I woke slowly, pulled back into reality by the soft pressure of fabric and warmth. For a second, I didn’t recognize the texture under my face: feathers, skin, and far too much body heat.

  Then it hit me. Nina.

  I was in her nest, wrapped in her blankets, and tangled with her limbs.

  One of her wings still rested across my shoulder. My face was pressed somewhere it shouldn’t be.

  I held still, trying not to move too quickly. I didn’t want to make this even more awkward than it already was. With quiet effort, I untangled myself, crawling carefully out of the blankets without waking her.

  Almost.

  “Mmmrh?” Nina murmured, eyes fluttering half-open.

  “Nothing,” I whispered. “All good. Just... unsnuggling.” She blinked once. Then she stood up abruptly.

  “I have so much to do,” she said.

  She ran down the stairs, forgetting to wear her shoes. I took my time fixing my clothes and hair before following her.

  “I think I have enough steel and copper,” she said while rummaging in a closet.

  “But I need to check with a woodshaper today,” she added, more to herself than to me. “If he’s out of Soulwood, that’s going to delay the whole build.”

  I stood awkwardly for a few seconds, not sure what to say, before deciding to keep it simple.

  “Thanks again. For all of it,” I said.

  She nodded without looking up. “I’ll send it to you when it’s ready.”

  “Cool. I’ll leave some coins for the materials. Is six silver enough?”

  I removed one of my pouches, reopened it to make sure it contained six silver, and placed it on the nearest cleared shelf.

  Nina finally looked up. “That should be more than enough. But if I need more, I’ll let you know.”

  “Do that,” I said. “And don’t rush it. Make it perfect.”

  “I always do.”

  I nodded once, shouldered my bag, and made my way down the narrow stairs, leaving behind the warmth of the nest and the quiet hum of dream-born invention.

  Time to go back to the guild.

  Time to get back to work.

  The guild lounge was busier than usual, half-suited freelancers rubbing sleep from their eyes, others already prepping for fieldwork. I found my team seated around one of the long breakfast tables. Nakera, Kuru, Vena, Kan, and Calr were already halfway through their food.

  Nakera waved me over without looking up. “You're late. I saved you the last egg.”

  “Sorry about that,” I said, sliding into the empty seat. “I was outside the guild working on a new weapon.”

  I bit into the toast and nodded my thanks. My body still hadn’t fully caught up from Dreamspace to reality.

  Nakera leaned back, folding her arms behind her head. “Alright, updates. Kuru?”

  Kuru set her fork down. “I found two more disappearances. It’s the same pattern. Poor slum workers with a history of gambling. They vanished with no witnesses, no noise, and no signs of struggle.”

  “That makes five total,” I said, frowning. Under Nakera’s leadership, my team was busy investigating cult activity. The only thing we found that might be related was a series of mysterious disappearances.

  Six,” corrected Calr. “I cross-checked with gang rumors. One girl from Crooked Alley went missing last week. Everyone thought she just ran off, but no one’s seen her since.”

  Nakera turned her eyes to him. “Gang involvement?”

  Calr shook his head. “None of the major ones are claiming it. I asked around. No turf disputes, no snatch jobs, no warnings. If it’s a gang, it’s either brand new or very, very quiet.”

  “What about cult symbols? Any mention of the Old Realm?”

  “None,” Calr said. “But if they’re smart, they wouldn’t be leaving calling cards.”

  Nakera gave a thoughtful grunt, then turned to Vena. “How’s your healing route going?”

  Vena perked up. “We’re treating people near the northern slums. Kuru’s danger sense hasn’t gone off, but there’s a lot of tension. People are scared, even if they’re not saying it.”

  Nakera nodded and tapped the table twice.

  “Alright. Kuru and Vena. You’ll go deeper into the slums today. Continue your healing routine, but stay alert. Take Kan with you for backup. She’ll scare off anyone dumb enough to try something.”

