“Do you not think this is overkill?” Elias asked. His voice was quiet, muffled somewhat by the sound of his boots against pavement and the chatter of the port. As he walked, the burgundy cloak he’d been given swirled around him, casting vibrant shapes in the shadows behind him. The hood obscured parts of his face, and those which the dark did not conceal were hidden by the ornate silver mask over his eyes. With only his nose and mouth truly visible, he wouldn’t be recognizable unless the observer had studied portraiture of the prince for some endless amounts of time. Unlikely, but not impossible. Which was why Samson kept himself securely at his side.

    “It’s for your safety, Your Highness.” In his defense, he had not been the one to offer the mask as means of concealment. The cloak had been his idea, but his first mate had approached with a soft smile and a small box, offering it before sprinting off to her next task.

    Elias sighed, shaking his head and pulling the cloak’s hood down. The sunlight shimmered against his hair and cast a glow upon the tips of his ears. “It’s too warm for this. If you’re half as good as the legends say and if it’s as important to you as it seems, I trust that you’ll protect me well enough.”

Samson raised his hands, and then let them fall to his sides. There was no arguing with that. Regardless of circumstance, so long as he was there, no harm would come to Elias. “The legends aren’t all true.” He kept himself turned toward Elias as he signed, but walked forward. Port cities, he had found, were often very similar. The docks were full of those who’d wish harm upon others so long as it resulted in their own gain, and the city just past was full of vendors who would do anything for a sale. If he were anyone else, Samson was sure he’d need to tread carefully, but even in the rougher docks, people avoided him. His face was recognizable in any place pirates frequented, and general delinquents avoided him well.

This town, too, had the most beautiful temples, outside of those in Kremal. Kremal, however, was off limits, and those here in Asria were a close second place. They were off the beaten path, away from town. The stone paths would turn to dirt, and the sparse trees would become more dense, offering much more coverage.

“I suppose that’s true of everyone. Legends are just that. They don’t show the whole picture.” As they walked, Elias adjusted the mask on his nose. It must have felt odd, with cool metal replacing the light touch of his glasses. He hadn’t argued when he removed the spectacles and placed the covering over his eyes. If the lack of prescription lenses was much of a hindrance, it didn’t show. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going, or am I meant to follow you blindly?” Elias didn’t stop walking, or even slow, but he watched Samson’s hands for an answer, even as he continued.

Samson turned, raising a brow. Would he? Would Elias actually continue to follow him if he had no idea where they were going and Samson only asked for the prince to trust him? Of course not. It wasn’t trust that led the prince to follow him without aim now. It was a lack of choice. What would he do if he wasn’t following Samson? Run into town, try to find someone who would take him home? In an area like this, with thieves and vagabonds all around, it would be foolish for an unguarded royal to approach someone with hopes that they would help him. Asria wasn’t known for its loyalty as a colony, and the people had made it clear over the years that they were uninterested in the protection of the crown. To stay at Samson’s side was a matter of survival.

“Yalana’s temple. I’d like to make an offering.”

He hadn’t expected that look of surprise on Elias’s face.

“What?”

Elias shook his head. “It’s nothing. I just wouldn’t expect someone like yourself to be particularly devout.”

Samson did his best to weigh the words in his mind. Like himself. A pirate wasn’t expected to care about the gods, he supposed. And, perhaps it was odd for a former citizen of Kremal to favor Yalana. It was much more popular to follow Krella, for whom the kingdom had been named. And Samson did care for her– his gratitude to her for her blessings could not be understated. “I think her story is beautiful.”

Elias nodded. “I suppose it is. Though I also suppose it’s hard to fully differentiate hers from her wife’s. They’re too intertwined to really be so separate.”

Samson nodded. The stories were old, something they’d always been told as children and which was repeated at the schoolyard. Yalana was less widely revered, especially in Kremal, but he had always found himself invested in her. She was all he could hope to be: A strong, fierce warrior who, despite her immense strength, always chose peace if she could help it. The most famous story, though, was of her death. In a long-waged battle between gods (every rendition of the tale had its own version of what was being fought for), a stray arrow had barrelled its way toward Krella, and Yalana had stepped between it and her love. She died in her arms. And, of course, when a god died, a world anew would spring forth from their spirit. Each loss brought forth a universe of new life, and Yalana’s was, according to legend, a calm, beautiful one. Order, structure, and peace reigned supreme.

Krella won the battle for her wife. Even if she wasn’t a fighter by nature, she was merciless against those who had caused her to lose the one thing she had lived for. And, when it was done, she lay down where her love had passed, and joined her. Each god brought for a world of their own. It was not meant to be that one could build upon another, that they could add and combine. Yet, when Krella lay with her wife, their spirits joined completely, forming one world. The age of monk-like order ended, and wars were brought to life. Fighting sprung forth, and chaos arose. But, with that, so many other things came as well. Perhaps the violence and fear that came were a terrifying thing to behold, but there was more. Passion could end with terrible things, but it also brought drive, excitement, and progress. More than that, it brought something that the cold of Yalana’s own world missed: love.

