Rea had not yet spoken her thoughts when the sharp sound of a bell rang out from one of the buildings in the village square.
The chime echoed for a long while, slipping through the gaps of wooden rooftops and rebounding against stone walls slowly overtaken by moss.
Every villager stopped what they were doing. Farmers returned to their homes, parents pulled their children close, and shepherds left their livestock grazing freely in the open fields.
In front of the village chief's house, Rea paused in surprise. She turned her head, her eyes scanning the surroundings with quiet curiosity, searching for the meaning behind the bell.
"What is that?" Rea asked.
"It seems the time for worship at the Temple of the Goddess Liliyan has come," Zen replied calmly.
Yet beneath his casual tone lay something unspoken a subtle reverence born from deep-rooted faith.
"The Goddess Liliyan? I've never heard of her," Rea said.
Zen's eyes widened. The tobacco smoke he had just inhaled remained trapped in his lungs.
"How is that possible…?" he muttered.
To Zen, it felt as shocking as hearing someone claim they had forgotten how to breathe.
"Why are you so surprised?" Rea asked.
Zen remained silent for a moment, the smoke still lodged in his throat. His gaze grew complicated, and the smile he forced upon his face looked like genuine confusion directed at her.
"Of course I'm surprised! On this continent, there are seven celestial religions. One of them worships the Goddess Liliyan. Don't tell me you truly don't know?" He had completely forgotten about the smoke in his lungs.
"Well, I've never met this Goddess Liliyan," Rea replied indifferently. "Why should I know her?"
"…You're not wrong," Zen said after a pause. "But still,"
He stopped himself, choosing not to impose his beliefs.
Rea fell silent. She had no interest in the opinions of others.
"Since when has the Goddess Liliyan been worshiped?" she asked calmly.
"If I'm not mistaken… about four centuries ago."
"That's only yesterday," Rea murmured softly.
Zen didn't hear her.
Twelve hundred years ago, before Rea entered her long slumber, there had been no trace of the seven celestial gods. No altars. No prayers. Certainly no temples bearing the name of Liliyan.
In the era when Rea still walked the world, there was only one truth the existence of the True God, the singular being who created the land, the heavens, and all life in between.
Rea herself was no ordinary being. She was one of the wills directly descended from the True God, entrusted with the duty of observing life as an overseer and serving as a judge to those who crossed forbidden boundaries.
But when Rea awakened from her long rest, the world she knew had changed.
The seven celestial gods now stood as a new belief system. Their names were exalted, temples rose among settlements, and old faiths slowly eroded replaced by rituals promising salvation, abundant harvests, and divine protection.
Soon, villagers from every corner of the settlement began gathering toward the building known as the temple. In their hands, they carried baskets of fruit and harvested crops simple offerings for their deity.
Amid the crowd, one small figure went unnoticed.
A thin young girl struggled beneath a bundle of firewood strapped to her back. Her name was Noa.
Her small feet tried carefully to cross the muddy ground, but the weight was too much to bear. In an instant, she slipped.
Her body pitched forward. The firewood scattered across the ground, some sinking into the mud. Noa remained still for a moment, enduring the sharp pain in her scraped knees. Around her, people continued walking toward the bell's call, as though a child's misfortune was of no importance.
"What are you doing, Noa? Didn't I tell you to be careful?" her mother shouted harshly.
"I'm sorry, Mother," Noa replied obediently, even before she had stood up.
"Hurry and clean your clothes. Pick up the firewood."
Rea watched as the woman struck Noa a child not yet ten years old, far too young for such burdens.
The people around them merely watched in silence, accepting the cruelty as something ordinary.
Despite the pain, Noa used her small hands to gather the firewood one by one, clutching it tightly against her chest.
Zen stepped forward, unable to tolerate it any longer.
"Please," he said, "could you be gentler with your child? She's clearly hurt."
"This is none of your concern," the woman snapped. "I know how to raise my child. Don't interfere. Leave."
Zen fell silent.
Rea approached him and asked, "Do you feel pity for that girl?"
"Of course," Zen replied. "I have a daughter myself she's a little older than her. I give her everything she wants. I'm afraid of her getting hurt. I just want her to be happy."
"But your measure of pity is different," Rea said calmly.
"What do you mean?" Zen asked.
"Look around you."
Zen turned, still unable to grasp her meaning.
"This is a poor village," Rea continued. "Every family survives on what they grow. You have many things to give your child happiness. But what can families like these offer instead?"
Her words struck Zen hard.
Pity, compassion none of it would truly change anything. Even the harsh treatment Noa endured was, in its own way, her mother's attempt to teach her how to survive hardship.
Still curious about the Church of the Goddess Liliyan, Rea followed the villagers into the temple.
Each offering was placed upon the altar fruit, crops, and even the few pieces of firewood brought by the young girl earlier.
Then, a young man dressed in white robes with black-lined patterns stepped onto the podium, a long staff in his hand.
He was a priest the spiritual leader of the Church of the Goddess Liliyan.
"My brothers and sisters," he began, "life is a short journey toward death. Every human soul is bound by time. The Goddess Liliyan nurtures our lives, preserving balance within eternity. Through her grace, we are granted peace…"
Rea listened to his poetic words, most of them devoted to praising the goddess and her supposed influence over the world's harmony.
"What purpose does this church truly serve?" Rea whispered. "Is it merely a place to gather and receive free food after listening to poetry?"
Zen stiffened in alarm.
"Please, don't speak so recklessly," he whispered back. "If a devoted follower hears you, you could be taken to the gallows."
"That's horrifying."
"The church isn't merely a gathering place," Zen explained. "Priests and nuns provide aid medical care for the sick and the wounded."
"Then their existence is useful to the people," Rea replied.
"And please," Zen added quietly, "don't speak ill of the seven celestial gods. Their followers would stake their lives to protect the sanctity of their faith."
"As long as no harm is done," Rea said calmly, "I will try to understand."
Even if Rea believed it to be wrong, humans had the right to protect their ideologies and beliefs.
She would not force anyone to change.
She was merely a judge appointed by the True God.
The choice of one's path belonged to them alone.