VII: Religion

The market was alive with movement, the air thick with the scent of fresh produce, roasted meats, and the faint musk of the bustling crowd. Senna walked with a newfound confidence, his new clothes fitting snugly against his broad frame. Though they weren't the finest garments, they were leagues above the tattered rags he had worn just a day ago. He could feel the eyes of onlookers trailing him—not in suspicion or disdain, but in quiet admiration.

He kept his head high, allowing himself to bask in the feeling, even if only for a moment. It had been years since he had worn anything decent, and though he wasn't vain, he couldn't deny that it felt good.

As he made his way toward the food stand, he spotted the familiar figure of the vendor he had sold bread to just the day before. The man, a middle-aged fellow with a thick mustache and a weathered face, was busy arranging his wares when his eyes landed on Senna. His hands froze mid-motion, and his eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Well, I'll be damned," the vendor muttered, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Yesterday, you were sellin' me bread, and today, you're dressed like a proper gentleman. What happened? You rob a bank?"

Senna chuckled, shaking his head. "Got myself a job," he said, leaning casually against the stand. "Figured I should start looking the part."

The vendor whistled lowly, nodding approvingly. "Well, ain't that somethin'. Good on you, lad. What'll it be today?"

Senna glanced over the assortment of goods, his stomach growling faintly. He eyed the fresh bread, the roasted nuts, and the cured meats before settling on a simple choice. He pointed to a bright red apple, its skin glistening under the midday sun.

The vendor grabbed the apple and tossed it to Senna, who caught it with ease. "That'll be twenty cents."

Senna pulled out a few coins from his pocket and handed them over, relishing the sensation of paying with his own earned money. The vendor gave him a nod and leaned forward slightly. "You know," he said, lowering his voice just a bit, "it's a fine thing, a man turning his luck around. You keep at it, eh? World's got plenty of folk stuck where they don't belong. If you've found a way out, don't let go of it."

Senna met his gaze, the words settling deep within him. He gave a firm nod. "I won't," he promised.

The vendor smiled and patted the counter. "Good lad. Now go on, before I start chargin' you extra for standin' around lookin' fancy."

Senna smirked, biting into the apple as he turned away, the sweet, crisp taste filling his mouth. 

The camp came into view soon enough, a sprawling collection of worn tents and makeshift shelters. The scent of damp earth and burning firewood lingered in the air, and the low hum of conversations, some hopeful, others weary, filled the space.

Senna spotted Ralos near the usual spot where the Church of Light distributed food. The man was busy talking to a group of refugees, handing out small portions of bread and soup. His robes, though plain, still carried an air of dignity about them.

Ralos turned as Senna approached, his eyes briefly widening before his lips curled into a grin. "Well, don't you clean up nice," he remarked, taking in Senna's attire. "Almost didn't recognize you. Thought you were some noble passing through."

Senna smirked, tossing the apple core he had finished into a nearby waste heap. "Don't know about all that, but I figured it was about time I started dressing like a man instead of a stray dog."

Ralos chuckled, handing the last of the bread to a young woman before stepping toward Senna. "A fine change, I'd say. But I take it this isn't just a social visit?"

Senna shook his head. "No. Just figured I'd check in before heading back to the Seekers. Got a job now."

Ralos raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Doing what?"

"Bodyguard work," Senna said, crossing his arms. "Got hired by a Seeker. Said he needed someone to watch his back while he investigates those fires."

Ralos let out a low whistle. "That's dangerous work. You sure about this?"

Senna shrugged. "Not much else I can do. Pays well, and... I figure it might lead to some answers."

Ralos studied him for a moment, as if weighing his words. Then, he nodded, his expression shifting into something more serious. "Just be careful, Senna. The world's not kind to men like us, no matter how fine we dress."

Senna smirked, but there was a knowing look in his eyes. "Yeah, I know."

Ralos clapped him on the shoulder, then stepped back. "Well, if you ever need a place to catch your breath, you know where to find me."

Senna gave a nod of appreciation before turning back toward the city. 

Senna strolled through the streets, his new brimmed hat shielding his sensitive skin from the harsh sun. His sharp eyes flickered between the sights around him—horse-drawn carriages rolling along the cobblestone paths, merchants calling out to passing customers, and the distant clatter of construction where workers laid down fresh asphalt. He had heard murmurs that this new material was smoother and more efficient than cobblestone, a sign of progress sweeping through the city.

Despite the city's attempt at modernizing, Northgate still had a rugged, old-world charm. Gas lamps stood tall at the street corners, their metal frames weathered but still sturdy. The smell of coal smoke drifted through the air as chimneys from nearby factories coughed out thick plumes into the sky.

Senna moved past a row of small cafés, their outdoor seating shaded by faded awnings. He spotted well-dressed men and women sipping tea or coffee, engaged in hushed conversations over newspapers. The newspapers themselves caught his eye—bold headlines announcing the recent fires, the rise in crime, and political disputes from the capital.

Senna's eyes scanned the bold letters sprawled across the newspapers on the café tables, but they meant nothing to him. He furrowed his brow in frustration. Now that he was free—now that he was a gentleman—he should be able to read like one.

