Filing through the door, Lark noticed there were other people here too; getting blessed it looked like, all smiles and certainty, bowing and praying in pews. plants were everywhere, their vines coiling from under benches and hanging pots. The birds that adorned the building outside hopped along perches in the ceiling, their long tails knocking into unsuspecting people below the,. No one paid them any mind, some going so far as to sit peacefully with half a dozen covering their shoulders. Lark had never seen birds like this, all matter of colors and bright as freshly made paint.

Lark could feel an uncomfortable feeling go down his neck and drip down to his face, following his mother into the cathedral as he walked alongside the faithful. Entering the main area of the church, he couldn’t possibly turn a blind eye to the building’s beauty. 

Marbled stone colored in gold, white and pink. Dark blue carpets and curtains. Blue lit candles alongside the electric lamps down rows of pews. Glyphs of complicated patterns were sewn into the curtains and etched into the floor. They glimmered with a shimmery, constantly moving energy while pulsing in and out of faint view. It all had a haunting allure to it that made Lark feel both melancholy and awe.

Various members of the faith milled about, some in robes or scarves with particular patterns. They looked like regular clergy, reading from yellow paged books or speaking to groups of people around incense burners. Besides them, a few stood out from the rest.

Dressed in thicker cloth made for fighting with weapons at their hips or backs, all of them had some sort of bright neon blue ribbon adorning their earrings. There were far far fewer of them than the others. Various colored scarfs sat around their necks, bright against the darker clothes and Lark was reminded of the birds that seemed to make their home in the vaulted ceiling above.

Winter suddenly tugged Lark a little closer, her eyes sparkling with admiration and wonder. “Those are Saints! They keep us safe from the creatures who eat souls.” She then motioned to a group of them huddled together, all talking in hushed voices with sour expressions. One of them had a huge bandage covering their arm, held up in a sling. You could see a faint red stain peeking through. “The church and the royal family there have come to a treaty on how to handle them, as the Saints’s weapons are made to do so.”

Lark looked over to her, genuinely interested in the knowledge. “The Torchlands’ king lets us handle it there? That seems… weird. Shouldn’t it be their problem?”

A good-natured laugh sounded behind them and startled Lark. He gripped his mother’s arm protectively and turned his head as politely but quickly as he could.

Standing there was one of the Saints he had seen milling about; they had a wide smile on, making the freckles on their dark skin look quite pretty. Green eyes with streaks of gold looked curiously between Lark and Winter while they continued to smile. After a wave, they clapped their hands together.

“Oh! Are you here to bathe in the pool of tears? Happy day!” Their voice was just as nice as their looks, calm yet peppy. Twitching an eyebrow, Lark still heard a… faux joy in the person’s voice. Like they were faking it to make it.

Winter immediately spoke up, body bubbling with excitement as soon as the Saint had started talking to them.

“Yes! My son here, he’s finally agreed to my stupid, selfish wishes.”

“Hey, mom, that makes you seem like you forced me.”

Getting defensive because he didn’t want this important stranger thinking this wasn’t entirely consensual, lark gave her a rough nudge.

“Well, you didn’t want to do it, right? I’m being selfish.”

“I agreed to it, okay? You’re giving yourself a bad impression…”

Glancing at the Saint, who was in turn watching their banter carefully, Lark felt sweat form on the back of his neck. It was commonly said Saints weren’t supposed to have any emotions. This one seemed so… bright and happy. it must be all a ruse…

“You want him to be safe, right? Phelmacitia protects everyone who bathes in their sorrow, so you don’t have to.” The Saint continued smiling, then gave Lark an almost apologetic look. “Very honorable of you to ease your mother’s worries. Makes you kind.”

“If she stops heckling me every time I go out with the sheep then it’s a win for me.” Forcing out a laugh, Lark shrugged his shoulders. The Saint raised an eyebrow and said nothing.

Winter suddenly bowed to the Saint, changing the subject after noticing her son’s awkwardness. “You’re… Delilah, right? I’ve heard so much about you! What an honor it is to finally meet you in person!”

The Saint, Delilah, mimicked the motion and grinned at her.

“Aw, have you? How nice of you to say! I’m a bit of a senior around here, not that I’m old or anything!”

“Then why are you a senior if you’re not old?” Looking Delilah up and down, Lark surmised they must be around the same age. Couldn’t be too much older.

Patting a hand to the dagger at their hip, Delilah smiled.

“When you’re fighting monsters, sometimes you die.”

It was so straight-forward that it took Lark off guard. He didn’t assume their endeavors would be that perilous. No one ever mentioned it. Not even TV or newspapers. It was… concerning.