  Kan nodded, clutching the metal chains wrapped around her left arm.

  “Got it,” said Kuru.

  “Understood,” Vena echoed.

  Nakera turned to me next.

  “Alice, you’re going with Calr today.”

  I glanced at him. He gave me a small shrug.

  “He’s got a lead.”

  Nakera stood and stretched. “I’ll check out the newest disappearances myself. You all know what to do.”

  With that, she grabbed her bow, drained the last of her coffee, and walked off without saying another word.

  I leaned toward Calr. “So… what’s our lead?”

  He hesitated, clearly unsure how to explain it.

  “We’re going to a place called the Temple of the Unholy.”

  I blinked. “The what?”

  “The Temple of the Unholy,” he repeated while looking at Vena, making sure she didn’t overhear. “It’s... not what it sounds like.”

  “I thought the Unholy didn’t have temples.”

  “They don’t. Not officially.”

  “So what is it?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “You should probably gear up. Meet me in in the afternoon at the Market Gate.”

  A few hours later, I was back in armor and waiting at the Market Gate. The square buzzed with life; vendors hawked spice dumplings, men carried crates, and children chased a goat. Calr appeared like a shadow from the crowd, hands in his pockets and hood drawn low.

  He spotted me and gave a quick nod. “Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be. Are you going to tell me what this place actually is?”

  He hesitated. “You’ll see.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t like surprises.”

  He grinned. “Then you’ll hate this.”

  We turned off the main avenue into a side street I’d never noticed before, narrower, cleaner, paved with new slate tiles. It was quieter, darker in tones. We passed a pawnshop, a tavern with violet curtains, and an apothecary with dried fragrant herb bundles hanging from the door. A tailor’s shop displayed dancers’ outfits and lace-up lingerie on headless mannequins.

  “This place has a vibe,” I muttered.

  “Wait until we get there.”

  At the end of the street stood a building framed by dark stone pillars and draped in gauzy fabric. The doors were open, light and music spilling out in slow, honey-sweet waves.

  I blinked at the sign above the entry arch.

  “Temple of the Unholy.”

  “Calr,” I said flatly. “That’s not a temple.”

  “I never said it was a real temple,” he said. “They just call it that.”

  “So it’s a brothel.”

  “It’s a brothel,” he confirmed. “But it’s more than that. It caters to mythic people, especially those aligned with the Unholy.”

  Inside, the lighting was soft and gold-toned. The music was slow, lilting. This early in the day, the atmosphere was relaxed, more lounge than lust. The night crowds were still a few hours off.

  Dancers sat together in small groups, doing each other’s makeup or adjusting hair and outfits. Laughter and the scent of powder hung in the air. A green-skinned woman with flower-covered braids carried a tray of tea and bread to two well-dressed clients in the corner, her smile bright and easy.

  A single Naga woman coiled around the center stage, swaying to the rhythm with hypnotic grace. Her serpentine body glittered with oil and patterned cloth, her movements slow and deliberate.

  I caught myself staring.

  The air shimmered faintly around her. My thoughts dulled. I leaned forward…

  Then snapped myself out of it.

  Some snake-like people have the Sleepless Father’s blessing. Illusion magic. I forced my gaze away before I forgot my name.

  Off to the side, a male bard with crimson cardinal wings played a metallic flute, his head tilted to the rhythm. He wore half a jacket and nothing else above the waist, flame-red feathers catching the light with every breath.

  Every face in the room had that quiet mythic energy: too poised, too symmetrical, too aware. Most looked human, but their presence said otherwise.

  At the back of the room, Cleric Lilly moved like a ghost in white, quietly healing a dancer’s swollen ankle. She said nothing. Her expression never shifted. Just calm, focused hands and clean holy light.

  We sat there for a while, ordering drinks and a few snacks. I stuck with juice, not wanting to muddle my mind with alcohol. Calr got mead. I guess he was more comfortable than me.

