Miracle

As one of the two oldest primordial goddesses in the Realms, the Lady of Silver had followers across the continent. Though her eternal war with her twin sister, the Lady of the Night, had cost her most of her divine domains and much of her power—once even forcing her to seek another deity's protection as a subordinate—her influence had never faded. Her followers were neither the strongest nor the most numerous in the Realms, but they still held considerable sway.

Aaron followed Miss Cleric. His steps were unsteady, and he was in poor shape.

The large open-air sanctuary in Seabury was the Church of the Silver Mother's center of worship in the kingdom. As the two left the sickroom, Aaron saw more people.

Under the bright sky, amid leafy shade beside a clear pond, paladin guards and clerics of the Lady of Silver were treating several injured beastfolk adventurers. One adventurer had fluffy cat ears and round paws for hands. She held her head while a female paladin healed her.

A catgirl! Aaron could not help looking twice.

So cute.

Lycanthropy was a terrifying infectious disease in the Realms. It gradually turned its victims into beastfolk ruled by hunger and the urge to kill, and it was almost impossible to cure. Their only hope was the Lady of Silver's salvation. Nearly all good and neutral beastfolk worshiped her, while most evil beastfolk followed Malar, the Beastlord.

Miss Cleric, who was leading the way, noticed Aaron's movements. She slowed and asked sharply, "What are you thinking?"

"Huh?" Aaron froze for a moment, then realized Miss Cleric had misunderstood.

Was I really that bad?

"You never used to give them a second glance." Miss Cleric turned, her silver-trimmed robe swirling around her. Her thick ponytail swung, bringing a waft of bellflower fragrance. "Humans shun them. Humans think they're cursed, don't they?"

"You're right." Aaron nodded slightly, then looked toward the guards near the sanctuary entrance. "I was just wondering what justice really is. The beastfolk you're treating are beastfolk, but so were those who brought countless disasters upon the kingdom and even the entire Realms. I should hate them. Instead, I find them adorable."

"That shows humans are sentimental creatures who judge by appearances. It also shows that surviving a brush with death has helped even a noble's son like you grow." The eyes behind Miss Cleric's veil stayed on him. Something about Aaron felt familiar, yet strange.

"Hey, aren't half-elves the ones most obsessed with looks?" Aaron shot back. "Suzail's laws let anyone who meets the requirements enter the city. But I've seen half-elf communities turn away people just for being ugly or short!"

"They're half-elves! I'm Eleanor!" Miss Cleric reacted as if pricked by a needle, her voice turning irritable. "Don't lump me in with them!"

"Yes, you're not a half-elf. You're Eleanor." Aaron remained calm. "And I'm Aaron. I'm human, and a viscount, too. Right?"

"...Sorry. I was stereotyping you." A blush touched Miss Cleric's delicate face, and her tone softened. "I apologize."

"I accept." Aaron had no wish to argue. He just wanted to hurry.

Otherwise, he would end up like Gulk the ogre, who had swollen to an enormous size.

Eleanor was puzzled.

The man before her did not quite seem like the Aaron Sallyan she remembered. They had met many times; every year, Aaron came with his family for the Lady of Silver's festival. To Eleanor, he had always been an unremarkable noble's son: cautious and measured, with a strong sense of noble superiority that good upbringing and discipline made him careful to conceal.

Take these beastfolk, for instance. Whenever Aaron had come for the festival, Eleanor could tell he feared catching Lycanthropy and kept his distance. Yet he would make a show of friendliness, insisting he bore no prejudice, shaking their hands while wearing gloves and even giving them gifts.

Among the clerics and paladins, there was a private joke: the last Viscount Sallyan's greatest virtue was having no real flaws, and his greatest flaw was having no real virtues.

Eleanor had thought so too, until today.

"You saved my life, Miss Eleanor. I'm the one who should thank you." Aaron spoke earnestly. "I can swear before the Lady of Silver that I'll repay you for saving me."

