The morning sun bathed the city of Valmaris in a warm glow, but for Leona Lunaris, it marked the beginning of a somber and sacred duty. Dressed in the white and gold robes of an acolyte, she stood at the gates of the Cathedral of Luminis, greeting the throngs of people who had come seeking aid on this holy day.

  The day of worship was a time when healing and care were offered free of charge. As a low-ranking acolyte with limited control over her healing magic, Leona was not assigned to the lines of the sick and injured who sought miracles. Instead, she was tasked with tending to the elderly—those who had come to the cathedral not to be healed, but to find peace in their final days.

  The room where she worked was a quiet, dimly lit chamber deep within the cathedral. The scent of burning incense hung thick in the air, mixing with the faint aroma of dried herbs used in healing rituals. Golden candlelight flickered along the stone walls, casting elongated shadows that danced with each whispered prayer. Rows of simple beds lined the walls, each occupied by an elder whose life was slowly fading. The air was heavy with the scent of incense and the soft murmurs of prayer. For these souls, there was no cure, no reprieve. They awaited the inevitable with dignity and a quiet resignation that weighed on Leona’s heart.

  Each time one of them passed, Leona would kneel beside their bed, whispering a prayer to Luminis to guide their spirit to the afterlife. The toll of the bell above marked their passing, and the caretakers would take the body to the underground catacombs where the cathedral’s dead were laid to rest. It was a routine she had grown accustomed to, but not one she ever found easier.

  Yet, beneath her solemn exterior, doubt gnawed at her. Is this truly enough? She had trained in healing magic, yet here, in this quiet room, her magic was useless. She could only offer words—empty words, she feared—to those on the threshold of death.

  By the time the afternoon sun began its descent, the emotional weight of her duty had left her drained. She slipped out of the chamber and found solace beneath a large oak tree in the cathedral’s garden. The quiet rustle of the leaves and the gentle chirping of birds provided a brief respite. She leaned back against the trunk, letting her eyes close, and soon drifted into a light sleep.

  Ash Vale, enjoying his own day off, had wandered the city aimlessly until his curiosity led him toward the towering spires of the cathedral. He had heard about the church’s free services on the day of worship and thought he might find Leona there. As he walked through the outer courtyard, the soft echoes of hymns drifted from within the great stone halls. The air smelled of incense and aged parchment, mingling with the distant aroma of baked bread from a nearby street vendor. The scene was peaceful yet weighty, charged with reverence.

  As he rounded a corner into the garden, he spotted Leona napping beneath the oak tree, her golden hair shimmering in the dappled sunlight.

  Ash hesitated for a moment, not wanting to disturb her, but then Leona stirred. Her eyes fluttered open, and she found him standing a few paces away, staring.

  “Ash?” she murmured, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

  “Sorry,” Ash said, scratching the back of his neck. “I was just wandering around and thought I’d see what you were up to. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

  Leona smiled faintly, brushing leaves off her robe. “It’s fine. I wasn’t sleeping deeply anyway. Today’s been... exhausting.”

  “Want to talk about it?” Ash asked, sitting down beside her.

  She shook her head. “Not really. But, if you’re curious, I can show you what I’ve been doing.”

  Ash nodded, and Leona led him into the cathedral. The main hall was bustling with activity, alive with the hum of voices, the shuffle of footsteps, and the occasional cry of relief as a wound was healed. Clerics moved swiftly between the rows of waiting people, their golden robes catching the light from high stained-glass windows. Children clung to their mothers’ skirts, their wide eyes scanning the room with cautious hope, while elderly men and women murmured prayers under their breath. The scent of incense and herbal balms thickened the air, mingling with the metallic tang of dried blood and old wood. Lines of people, many of them dressed in tattered clothes, waited patiently for their turn to receive care. Leona gestured toward them. “These are mostly people from the slums. They can’t afford medicine or healing magic, so they come here on the day of worship for help. It’s... overwhelming, but we do what we can.”

  She guided Ash through the hall to the quiet chamber where she had spent her morning. As they crossed the threshold, the change was immediate. The lively energy of the main hall was replaced by an eerie stillness. The chamber was bathed in dim candlelight, the flickering flames casting wavering shadows across the stone walls. The scent of incense was stronger here, its thick, smoky tendrils curling through the air, masking the underlying scent of age and frailty. The only sounds were the slow, labored breaths of the elders, the rustling of cloth as caretakers adjusted pillows, and the distant tolling of a bell, marking the passing of another soul. As they stepped inside, the transition from the lively main hall to the hushed sanctum was stark. The air was dense with the scent of aged parchment and melting wax, the only sounds the occasional cough or rustle of cloth as an elder shifted in their bed. The atmosphere shifted immediately as they entered. The silence was almost oppressive, broken only by the labored breaths of the bedridden elders. Ash’s expression darkened as he took in the scene.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “They don’t have much time left,” Leona said softly. “Most of them don’t have families to be here for them. So, we see them off with prayers and make sure they’re buried properly.”

