"We beseech Count Theus, god of steam and deep sea. His mighty power shall protect the faithful, granting us full bellies and peaceful sleep."
"You are the lungs of the boiler, breathing in and out sparks;"
"You are the tongue of the gears, tasting the secret whispers of engine oil."
"If our spines could be twisted into bolts,"
"We would willingly anchor ourselves within Your trembling echoes,"
"Until flesh and cast iron rusted as one,"
"And our oaths, like pistons, reciprocated without end!"
"Let us sing in unison—"
"Praise great Count Theus, praise holy Castel, praise His divine kingdom upon the sea!"
In a dilapidated, slightly decayed room, a group of people knelt on the ground and prayed aloud.
Before them stood several hooded figures. In front of those figures was an enormous pot, from which steam curled upward.
"All right, the ritual is over. Begin distributing the holy water." One of the hooded figures stepped forward. Though he tried to make his voice sound hoarse and deep, he could not conceal its youthful quality—he was probably a young man.
The people kneeling on the ground immediately rose and formed an orderly line. Clearly, this was not their first time doing this.
A group of ragged children timidly lined up at the very back, huddling together as they whispered among themselves.
"Gwen, do you think Castel really exists? I-I still can't believe it. Is there really a place where you'll never go hungry, where you have a house to live in, and can earn money as long as you work?"
"I don't believe it either."
"Huh?" The little boy froze, staring blankly at the tiny girl before him. "Then... then why did we come here?"
The girl pointed ahead. Several people there held up bowls while the hooded chief priest