The dense arbor before them parted, allowing a glimpse of a bright, pillared building. It was painted with a yellow that ought to have been gaudy, but surrounded with the deep green of the forest and illuminated with sunlight, it seemed to glow. Where grass might have once been, instead was a lawn of bright, tall sunflowers. They grew like trees, some towering overhead and some still at waist-height.

Samson turned to Elias. Even behind the mask, it was easy to see his eyes widen at the sight of it. That same awe Samson had spotted there during sunrise returned. This time, however, it didn’t fade. As they parsed the winding path between rows of flowers, Elias’s gaze traveled all around them, scanning the flowers, looking toward the building itself, and, occasionally, just for a moment, landing on Samson. His lips parted, just a little, and he let out a breath he seemed to have been holding.

Samson raised his hands as they reached the stairs. “Please stay with me, Your Highness.” At Elias’s nod, he stepped forward, passing the threshold. This temple always remained cool, even in the summer heat. Even just the shade of the roof was enough to cool him immediately. At the door, a small bowl of water rested. Samson dipped his hands inside. It was frigid, but as he splashed the water against his face, he felt renewed and alert. Elias didn’t follow suit, but kept at Samson’s side regardless. As they passed the threshold, he removed his mask. Samson didn’t argue. In here, they would be safe, regardless of any mortal that could reside within.

The main room of the temple had high ceilings, and the light filtered in in strange, warm colors. The windows, mostly clear, contained some panels stained with gold and orange, which added a layer of color to the marble-filled room. Just inside the door, a small crate rested, a stark contrast to the stone surrounding it. Samson removed the sheath attached to his side, placing at and the sword it contained inside the crate. It was frowned upon to bring weapons inside the temple.

“Oh,” Elias said, breaking the quiet. He faced away from Samson completely, toward the room they’d entered. In the center of the room stood a massive statue, carved expertly. There was one in every temple, of both Krella and Yalana. To worship one without the other’s presence wasn’t wrong, per se, but it felt incredibly strange. The two were intertwined in spirit, and to carry respect for one and not the other would be to disregard half of each. This statue had alway been Samson’s favorite. Many depicted the moments of their deaths– some showed Yalana in Krella’s arms, some Krella laying atop her love to finally rest. This one, however, was of both together in life, embracing. Krella’s face was buried in her wife’s neck, but her smile was visible.

“I love the temples in Kremal, but this one…”

“It’s good to see them alive.”

Elias understood. It was one thing to show devotion in moments of great pain. To express love through the pain of sacrifice and loss. To depict their greatest moments as ones in which they gave themselves up. However, to show them in a moment of joy, to see their love as something living, was something else entirely.

Samson stepped forward, kneeling before Yalana. This place had so often been his retreat, where he would go for hours at a time, either to sit in the quiet and consider his options, or to calm himself enough to find his voice when speaking seemed impossible. It helped to consider what Yalana might do. She, of course, had not been a pirate. She had not been someone who kidnapped a person she claimed to adore. He was not her. He would never be. But she had loved once, with intensity and fire, and she had found her strength in that. If nothing else, that was something he could strive to follow.

If he were alone, he would whisper aloud, but with Elias there, standing just to his side, eyes locked upon Krella’s gleeful smile, the words failed him. Still, he was here before her. Even without words, surely, she would grant strength. And, if he was lucky, wisdom. Gods knew he could use more of that.

Samson reached up, his hand clutching the small necklace that rested on his chest. It was simple, a sunflower carved into silver, resting on a thin chain. It was a small thing, something given to him long ago, in another life, one he’d walked out of nearly a decade ago.

Elias turned to him and Samson met his eyes, still clasping the small piece of metal in his hands. For just a moment, he expected that Elias would say something, and would tell him he had seen that necklace somewhere before. But, with the same sharpness as a blade, he stayed silent. Elias didn’t look at him with any emotion. No anger, no fear, but nothing else either. It would have been a stretch to call it contentment, but at least he wasn’t upset. In these circumstances, it was difficult for Samson to offer him actual happiness. If he could give him neutrality and even calm, it would be enough. It was better than seeing him hurt and afraid.

Samson rose, and turned as the sound of footsteps filled the room. Most likely the temple’s keeper. Samson had met her a number of times now. She was a small, kind woman, who had never said a word against him. If she had a full understanding of who he was, she didn’t care. A follower of Yalana was welcome in this place, regardless of their status or profession. If he wanted to spend time here thinking or resting, or if he wanted to help her with the evening’s maintenance chores, he would not be prohibited so long as she presided over the building.

The figure Samson’s eyes landed on, however, was large and wore a scowl and crimson jacket that nearly swept against the floor as he walked. His gaze did not land on the statue or any of the lights cast by the stained glass. Instead, it was firmly placed on Elias.

His hand grasped the hilt of the sword whose sheath he held loosely in hand, and his voice dripped venom. “A traitor to the people, a traitor to the nation, a coward, and a fool.