the Mother herself," Karina replied with a slight scoff.
Serena walked ahead of them, paying no attention to their words.
They finally stopped before the towering statue of the goddess, standing together in silent reverence beneath her watchful presence.
Without a word, each nun moved in unison, stepping onto the circular marking at the statue's base. As one, they performed the same ritual Alric had seen moments before—palms together, raised overhead, lowered to forehead, heart, and floor.
The harmony of the motion and the sacred stillness that followed made the air feel heavy with meaning. For a moment, it felt as though the stone itself breathed with them.
Then they stood, placing their hands over their hearts and bowing once more before slowly stepping back, never turning their backs to the goddess. In silence, they filed into the adjacent hallway.
After a short walk, they stopped before a carved wooden door. Serena stepped forward and knocked gently.
Moments later, the door creaked open. An elderly woman greeted them with a soft smile and stepped aside to let them in.
Serena entered first, followed by the others.
"Greetings, Mother Reverend," Serena said, bowing her head.
The rest followed suit, all eyes drawn to the woman seated upright on the large bed at the far end of the room.
She looked to be in her seventies, perhaps eighties, but carried herself with grace and strength. Her skin was healthy and softly glowing, her frame full-bodied yet regal. Her long white hair flowed around her like a mantle, and her gaze—warm and knowing—passed over each of them like sunlight through mist.
"May the Mother's abundant care fill your lives," she greeted, her voice a calming balm that seemed to ease all tension from the room.
"Have you completed the evening greetings?" she asked gently.
"Yes, Mother," Serena replied.
"Good," she nodded with a quiet smile.
"Did you see our new guests?"
"We have not met them yet, Mother," Serena answered.
"But we did pass by them earlier," Karina added quickly.
The Mother Reverend smiled, her eyes twinkling as she asked them a few more questions—mundane things, spoken with genuine interest.
Then, after a pause, she sighed softly. "I am tired now," she said, signaling that the visit had come to an end.
The nuns all bowed deeply, murmuring farewells. As they turned to leave, her voice called out again.
"Serena, stay with me."
The others left quietly. Serena turned and closed the door behind them. Then she faced the woman again.
"How are you, my child?" the Mother Reverend asked, her voice gentler now, her expression softening with affection.
"I am well, Mother," Serena replied in her usual calm tone.
The woman beckoned with a graceful hand, and Serena stepped forward and sat beside her on the edge of the bed.
"My time is near," the Mother Reverend said, reaching for her hand.
Serena turned to look at her.
"Don't say such things, Mother. You are the Goddess's most blessed," she replied.
"I know, my child. I know." The Mother Reverend smiled faintly. "But I have served Her for nearly two hundred years. She has granted me long life, good health… a gift beyond measure."
Her gaze drifted toward the window, where blue moonlight filtered through sheer curtains and bathed the room in soft silver.
"Now it is time for me to rest in Her embrace," she whispered, more to herself than to Serena.
Serena stared at her quietly.
She had known this woman her entire life. From the moment she had been brought here as an orphan, the Mother Reverend had been a constant—unchanging, radiant, timeless. Even after all these years, she looked the same.
Serena hadn't believed in gods once.
But watching this woman live, watching her radiate warmth and power across generations, had been enough to plant faith in her heart. Something divine must have blessed her.
And yet… now, even with such words spoken, Serena felt nothing.
She always had been that way.
Emotions came to her like foreign languages—unfamiliar, abstract, hard to grasp.
The Mother Reverend studied her in silence, then smiled again.
"Don't worry, it's not as if I'll be leaving tomorrow," she said, trying to lighten the moment. "I just wanted to share this with you… but there is still time left."
They sat together for a while in comfortable silence.
Eventually, Serena rose and offered a quiet bow. "I will take my leave now, Mother."
She left the room and closed the door gently behind her.
The elderly woman who had opened the door earlier stepped back into the chamber. Her expression was troubled.
"What a strange child she is," she said softly. "You've raised her all these years, and yet she showed no emotion… not even to such a truth."
"Is that so?" the Mother Reverend replied, turning toward her with a faint smile.
"But that is why she is the perfect candidate," she added, her voice tinged with a flicker of hope. "A god must not be ruled by emotion. It clouds judgment."
She looked toward the window again, moonlight glimmering in her eyes.
"I could never be like her. She was born for this role," she whispered, almost to herself.
"I feel tired," she said, lying down and pulling the soft blanket over her. The silver-blue light washed over her features as her eyes drifted closed.
And silence returned to the room, still and sacred.