September of the Sainted Year (Fifth Civil Month)

(Sylia as Syl Celia)

Julend, being a Green Turtle's child, had required saving more times than Sylia could count.

She found herself at a loss trying to remember just how often she'd had to intervene to save Julend. But it had always been worth it. The Turtle involved in Julend's creation was simply too adorable. Both Sylia and her Source were fond of that little one. Utterly so.

Yes, a few had more than once accused them of favoritism or even harassment when it came to little Green Turtles. Sylia nearly scoffed at the memory. Let them talk. So what if they had, on more than one occasion, picked up a Green Turtle near some evildoer's den and taken them home after dispatching the corrupt beings they found there?

True, they had occasionally forgotten to return the little Green Turtle to their family home but that wasn't entirely their fault. The little ones were just too lovable. They adapted quickly, made themselves comfortable, and caused no trouble. They read quietly, moved little, ate even less, and only spoke when spoken to. In other words, they were perfect companions.

What's more, Sylia and her Source were genuinely loved by those little Turtles, which made it even harder to send them away.

Sylia clenched her fist, her chest tightening at the memory of all those heartless accusations. She sighed, defeated. Yes, she liked Green Turtles and their children. That was probably why she had been so eager to save Julend.

Mathias must have caught on. He was likely playing her. He could be a mean bully to her and her Source alike. Well… maybe not to her Source. He would likely run and hide, in fear, from that one. Sylia grinned at the thought, then sobered. That was exactly why Mathias bullied her in the first place. Because he knew he could never do it to her Source.

One way or another, Sylia had ended up becoming Julend's protector. And she had to admit that while she had stepped into that role, she had done so with no small amount of cruelty.

First, she needed to deal with Tasha and the many schemes the woman had spun against her. Then, she had to ensure that Tasha stayed as far away from Julend as possible. That part would prove the hardest, especially since Mathias had sent Julend to the Slums as punishment for a Pact made with Tasha in a previous life.

Julend, of course, remained completely unaware of Mathias' true intentions.

***

Our story unfolds during the longest September anyone could remember—five civil months strung together into a long stretch of slow-burning days, punctuated now and then by feast-worthy evenings. That season, they had hosted the Puriula cakes, pancakes, and crepes gathering. It was one of the most popular events they'd ever had in the Slums. Not only because of the food, but because it belonged to everyone. Most families had been able to contribute something, even if just a pinch of spice or a scoop of flour. For once, no one was left out.

Many had helped gather the ingredients. The Puriula and Pirnus eggs were the heart of the event—sweet, earthy, and rich in Mana, though dangerous if mishandled. They grew deep in the forest, in zones laced with spores and quick-shifting terrain. Only trained fighters and mages were allowed to collect them, and even they had to clean and sort the eggs with utmost care. One mistake, and you could end up poisoned or infected.

That was the advantage of being a spell-user or sword-handler in the Slums. When festivals came, you were needed. And when you were needed, you were remembered.

That day, while Jimmy, Elouis, Zakaria, and Pullina were busy helping Sylia and Syl Celia with the preparations and the first round of sales, the square around the stand had already started to fill with neighbors, families, and curious wanderers. It was always like that when food was involved—especially the good kind, the kind that smelled like home and didn't require a ration tag or Priest's permission.

Liedsa was there too, standing near the corner of the long counter, arms crossed and her sharp eyes scanning the crowd. Her job was clear—supervise the children, keep them focused, and make sure they weren't swept too far into Sylia and Syl Celia's foolishness. She didn't trust the Saints' games. Not with sugar, not with magic, and certainly not with other people's children.

From a distance, a familiar voice called her name.

Tasha.

Liedsa's mouth twitched into the beginnings of a smile, not quite soft but less hard than usual. Tasha was approaching, followed by a few of her cousins and neighbors—young women and older girls, faces shining with curiosity and chatter. Liedsa had known Tasha since she was just a child, back when her legs were all scabs and her voice too loud for a room. She'd doted on the girl, even spoiled her a little, and defended her time and time again against Masha, Sylia and even Syl Celia, whenever the need arose.