Back on the plantation, reading was a privilege only afforded to the masters and their kin. The slaves had no use for words, only work. He had always wondered what was in those pages, what kind of knowledge was locked away from people like him. But now, there was nothing stopping him from learning.

Senna made a note to himself—he would learn how to read. 

Senna adjusted his brimmed hat, shifting into the shade as he approached a gathering. Speakers stood on an old wooden platform, their arms raised, voices booming with conviction. The crowd was a mix of townsfolk, some nodding along reverently, others merely curious onlookers like himself.

"The Great Life watches over all! It does not judge, nor does it forsake! It grants eternal solace to those who embrace it!" one of the speakers declared, his voice filled with fervor.

"Before the Great Life, we are all equal!" another added. "Kings and beggars, masters and slaves—it matters not! Cast aside the chains of man, for true freedom lies only in the embrace of the Great Life!"

Senna frowned. He had never heard of this faith before. Tarsyn had its recognized religions—the Church of Light being the most dominant—but this? This sounded like something else entirely. A cult, perhaps?

He studied the crowd. Some seemed enraptured by the words, while others looked skeptical. A few men in long coats—Seekers, perhaps?—stood at the edge of the crowd, watching the scene with quiet interest.

Senna turned his attention back to the speakers. They spoke of liberation, of an unseen force that cared for all equally. It was an appealing notion, especially for those who had known only suffering. But Senna had seen too much to believe in easy promises.

As the speakers finished their sermon, a murmur spread through the crowd. Some townsfolk approached the preachers, engaging them in discussion. Senna could hear snippets of conversation as he walked past.

"If the Great Life treats all as equals, then what of justice? Should criminals not be punished?" one man asked skeptically.

"Justice belongs to the hands of men, but solace belongs to the Great Life," one of the preachers responded smoothly.

"If it does not judge or forsake, then what of sinners? What of men who spill blood without remorse?" another questioned.

Senna didn't stay to hear the answers. He had no interest in theological debates, and he had no intention of being swayed by silver tongues. But as he strolled away, he found himself wondering about Tarsyn's stance on new religions.

As far as he knew, the Church of Light held the most power in the country, with smaller sects allowed to exist under strict regulations. But what of groups like this? Did the law permit them to spread their beliefs freely? Or would they soon find themselves at odds with the authorities?

Senna's thoughts were interrupted as the two Seekers approached him. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, his uniform sharp and crisp. The woman, slightly shorter but no less imposing, wore the same uniform, though her expression was more composed, eyes scanning the street around them as if alert to every movement.

The man spoke first, his voice deep and friendly. "You must be Senna, Darian's new bodyguard. We've been expecting you. Darian asked us to bring you to your tent."

Senna nodded, a little surprised at how quickly they seemed to know him, but he didn't let it show. He didn't know if he was supposed to be concerned or honored, but since they were clearly from Darian's camp, he knew this was a good thing. It meant things were moving forward, and soon he would be leaving Northgate, away from all the uncertainty.

The woman continued, her voice quieter but still firm. "Darian will be setting out tomorrow morning. He said you should prepare yourself, get any supplies you might need. It's going to be a long road ahead."

"Understood," Senna replied, his mind already racing through the logistics of what he would need. He'd just gotten the money, and now it seemed he would need to plan accordingly. Supplies, food, and perhaps more clothing—whatever he needed to make himself useful and ready.

Senna followed the two Seekers in silence, his thoughts still swirling. They led him through the streets, the sun now beginning its descent behind the rooftops, casting long shadows across the cobblestone roads. 

The atmosphere felt different —there was an unspoken tension in the air. Perhaps it was the anticipation of his new role, or perhaps the uncertainty of what lay ahead on this journey with Darian. Either way, he felt a sense of change settling over him like a weight he couldn't quite shake.

As they reached the outskirts of Northgate, the familiar noise of the marketplace and the bustle of town began to fade. They entered a quieter area, a series of tents and small makeshift structures that formed the Seeker camp. 

The area was more organized than Senna had expected, with narrow paths separating the various tents and small campfires providing light. The Seekers had clearly made an effort to maintain some semblance of order, and there was a strange sense of discipline even in the temporary setup.

The man Seeker, who had introduced himself as Taran, gestured to a tent in the distance. "Your tent is there," he said, his tone almost matter-of-fact. "Darian is already inside, preparing for tomorrow's departure. He wanted you to get some rest before the morning."

Senna nodded, his eyes glancing toward the tent. It seemed modest, a simple canvas structure with a flap entrance, but for him, it felt like a luxury compared to the rundown hovels he'd been staying in. A part of him was eager to see Darian again, but another part of him felt a growing sense of unease. The stakes were higher now—he was stepping into a world he didn't fully understand.

The woman Seeker, who had remained silent until now, gave him a brief but steady look. "If you need anything, you know where to find us. Don't hesitate to ask. We're all in this together."

With that, they both turned and walked away, leaving Senna standing alone in front of the tent.