A messenger arrived at dawn—panting, dusty, eyes wide with urgency.
"You're the ones who walk by faith?" he asked.
Mariam glanced at Eliah, amused. "We also walk by foot. That count?"
The man continued, "My village... we've heard of what you did in Karlin. And Hallowrest. And the gathering. People whisper that you don't preach, but still change hearts."
Eliah stepped forward. "What does your village need?"
"Direction," the man said simply. "We have voices. Belief. But no one to show us how to use it."
—
They arrived in Stillmere, a quiet settlement nestled between hills and history. At the edge of the village stood a circle of youth—teens and young adults, hands clenched with confusion.
"We fasted for three days," one said. "But no visions came."
"We sang prayers," said another. "But the elders mocked us."
"We just want to know—how do we know it's real?"
—
Eliah didn't answer immediately. He watched. He listened.
Then he walked into the middle of the circle, knelt on the earth, and pulled out a small pouch.
From it, he scattered seeds—tiny, dry, plain.
"This is what belief looks like," he said. "Nothing spectacular. But if you care for it, feed it, act on it... it becomes something else."
He pressed a seed into the dirt. "You don't need visions. You need commitment."
—
That evening, the group split up.
Mariam taught some how to gather herbs and share with the sick. Thao helped repair a damaged bridge—no sermons, just silent effort. Eron opened a scroll circle, letting villagers read and reflect aloud.
Eliah worked with the youngest, planting seeds—not just in the soil, but in their hearts.
—
At night, the village held its first gathering not led by fear or pressure. No incense. No speeches.
Just firelight, stories, and choices.
—
An elder approached the group and said, "You didn't bring answers."
"No," Mariam replied. "Just permission to ask the right questions."
—
And far away, the Fallen Wing stirred uneasily.
"Stillmere was fading," one said.
"Now it's waking," said another.
"We must act soon."
—
But light once planted is stubborn. And faith, once lived, refuses to remain silent.