22nd Winter, 512AV. The Temple of Time.
Johanne never understood the Gods. They had always seemed to her to be a petty group of individuals: concerned with nothing but their own interests, their own squabbles, their own desires. Growing up in a world that was only beginning to recover from one God’s rage, Johanne afforded the pantheon their proper deference, as any youngling of Mizahar might, but she did not feel any connection to them. They were concerned with their affairs, and sometimes with the doings of the great and skilled, but never Johanne. Johanne was too small and too ordinary to be of any worth to any god.
She had woken early that Dawn Rest. The city of Lhavit was still in their last moments of slumber, still resting before they must awaken and resume their duties once more. Lhavit was an ever-moving place, only ever slowing down for two bells at the most—and even then, there were individuals like Johanne who could not take their repose in full. Dressing in her warm dress, and the bark-brown woollen scarf she had purchased with the ever-graceful Suria in Fall, Johanne braved the brisk morning chill of Lhavit in the beginnings of Winter, and began to walk towards the Sartu Peak.
As she walked, Syna’s rays began to creep over the buildings and caress her face. It struck Johanne suddenly that every morning ‘til dusk, she was touched by a goddess, and she had taken that for granted. She smiled in the sunlight and wondered if Syna could see. She felt strangely warmed, a new sensation for the girl who usually spared no thoughts for the Gods.
In a city where a daughter of gods walked among them, it seemed a little ridiculous to Johanne that she had only now begun to think of their immortal implications. Ethaefal, too, fallen children of the Ukalas, called Lhavit their home, and Johanne had never even thought that they had once spent their days with the sun and the moon, and spoken with the Lords themselves.
Her feet took her to the Temple of Time. Having awoken, struck by her very mortal soul, she was too afraid to pray to Leth or Syna. Surely they would know of her secular thoughts and be less forgiving for it. Johanne had never spoken to a god, had never prayed for help, or worshipped their greatness. To Johanne, it seemed to make much more sense to have her first encounter with worship in the temple to the most impartial god of all: Time. Tanroa stood above all things. Surely she would not be offended by Johanne’s lack of knowledge. If Johanne felt nothing before the great God of Time, then she would take it as a sign that she was meant to leave piety to others.
Johanne never understood the Gods. They had always seemed to her to be a petty group of individuals: concerned with nothing but their own interests, their own squabbles, their own desires. Growing up in a world that was only beginning to recover from one God’s rage, Johanne afforded the pantheon their proper deference, as any youngling of Mizahar might, but she did not feel any connection to them. They were concerned with their affairs, and sometimes with the doings of the great and skilled, but never Johanne. Johanne was too small and too ordinary to be of any worth to any god.
She had woken early that Dawn Rest. The city of Lhavit was still in their last moments of slumber, still resting before they must awaken and resume their duties once more. Lhavit was an ever-moving place, only ever slowing down for two bells at the most—and even then, there were individuals like Johanne who could not take their repose in full. Dressing in her warm dress, and the bark-brown woollen scarf she had purchased with the ever-graceful Suria in Fall, Johanne braved the brisk morning chill of Lhavit in the beginnings of Winter, and began to walk towards the Sartu Peak.
As she walked, Syna’s rays began to creep over the buildings and caress her face. It struck Johanne suddenly that every morning ‘til dusk, she was touched by a goddess, and she had taken that for granted. She smiled in the sunlight and wondered if Syna could see. She felt strangely warmed, a new sensation for the girl who usually spared no thoughts for the Gods.
In a city where a daughter of gods walked among them, it seemed a little ridiculous to Johanne that she had only now begun to think of their immortal implications. Ethaefal, too, fallen children of the Ukalas, called Lhavit their home, and Johanne had never even thought that they had once spent their days with the sun and the moon, and spoken with the Lords themselves.
Her feet took her to the Temple of Time. Having awoken, struck by her very mortal soul, she was too afraid to pray to Leth or Syna. Surely they would know of her secular thoughts and be less forgiving for it. Johanne had never spoken to a god, had never prayed for help, or worshipped their greatness. To Johanne, it seemed to make much more sense to have her first encounter with worship in the temple to the most impartial god of all: Time. Tanroa stood above all things. Surely she would not be offended by Johanne’s lack of knowledge. If Johanne felt nothing before the great God of Time, then she would take it as a sign that she was meant to leave piety to others.
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