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  Then the air changed. A horned woman appeared; she was breathtaking and barely dressed. She was striding on sharp heels that would break the back of any lesser person. Her voice rose in greeting.

  “Lilly!”

  It was warm. Bright. Like she was genuinely happy to see her.

  Lilly glanced up. She gave a nod, rather than a smile. It was not cold, but it was not warm either… just unreadable.

  “That’s Amara,” Calr whispered. “One of the few Ascendant Unholy in Hano. She’s a succubus. That’s around the same soul power as a paladin or a crusader.”

  I gave him a skeptical glance. “I thought most mythic people just looked human?”

  “They do, until they ascend. If they ascend through the Holy, nothing changes other than their powers. But if they take a path like Passion, Trickery, or a blessing from the old pantheon..." He gestured toward Amara. “Well. You get ones like her.”

  I didn’t reply. I was too busy watching the exchange, joy on one side, total stillness on the other. The contrast was oddly moving. I couldn’t help but ship them in my head, even though Lilly, as a cleric, couldn’t be into women.

  My people watching session was interrupted by the arrival of a plain girl with dirty blond hair. She had no makeup, a clean braid, and was dressed in simple shoes and a soft brown dress. But her eyes lit up the moment she saw Calr.

  “Hey, stranger.”

  He smiled. “Mary. It’s been a while.”

  “Did you become a big-shot freelancer and forget about your old friends?” she asked, bumping him with her hip before turning to me. “And who might you be?”

  “Alice,” I said. “Friend of Calr’s. A teammate.”

  She extended a hand and shook mine with a grip firmer than expected. “Nice to meet you.”

  Calr cleared his throat.

  “Mary used to be with us,” he explained, “Temple orphanage. Marca had her pegged as a future cleric, said she would ascend by the age of twenty.”

  Mary snorted. “Yeah, well. I had other ideas.”

  “Were people surprised that you walked out?”

  “Yeah, well…” She shrugged. “I realized the Holy path wasn’t for me. Too much obedience, not enough freedom. Marca never lived a day for just herself, always putting others first.”

  Her voice wasn’t bitter… just sad.

  I studied her again. She didn’t look like someone who belonged here, but the way she moved said otherwise. Calm. Grounded. Familiar with every inch of the room.

  My eyes were drawn back to Amara and Lilly, the glowing succubus and the pale cleric, still standing near the back.

  “They were close once,” Mary said, following my gaze, “Childhood friends. Almost inseparable.”

  “What happened?”

  Mary gave a small shrug. “Nothing dramatic. They just... chose different paths. But when that fever spread through the courtesan district two years ago, Lilly started showing up regularly. Never says much, but she heals whoever asks. And leave without asking for payment or even throwing a sermon.”

  “That’s why she was researching sexually transmitted diseases last time I met her,” I said.

  “When your best friend was the most powerful whore in Hano,” laughed Mary, “that kind of knowledge becomes important, I guess.”

  “How powerful is she?” asked Calr.

  “Very powerful,” Mary said, suddenly serious. “Her powers are secret, but I read about other succubi in the temple library. Some can still power… but she would have been caught if she did. No, i think she is the type can summon a perfect echo of their past lovers. The clones have the same strength and fully flushed-out abilities. And Amara has bedded the most powerful men in Hano.”

  “And some of the women,” added Mary.

  “That’s a broken ability,” I muttered. “Do they know she can do that?”

  “Nope, knowledge about mythic powers other than the Holy is not spread much in the contested realm,” answered Calr.

  “Yep. That’s why I’m trying to follow in her footsteps.” Mary grinned. “If I could become a succubus, I’d have the strength of a crusader without the restrictions.”

  “How’s that going for you?” Calr asked.

  “Poorly,” Mary sighed. “When I had the Faithful class, I could always sense the path forward. Now... I’m kind of lost.”

