Mist World. April.
In the blink of an eye, another year had passed. Viewed from above, a great river like a silver ribbon wound across a plain beneath the hills, dividing it in two.
A city stood there, its walls clearly visible. Within those walls, ten streets divided the city into dozens of districts. In each district, the largest building was usually a temple.
The commoners' buildings were low but neatly arranged, while the lord's manor, the Mage Tower, and the Main Temple towered above them. Beyond the city, the mist had receded across a ten-kilometer stretch, exposing vast tracts of arable land.
The fields lay in orderly rows. With spring's arrival, great swaths of wheat had quickly sprouted. Farther out lay fields of hemp, and along the outermost edge grew patches of pasture grass, like a sheet of green silk.
Farther still, several villages dotted the outskirts of the city. Each village had also formed its own mist-free zone.
This was a typical small village, enclosed by a wooden palisade. Forty households lined its cross-shaped streets, and at its center, the most prominent building was an altar-grade temple.
Someone rang the noon bell. At its sound, the farmers in the fields put down their work and headed together toward the village center.
An altar-grade temple, as its name suggested, contained only an altar. Though faint holy light floated above this small, white, circular stone altar, there was no statue behind it. That was the distinction: a temple one grade higher would have a statue of its god.
An aisle faced the altar, with benches on either side. But the people streaming in did not sit down. Those seats were for listening to sermons; at prayer time, every believer had to kneel.
They arrived quickly. Within moments, the entire village