The center of Ram Horn Town.
The church.
Cold, clear moonlight passed through the vine-shaped window lattice, casting mottled, twisted shadows across the floor.
The warm, soft atmosphere of daytime, when dust had drifted like in a granary, vanished beneath the cover of night, leaving only a terrifying dead silence.
The wall lamps were out, and the candles that should have been lit lay quietly in the depths of the darkness.
In the vast church, the only source of light was the pale silver moon beyond the skylight in the dome.
And just beneath that silver-white moonbeam that fell from the dome like a spotlight—
A stooped, gaunt, elderly figure knelt at the feet of the Goddess, just as he had on more than twenty thousand nights before, offering Her his devout and humble faith.
Unlike ordinary days, Priest Moen, who had always appeared plain and simple, had changed with exceptional solemnity this evening into a brownish-green Ritual Robe that had once appeared on him only during major festivals or celebrations.
Gold thread was embroidered at the hem and collar, and its smooth, delicate, silk-like texture made the moonlight falling upon it seem like a thin veil of luminous mist draped over the priest.
His head was bowed deeply, his pale hair like withered frost grass;
His lips moved as he recited a hymn, and his broad, thick, farmer-like hands were clasped before his chest. Yet what was held between his joined palms was not the Goddess's Rose Holy Symbol, but only a hint of magnificent pink.
Priest Moen slowly opened his hands. The pink glow flashed in the air and was gone, revealing the crystal-clear Pastel Gemstone in his palm, within which viscous pink mist seemed to ripple and flow.
His rough fingers stroked the surface of the gemstone