  “Aren’t you going about it the wrong way?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Isn’t the Unholy path about following your inner desire?” I said. “Mimicking someone else's ascension shouldn’t work. That’s too structured. You’re still seeing things through Holy lenses.”

  She blinked twice. “You’re right. I can’t ascend if I’m just a copy of Amara. I need to be myself.”

  “What do you feel like doing?” Calr asked.

  “My first genuine desire was to challenge the temple,” Mary said. “Testing how tolerant they are.”

  “How did that go?” I asked.

  “Lady Sana hugged me and said I’d always be welcome back if I needed help. But Marka, the woman who raised me, didn’t even say goodbye.”

  There was a pause.

  `“So, how would I use that to gain power?” asked Mary.

  “Go prank Marka until she snaps,” laughed Calr.

  “You could push it further,” I offered. “Dress like a Cleric and recite scripture while doing courtesan work. Or...”

  I hesitated.

  “You could dress in silver armor and pretend to be the Lady.”

  Calr spat his drink. “Are you insane?! Are you trying to get her killed?”

  But Mary’s eyes were shining. “They keep saying they tolerate the Unholy. Let’s test them.”

  Oops. I might’ve just committed a social faux pas. Hopefully not getting lynched by an angry mob kind of faux pas.

  The table fell quiet. Everyone drifted into their own thoughts.

  I looked around again, letting the atmosphere settle deeper: the music, the dancers, the clients. A controlled chaos. The essence of the Unholy.

  “What’s the deal with those guys?” I asked, nodding toward the stage. “The snake girl, the bard?”

  Mary smiled. “The Naga and the bard? Half-Dreamer, half-Mythic. They came from the flying island. Have fully-fledged Dream Sanctuaries, and for the right price, they’ll let you visit.”

  That explained the shimmering haze and how my thoughts had tried to melt.

  “And the green girl?”

  “That’s Priestess Eali. She serves Damada, goddess of fertility. She’s the reason none of us get pregnant.”

  I blinked. “Wait… seriously?”

  Mary smirked. “Yeah, no need for potions when you have divine authority. She blesses the kitchen water and the bathing pool. It’s discreet, but very powerful.”

  I sat back, slightly overwhelmed.

  “Holy has its structure,” Mary said. “But the Unholy has its caretakers, too.”

  I looked back at Eali, who was now laughing with two clients as she passed out tiny glass cups of honeyed liqueur.

  “Then why is she serving drinks?”

  “Extra coin,” Mary said with a shrug. “The clients tip well. And even goddesses don’t begrudge their Priestess a side hustle.”

  We lingered at the table a little longer, sharing bits of food and letting the atmosphere settle around us. Mary twirled her cup between her fingers, her expression distant.

  Silence hung between us for a long beat.

  Then Mary leaned in, lowering her voice again. “I am hesitant to say this to anyone, but I am choosing to trust you.”

  Calr expression looked somber. “You did ask me to meet with you.”

  “There was a man. He came in a few days ago. Asked for me by name.”

  “Client?” I asked.

  Mary tilted her head. “Not exactly. Not a regular in any case. Said he heard I was at odds with the temple and wanted company with someone who shared that view. He looked rough: bruised, split lip, and he limped a little. Claimed guards beat him up after he tried robbing a cleric. Said it was all a misunderstanding. That he wasn’t after the cleric.”

  I frowned. “Did he say anything else?”

  “Said he was just trying to get money. Trying to help ‘the Family.’”

  “Sounds like another desperate man,” Calr said.

  Mary gave me a look. “That’s what I thought, too. Until a few more drinks. Then he started talking.”

  She ran her finger along the rim of her cup.

  “Said the system was broken. That this was Hano, and the Holy had no real power here. Neither did the Guild. That change was coming whether people liked it or not. And then he said: ‘It doesn’t matter. This Realm belongs to its true people… And Donas is coming back to show them the truth.”

  Calr tensed up.

  “Who’s Donas?” I asked Calr.

