The Adventurers' Guild was even livelier at night than during the day. A great plaza paved with gray boulders stretched before its entrance, packed with surging crowds. The statue of the Silver Witch had been moved to the center of the square, its pedestal built from rough granite. Several windproof lamps hung from iron frames around it, their dim yellow halos outlining the mottled verdigris left by a century of wind and rain.
Around the statue, believers of different races closed their eyes in unspoken unison. Among the crowd were dwarves draped in animal hides, Half-Elves with long pointed ears, and desert travelers with their faces wrapped in headscarves.
A brown-haired youth in a white cloak stood amid crackling arcs of electricity, leading the surrounding crowd in prayer.
"Symbol of silver, guiding light within the mist—"
"You are the embodiment of fortuitous encounters. Please illuminate the path before me, so that I may see where to take my next step when I am lost—"
"May those who have lost their way find the road home. May those bearing burdens find peace. May all souls with kindness in their hearts ultimately reach the light they seek—"
The youth was naturally Ezra. In the past, he had been malnourished and undersized, without the look of a teenager. He had seemed more like a little boy. But recently, Root Village had developed rapidly under the enormous influx of pilgrims visiting the Witch's temple, and his meals had improved overnight. His body had grown noticeably sturdier, losing that former frailty.
Of course, the more important change was in his bearing. He was now the Thunder Apostle beneath the goddess, and he had destroyed several Omniscient Sect strongholds, making a name for himself around Adlock. Whether it was his strength, status, or past experiences, none