Once at the Town, Cain did not delay.
He'd come to Redbraid for a purpose, and though every fiber of his being urged him to explore, to probe deeper into the shadows of this world and pull back the curtain of divine lies, he knew patience was a greater weapon than wrath.
So, as the morning bells rang out from the shrine of Thalos, Cain walked into the heart of faith itself.
The temple was modest. Its spires were carved from weathered stone and wound with green ivy, but it stood clean and upright, unlike Glintmere's ruin.
Inside, it smelled of dried incense and old wax. The air was cool and still, a silence broken only by the murmured chants of clergy clad in green and gold.
Cain approached the altar. His cloak was tattered, his posture respectful, but his eyes never lowered.
A young acolyte noticed him and quickly approached. "May Thalos bless your steps, traveler. How may we aid you?"
Cain bowed slightly, his voice smooth and low. "I come from Glintmere. Or what's left of it. I bring word of destruction."
The acolyte blinked, confused. "Glintmere? We have not received shipments from there in some time, but—"
"There are no shipments because there is no one left to send them," Cain interrupted calmly. "A battle between Gem Masters leveled half the village. Dozens dead. The rest barely survive. We sent word through a traveling merchant a month ago. No help came. I come now to speak directly."
The acolyte faltered. He bowed and hurried away.
Cain waited.
Soon, a trio of clergy returned. The oldest among them was a sharp-eyed man with a clean-shaven face and robes embroidered with woven gold leaves. His presence carried weight, and when he spoke, the temple quieted.
"You claim Gem Masters laid waste to Glintmere?" the elder said, tone skeptical. "Are you aware of the blasphemy in such words, boy?"
Cain didn't flinch.
"I saw it with my own eyes. Two masters, locked in battle. They didn't spare a single glance for the people they slaughtered. Their spells tore through homes. Their power uprooted fields. The villagers died like rats in a flood."
A hush fell.
The elder's expression darkened. "Gem Masters act in accordance with divine will. To question them is to question the gods."
Cain's voice lowered. "I question nothing, holy one. I only speak of what I saw. Whether it was divine judgment or accident, I cannot say. But what I do know is that Glintmere is dying. There are children starving. Elderly rotting in beds. No seed, no food. No help. You serve Thalos, do you not? Then surely He would not abandon the ones who once offered their harvest in his name."
The elder clenched his jaw.
Cain could see the battle waging in the man's mind. To admit fault was heresy. To ignore it was worse.
Finally, the man nodded to a younger priest. "Fetch the town register. Confirm this boy's claims. Glintmere has long been listed among our satellite villages. If they have not sent tithe in a month..."
The younger priest ran off.
Cain stood still, hands folded, eyes patient. Some asked him more questions about who survived or how he himself survived. He answered them with prudence, but within, he was measuring them. Weighing the layers of belief, fear, and bureaucratic cowardice. These were not wicked men.
Not like Zeus. Not like the ones who had murdered his world.
But they were weak.
And weakness could be manipulated.
The young priest returned minutes later, face pale. "He speaks true, High Witness. Glintmere has missed their last three tithe cycles. No offerings. No goods. And no word sent in over two months."
The elder stared at Cain again, harder this time.
"You said the merchant never returned. Perhaps he died on the road."
Cain didn't blink. "Perhaps. Or perhaps the gods judged him for failing his task. I only know that I walked three days with no help in sight. If you wait another month, there will be no one left to save."
That settled it.
The High Witness turned to his acolytes. "Prepare a cart. Load it with bread, barley, dried meat. We cannot spare much, but they will not be abandoned."
Cain bowed. "Thank you, Witness."
But the elder's eyes narrowed. "And you. Cain, you said your name was?"
"Yes. Cain Vox."
"Your recovery. The others mentioned it. They say it was... miraculous."
Cain smiled faintly. "I was lucky. Or perhaps the gods showed mercy."
The elder didn't reply. Just watched him.
Cain turned and left before more questions could be asked.
Outside, the sunlight blinded briefly. But Cain didn't slow.
Behind him, priests prepared carts. Supplies would be sent. Glintmere would live. For now.
And Cain?
Cain had just walked into the heart of a religious stronghold, told half a truth, and come away not only unharmed... but revered.
He had planted a seed.
And soon, it would grow.