  “One of the Old Realm cult leaders,” Calr replied, voice low and grim.

  “I spiked his drink after that,” Mary added. “I didn't want him leaving with any memories of what he said.”

  “Did he say anything else?” I asked.

  She hesitated. “He kept ranting about a ‘foreign bitch.’ Said she zapped him with lightning.”

  I froze.

  “What did he look like?” I asked.

  “Shaved head. A scar on his left cheek. Cloudy left eye. It looked like an old blade wound that never healed right.”

  My hand curled into a fist.

  “That’s him,” I said. “That’s the guy who tried to mug me. He attacked me and Vena near the alley. And I may have told the guards he assaulted a cleric.”

  Calr turned to me. “You’re sure?”

  “Positive. Sergeant Yon was there too. He could probably confirm it.”

  Mary looked between us. “The way he talked... I doubt he’s acting alone. Maybe not high up, but he definitely has some friends.”

  “He had five guys with him last time,” I said. “Could be he’s leading a small cult cell. And if there’s one, there might be more.”

  I pulled a scrap of parchment from my pouch and began sketching. Mary corrected the details, shading the scar deeper, adjusting the shape of the jaw. I’d only seen him once, but it came together fast.

  When I was done, we had a rough likeness.

  Mary nodded slowly. She set her cup down gently.

  “Just don’t let it come back to me. If people here knew I was feeding intel to the Guild…”

  “You’d be in danger?” I asked.

  “I’d be alone,” she said. “And that’s worse.”

  She stood and smoothed her dress.

  “Leaving already?” asked Calr.

  “Yeah, a friend of mine is working her first shift today.” smiled Mary.

  “Anyone I know?” frowned Calr.

  “Yeah, Luna.” answered Mary.

  “The bunny girl!” gasped the blood haired boy. “Isn’t she a faithful”

  “Apparently, her family is in big debt, and she is willing to do it once to pay for it.”

  “Ah, the Unholy Soul boosts.” nodded Calr.

  “What’s that” I asked.

  “Well, when you break someone’s Holy class though sinful fornication, your soul grows through unholy mean” explained Calr. “The boost is similar to an ascension or an evolution.”

  “People are willing to pay a lot for it,” grinned Mary. ”mine was sold for a gold.”

  “That’s a lot…” I murmured, unsure about how I feel about it. I had nothing against sex workers as long as it is consensual, but the temptation of large amount of money doesn’t sit well with me. The price was too large. It could lead to serious misjudgment and regret.

  My thoughts were interrupted by Mary making her exit.

  “Don’t be strangers, alright?” She said.

  “Be safe,” Calr said.

  Mary gave him a crooked smile. “I’m trying.”

  And then she melted back into the music and candlelight, disappearing like a thread in the velvet weave of the brothel.

  I sat for a while, letting my thoughts catch up.

  “Well,” I muttered.

  Calr stood, eyes hard. “Come on. We’ve got to report this to Nakera.”

  “You go, I think I will stay her for a while longer,” I decided.

  He hesitated, then sighed. “Alright. Just don’t get into trouble.”

  “I won’t.”

  He left, disappearing through the doorway and back into sunlight, while I stayed, half curious, half uneasy. The music deepened, lights dimmed, and the gold glow turned to velvet red. Night at the Temple of the Unholy was only just beginning.

  The music changed first.

  Slow strings. Then the heartbeat of a drum. I stayed at my corner table, finishing my juice, trying not to look like someone who didn’t belong. The dancers who’d been gossiping and laughing earlier were now fully in work mode.

  Patrons began to arrive in quiet waves: well-dressed merchants, a few guilders, two women in military jackets who shed them at the door and disappeared into the back rooms. A nobleman laughed near the bar. The scent of perfume deepened.

  Then Amara appeared again, radiant, horned, calm as a queen. She stepped onto the central platform and spread her arms as the drumbeat faded.