  Ash walked among the beds, his heart heavy. The sadness in the room was palpable, a weight he couldn’t ignore. After a moment, he turned to Leona. “I’m going to talk to them.”

  Leona blinked in surprise. “Talk to them?”

  “Yeah. They’re still here. Maybe they’d like to share their stories.”

  Without waiting for a response, Ash approached the nearest bed, where an old man with sunken eyes lay staring at the ceiling. Ash crouched beside him and offered a warm smile.

  “Hi there. My name’s Ash. Mind if I sit with you?”

  The man’s gaze shifted to Ash, and a faint smile tugged at his lips. “Not at all, young man. Name’s Horace.”

  “Nice to meet you, Horace. Tell me, what was your life like?”

  Horace sighed, a nostalgic gleam in his tired eyes. "Ah, lad, I remember the fields—endless stretches of wheat swaying in the summer breeze. My father and I worked them from dawn to dusk. Hard work, but honest. And at night, we'd sit by the fire, and he'd tell me stories of adventurers and knights. I always wanted to see the world beyond those fields, but life had other plans."

  Ash nodded, smiling softly. "My father was a blacksmith. He used to let me watch him work, hammering away at steel until it became something new. I’d sit there for hours, imagining wielding one of his blades in some grand adventure. But like you said, life had other plans."

  The old man’s eyes brightened, and he began to recount tales of his youth—working the fields, raising a family, and the adventures he dreamed of but never pursued. As he spoke, other elders in the room began to listen, and soon Ash was moving from bed to bed, drawing out stories of love, loss, and laughter.

  Leona watched from the doorway, her heart swelling as the atmosphere in the room transformed. The sadness that had lingered so heavily was replaced by faint smiles and the soft murmur of shared memories. When Ash began sharing tales from his own childhood—embellished with humor and charm—the elders chuckled, their spirits lifted. One woman, her voice frail but warm, reached out to pat Ash’s hand. "You remind me of my grandson," she murmured. "He always had that spark in his eyes, just like you." Ash squeezed her hand gently, feeling the weight of her words settle in his chest. These people weren’t just waiting to pass; they still carried memories, still longed for connection.

  By the time evening arrived, the room was quiet once more, but the heaviness had lessened. Ash sat for a moment longer, staring at the flickering candlelight. Hearing the elders' stories had stirred something deep within him. He had spent so much of his life chasing the future, always thinking about what came next—his next fight, his next survival. But these people had lived. They had loved, lost, and cherished moments that would never come again. And one day, he would be like them—facing the inevitable with nothing but memories to hold onto. Leona stepped forward and gently placed a hand on Ash’s shoulder. Ash exhaled slowly, the weight of mortality pressing against him in a way he hadn't felt before. "We spend so much time fighting to live, but we forget to actually live, don’t we?" he murmured. “Thank you. I think you gave them something more valuable than prayers today.”

  Ash shrugged, his cheeks reddening slightly. “I just... didn’t want them to feel alone.”

  As they left the cathedral together, the stars twinkled above, casting a soft light over the city. The walk back to the inn was peaceful, and Leona broke the silence with a quiet confession.

  “I don’t remember much about my parents,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I remember the sound of my mother singing. She had a soft, lilting voice, like a breeze through autumn leaves. And my father... he had the warmest brown eyes. I remember how they used to light up when he laughed." “They were killed by monsters when I was very young. I was hiding under a table when it happened. I remember the sound of boots crashing against the wooden floors, the sound of something screeching, my mothers distressed voice screaming for help, the sharp clang of steel, and then... silence. When I crawled out, the light from the fireplace flickered over their bodies. That image never left me. The church took me in and raised me. At first, I felt lost, surrounded by towering stone walls and unfamiliar faces. But there was one person who changed everything—Sister Marian. She was kind but firm, the closest thing I had to a mother. I remember sitting with her in the candlelit chapel as she told me stories of the Saints of Luminis, of how faith was more than just duty—it was about guiding others through their pain. That night, as the choir sang their evening prayers, I promised myself I would follow in her footsteps. That’s why I became an acolyte. I wanted to give back, to honor the people who saved me.”

  Ash glanced at her, surprised by her openness. “That’s... a lot to go through. I’m sorry.”

  Leona shook her head. “It’s not something I talk about often. But today, seeing you bring joy to those elders... it reminded me why I’m here. Why I keep trying, even when I feel like I’ll never be good enough.”

  “You are good enough, Leona,” Ash said firmly. “And if you ever doubt that, just remember what you did for those people today.”

  Leona smiled, her heart lighter. Ash’s kindness had shown her that hope could be found even in the smallest moments. He hadn’t tried to offer empty reassurances or promises—he had simply been there, offering warmth where she had only seen cold duty. His actions reminded her that change wasn’t always immediate, that even in the darkest times, light could be found in unexpected places. “Thank you, Ash.”

  As they reached the inn, the two shared a quiet look of understanding before parting ways for the night. For the first time in a long while, Leona felt a sense of hope—not just for herself, but for the journey she had chosen to undertake with her newfound friends.