Power hungry mages

The morning passed slowly, as they often did here. After a modest breakfast of honey bread and dried fruit, Alric insisted on checking my bandages again — not because they were needed, but because he couldn't help fussing over things he didn't fully understand.

He hummed to himself as he prodded gently around the stumps of my arm and leg, occasionally whispering small detection spells under his breath. Nyx dozed in the windowsill in his black cat form, tail flicking lazily in the warm sunlight.

It was during this quiet moment — his old hands tracing the runes along my shoulder — that I finally asked the question that had been gnawing at the back of my mind since the night I lost everything.

"Alric," I said softly, "how strong is Deyinara?"

He froze.

Not a dramatic pause — just a quiet stillness. Like a wind had suddenly stopped blowing.

Then he let out a long, heavy sigh. "Ah… there it is."

I frowned. "There what is?"

"The question every mage asks sooner or later." He stood slowly, letting go of my arm, and walked toward the window with a weary gait. "How powerful is our goddess? How much can we trust in her protection? Her wisdom? Her ambition?"

He didn't turn around when he answered.

"Deyinara is strong. Incredibly strong. As a deity of arcane understanding, her magic rivals that of the oldest gods. If this world were decided by personal might alone, she would sit among the highest of the pantheon."

"But she doesn't," I said, sensing the weight in his voice.

He turned now, and there was something in his eyes — something bitter and sad all at once.

"No. She doesn't. Because the strength of a god isn't just in what they are — it's in what others believe they are."

He sat heavily in the chair across from me, and for a long moment, didn't speak. Then he continued, this time with more edge in his tone.

"You see, boy, the gods feed on belief. Worship. Devotion. That's how they grow. That's how they survive. But magic…" He spat the word like a curse. "Magic is different. Mages are proud. Obsessive. They don't kneel easily. They don't worship anything but knowledge and power."

He gestured broadly with one hand. "Most of them don't join the church. They join guilds — vast, state-sponsored organizations in every major kingdom. Or worse, they pledge themselves to noble houses in exchange for coin, land, or research grants. They build towers, colleges, and academies — and they hoard what they learn."

He narrowed his eyes.

"They believe that if they cultivate hard enough, if they push past every boundary, they'll become gods themselves."

I blinked. "Because of her, right?"

He nodded grimly. "There's an old legend — older than any temple record — that Deyinara was once mortal. That she ascended through cultivation, forged her soul into a divine flame, and broke the veil between man and god."

"And they think they can do the same."

"Yes," he growled. "They see her not as a goddess to be worshipped, but as proof of concept. A blueprint. They revere what she did, but not who she is. And so they keep their discoveries secret. They give them to their guild masters, or their lords, or bury them in restricted vaults. They refuse to share their breakthroughs with the Church."

He looked around the humble temple, the cracked walls and aging stone. "And so the Church of Magic barely survives. A dozen sanctuaries like this one, underfunded, underappreciated. Only those truly devoted to Deyinara — those who believe not just in her power, but her wisdom — offer their findings back to her."

Alric's voice softened, but the bitterness remained. "We receive whispers of arcane truths in return. Pieces of a larger puzzle. But we're falling behind. Every year, we lose another priest to the guilds. Another sacred scroll sold to a baron for gold and favour."

He looked at me again, really looked, like he was seeing the divine brand carved over my missing eye, the runes on my soul.

"But now she's chosen a champion," he said. "That… means something. Maybe she's not done yet. Maybe she's ready to reclaim what's hers."

I sat in silence, letting that sink in. I'd been chosen by a goddess who was not only underpowered but actively disregarded by the very people who owed her everything. She wasn't just fighting for ascension — she was fighting to be remembered. Respected. Believed in.

And I'd traded my eye, arm, and leg for a front-row seat.

I leaned forward slightly, resting my hand on Nyx's soft fur. "Then let's make sure they remember her."

Alric met my gaze — and for the first time, I saw pride in his eyes.

So I hoped off the table and went back to cultivating.