  “Welcome, honored guests,” she said, her voice carrying like silk stretched over steel. “I am sure half of you have heard about tonight’s special event. We gather here to celebrate a dedication to choice, to renewal, and to desire unshackled. A new sister joins our path.”

  Applause followed, polite and reverent. I leaned forward, trying to see through the dim haze.

  Two attendants emerged from behind the curtains. Between them walked a young girl in ceremonial white trimmed with silver thread. Barefoot. Her steps were small but steady. Her hair, soft gray-brown, was braided down her back, tied with a white ribbon. But what stood out the most was the two tall bunny ears that jotted on top of her head

  “Her name,” Amara continued, “is Luna.”

  The name hit like a whisper of thunder.

  The room quieted completely. Amara smiled faintly. “She has walked among the Faithful, and now she walks her own path. Her offering tonight is one of transformation, of spirit, of body, and of devotion.”

  The word offering lingered like smoke.

  A robed attendant brought forward a small silver bowl. Luna dipped her hands into it, lifted them to her lips, and drank. Then she bowed her head.

  The crowd watched in complete silence as Amara spoke again. “As tradition demands, her first choice will belong to those who see her value, not only in beauty, but in powers. You all know that a night with her is worth a year of training, so the bidding begins at 30 silver.”

  I froze. My throat tightened.

  It wasn’t a ritual. It was an auction.

  Hands lifted across the room, rings glinting, and bracelets chiming. The numbers rose, one gold, then two, three, then five. Luna kept her gaze on the floor.

  No one forced her to stand there. No one chained her. But the quiet resignation in her stillness said enough.

  I had the feeling that the girl wanted to remain a holy faithful, but the reward of saving her family from debt was too much of a temptation. I wanted to move. To say something. To stop it. But every rational thought tangled with the fear of being wrong, of stepping into a culture I didn’t understand, of disrupting something sacred or voluntary.

  Amara’s tone stayed calm, melodic. “Eight gold,” she announced. “Do I hear nine?”

  A murmur rippled through the room. Someone laughed softly. Luna didn’t flinch. She stood as straight backed as she could.

  When the final bid was placed, ten gold, the crowd applauded again. The air shifted, warm and perfumed. Luna’s eyes were glassy now, her expression distant, like she’d already stepped out of herself.

  Amara gave her a gentle touch on the shoulder. “You have chosen well, little one,” she said softly. “Go with grace.”

  Luna bowed once more and was led through a back door by a tall figure cloaked in navy blue. I didn’t see his face, the only distinctive thing about him was a sword made of glass or crystal in his belt. The door closed behind them.

  Music resumed, lighter now, cheerful, as if the room hadn’t just sold a girl’s first night.

  I sat frozen. The juice glass in front of me had stopped sweating, the condensation drying into sticky fingerprints. My stomach twisted.

  Dancers returned to the floor, laughter bubbled again, and the room exhaled. The audience resumed drinking, watching the show and sometime asking for privet rooms.

  A waitress stopped by my table. “Would you like another drink?”

  I shook my head. “No. Thank you. I will be leaving soon.”

  She smiled and moved on, leaving me alone with my thought and the music.

  I stayed long enough to see Luna’s absence fade into normalcy. When I finally stepped outside, the air was colder than I expected. Street lamps flickered to life, painting the slate tiles gold. Somewhere nearby, laughter echoed from an alley.

  I pulled my cloak tighter and walked toward the guild without looking back. I wasn’t sure how to feel. Then a thought crossed my mind: there was a Crusader in the city; a Holy vigilante with a divine mission to hunt down rapists. That meant Luna hadn’t been forced into it; it must have been her choice.

  The thought lightened my steps. For a moment, I let myself believe that everything was fine. Since she had chosen her own path, she would be safe because of that.

  That illusion didn’t last long.

  The next morning, as Nakera gathered us for the daily briefing, Calr came running into the room, panting, his face pale.

  “It’s Luna,” he gasped. “She’s missing.”