"If we saved lives only to claim rewards, how would we differ from the Lady of the Night's cunning followers?" Eleanor shook her head. "True goodness shouldn't depend on payment. If you save someone expecting a reward, perhaps the Lady of Silver isn't right for you."

"I'll remember that." After a few seconds of thought, Aaron gave her a respectful noble's bow. "I've learned something from you, Miss Eleanor."

Was this really Aaron Sallyan? Miss Cleric could not help studying him again.

Perhaps she had misjudged him. There was more beneath the surface than he had ever shown.

Thinking of his past, Miss Cleric sighed softly.

Neither spoke again.

Aaron turned his attention to the sanctuary.

Selûne was a chaotic good goddess. Unlike deities of order, she had almost no requirements for her temples. A few stones marking out ground in the wilderness, with a silver-moon shrine at the center, could serve as one. So could a magnificent hall. She cared little either way.

Only a shimmering pond and a garden that reflected her radiance beneath the moonlight were indispensable.

As Aaron neared the heart of the open-air sanctuary, he felt the Lady of Silver's divine power fill every corner. Even by day, moonlight sheathed the buildings. Looking closer, he saw its glow ripple along the temple walls like a tide. Carved into those walls was the war between the Lady of Silver and the Lady of the Night—a struggle that had never ceased since the beginning.

Most of the people passing by were women, from girls of seven or eight to gray-haired elders. Unlike some deities, the Church of the Silver Mother imposed few rules on dress. Noblewomen wore splendid gowns, costly gems on their heads and hands, and flower crowns. Elderly women in plain brown linen robes carried basins of water, sweat beading on their brows.

Eleanor led Aaron to the temple's center. There stood a six-meter stone statue of the Lady of Silver, holding a silver moon in both hands and gazing sorrowfully down upon the world. Miss Cleric asked Aaron to wait while she went inside to report his arrival.

Aaron stayed where he was.

In the Realms, temples could be dangerous places. They often served as fortresses and refuges, with divine power dwelling in their shrines, statues, relics, books, murals, and other sacred objects. So long as that power endured, a temple would not easily fall.

That was why temples were often the final battlefield in a siege.

He sensed the moonlight notice him. Its flowing glow gathered around him.

"Sallyan, what aid do you seek from the great Lady of Silver?"

A richly dressed woman stepped out of the temple. She had a full figure and wore a lavish silk gown. Jewelry covered her hands, pearls adorned her cuffs and collar, and heeled deerskin boots covered her feet. Two silver chains swayed as she walked. Grapevines and moons were embroidered on her gown, and an exquisite lunar crown held her long hair in an elegant coiffure.

What caught Aaron's attention, however, was the gown's low neckline.

She could probably nurse a child until it was at least eighteen months old.

She was Lady Silverstar, the sanctuary's high priestess.

He could not help taking another glance. Then he cleared his throat and spoke humbly. "Yes. I've run into trouble and must ask the Lady of Silver for her grace. Only she can save me."

Surprise crossed Lady Silverstar's face. Moonlight glimmered in her eyes as she studied him. "Not even Regenerate would work?"

Lady Silverstar was a master-level cleric, on the verge of becoming a legend.

If she wished, she could do far more than close wounds. As long as someone was not quite dead, she could rebuild a living person from nothing but a head!

"I don't know. A spell struck me and devastated both my body and soul." Aaron pleaded sincerely. "Its energy is still inside me."

Lady Silverstar's eyes widened. Disbelief filled her fair face. "And you're still alive?!"

Aaron nodded awkwardly. "I don't know how I survived. I was hit by a spell cast by a warlock's Great Old One patron."

Regenerate did have limits. If a curse, a lingering spell that could not be dispelled, or some other negative energy remained in the patient, Regenerate could restore the body, but the harmful effect would persist.

"You're a very lucky boy, The Last Salian." Lady Silverstar still looked astonished. She had never seen anything like it.

Lingering curses of negative energy were high-circle spells or Divine Magic. Even she could not be certain she would survive one. Yet this viscount had only Apprentice-level power, and here he was—alive, moving, and talking!

By the Lady of Silver, it was a miracle!

Miss Cleric, standing nearby, was just as surprised. She opened her mouth, then said nothing.

She trusted the great Lady of Silver to make a just decision.

Lady Silverstar stopped herself from refusing. She placed a hand on Aaron's head, and sacred moonlight enveloped him as he knelt on one knee. "Yes. Negative energy is eating away at you."

But she did nothing more. She fell silent.

"Father, if deities don't live in the mortal world, why do they need temples?

Silly child. Temples are where deities do business with mortals."

—A joke from the Realms

The joke neatly captured the relationship between mortals and the gods, and the part temples played in it.

Regenerate was Seventh-Circle Divine Magic and the strongest spell Lady Silverstar could currently cast. It would exact a heavy price from her and leave her weakened for a long time.

If even Regenerate could not heal the young man, she had only one choice left: draw on the divine power stored in the open-air sanctuary to cast the Ninth-Circle Miracle and seek Selûne's help.

That meant spending divine power the sanctuary had accumulated over decades, perhaps a century. For this young man, she would have to use up everything she had worked to build since becoming high priestess.

No sum of money could truly measure that cost.

Aaron sensed her hesitation and spoke at once. "Lady Silverstar! I'll pay whatever it takes. I just don't have that much money right now. I swear I'll repay the Lady of Silver for everything she does for me. I can sell my mansion in Suzail. I'm Viscount Sallyan, and the royal family pays me eight hundred Golden Lions a year. I can donate five hundred—no, six hundred—to the Church!"

His words were firm. He knew exactly how desperate his situation was. Seeing Lady Silverstar still hesitate, he gritted his teeth and continued. "I also have things my parents left me—antiques, keepsakes, weapons, jewelry. Give me time to sell them, and I swear I'll repay you!"

"It isn't enough." Lady Silverstar shook her head slightly. As she watched his determined face, old memories rose in her eyes.

Aaron went pale. He drew several deep breaths, then tried again. "The Sallyan family has honored the Lady of Silver for generations. Since our ancestor Lyondolf, the family line has lasted seven hundred years..."

"I remember you coming here for the festivals as a child, following Manuel." Lady Silverstar interrupted him, nostalgia softening her full face. "I'm sorry for what happened to you. It wasn't fair."

"That's how unpredictable life is. When disaster strikes without warning, all we can do is accept it." Aaron looked disappointed. He spread his hands and started to rise. "In that case, I'm sorry to have troubled you."

I'll have to try my luck somewhere else.

Was that it, then?

"Come with me." Lady Silverstar motioned for him to follow.

"Preparing a Miracle takes a long time. Whether the Lady of Silver helps you is up to her. All I can do is wish you luck, The Last Salian."

"Ah... yes!" Aaron nodded, crestfallen at first. Then he could not hold back his joy.

This was the chance he had fought for.

His only chance to turn things around!

In a secret chamber within the sanctuary, Aaron took off all his clothes and sat cross-legged, naked, at its center.

As Lady Silverstar chanted, the murals on all four walls shone with clear silver moonlight. Four statues of the goddess lit up, seeming to come alive in the flowing glow. Each reflected a beam of white moonlight onto Aaron from a different direction.

A cool comfort rose through Aaron's body. He felt as though he had entered an unreal space, and the rich scent of milk reached his nose. He opened his arms to show he meant no harm.

Something accepted him.

Aaron felt his soul rise along a path of moonlight. His body grew lighter and lighter. It was as though he had returned to the days when he was a babbling infant. He tried to speak, but only indistinct baby sounds came out. Gentle hands gathered him into an embrace, and through the haze he glimpsed a loving woman gazing at him with tender eyes.

He kept rising until the moon was close enough to touch, until he landed upon it.

Beneath the moonlight, a slender beauty stood between two Sacred White Trees.

"Welcome, my child."

Facing Aaron, she spread her arms. Long sleeves of sheer silver gauze slipped down to the ground, and a mother's gentle radiance flowed from her like water.

"I hear you need my help, my child. What troubles you? Tell me, and I'll help you resolve it."