Liedsa had always been that way. Loud. Blunt. Proud. A true child of the Slums, shaped by cracked stones, moldy walls, and long winters without Saints or soup. Her hair was often a mess. Her dresses never matched. Her hands were rough and her speech rougher still. At forty-six, she had lived through the time when there were no schools, no rules, and no one but your own blood to carry your weight.

She didn't care for the Saints. Not really. She respected the meals they brought, the healers they trained, the roofs they repaired but their behavior, their talk of divine plans and playful rituals, that she distrusted. She respected only one man: Master Mathias.

Everyone in the Slums knew that.

It wasn't just reverence. It was fear, hard-earned and deeply carved. Liedsa had spent months in confinement, locked up for hitting the local enforcers, shouting at guards, swearing at Gentry, and disrespecting Nobles more than once. Her body bore the marks—long, cruel scars from branding irons, hidden beneath her hair, stitched under her sleeves.

One of her sons still rotted in prison for the same kind of behavior, and they hadn't stopped torturing him. But even that hadn't changed her like Mathias had.

One of her sons still rotted in prison, tortured endlessly for shouting at the wrong man—a Noble, or maybe a Saint's envoy; she'd stopped keeping track of the titles. He had been made an example, as so many in her bloodline had. And yet, even that brutal punishment hadn't broken Liedsa the way Master Mathias had.

What changed her was the square.

She remembered it with awful clarity—the slick, sucking mud under her knees, the cold that crawled up her spine, the smell of rot rising from the soil. She and her sister Dolperima had been dragged there, made to kneel in front of the others. This happened not once but several times.

Days passed, sometimes weeks. Once over month. No food. No sleep. Just humiliation, aching limbs, and the watchful silence of a powerful who neither forgot nor forgave.

It hadn't just been a punishment. It had been a warning. A lesson.

Dolperima hadn't learned. Liedsa had begged her to shut her mouth, but she'd gone too far. She had mocked and went against the Saints, spat at a shrine, maybe even insulted Master Mathias directly. Liedsa never knew what the final straw was. She only remembered what came next.

Dolperima was buried under that same square. Not metaphorically but literally. Her body placed into the earth by Master Mathias himself, then sealed with a living spell. She was kept from dying, her Soul denied rest, her flesh left to be consumed slowly by worms and whatever else he had summoned into the pit with her. People called it "sleep" but Liedsa knew better. Her sister was being digested. And the process was ongoing.

Liedsa never asked what else was buried with her. She never looked too long at the center of the square. And when she saw Master Mathias pass, she bowed, low, silent, and with the weight of every terrible thing she now understood. He had called her, and some of her kin, boastful rotting rats once. Said the Slums had been made for people like them. Liedsa hadn't argued. Not out loud. Not since.

Young Sylia or Masha, as some still called her, greeted Tasha with a radiant smile, her face aglow with unaffected cheer.

"Do you want to buy something?" she asked brightly. "Or maybe do you wish to help with the sales? We could always use extra hands!"

Tasha regarded her grimly. "We might take something," she said, her tone flat. "From the other stand. The one with the buckwheat galettes. My family doesn't care much for sweets. Not that kind, anyway."

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Sylia's smile didn't falter. "An excellent choice," she replied. "Some of my people are helping there. I divided myself to hold that stand with a few of my Church followers."

That earned her a pause from Tasha, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. But she turned her attention to Liedsa instead.

"Do you know where my Julend went?"

Liedsa grimaced, then gestured toward an alley tucked beyond the far line of stands. "He slipped away with one of Syl Celia's Divisions. Kurelli went with them."

Tasha's eyes narrowed.

"Kurelli's mother's over there," Liedsa went on, nodding toward a modest stall near the edge of the square. "Next to that new skewers and ale shop. She's crying something fierce. Her husband and a few of the cousins are trying to comfort her. It was a shock, her finding out Kurelli went down that road too."

Liedsa added, with a mocking smirk, "I should keep the husband under control."

Sylia's expression froze, strained in a way that almost echoed Syl Celia's practiced, polite discomfort. A few stifled coughs followed. Even Tasha looked slightly embarrassed.

She knew the man well enough to understand that he would rather die than let himself be tempted by women like Sylia, Syl Celia, and the Saints who smiled too sweetly and made people forget who they were. He had been hurt by women like that before. Noblewomen. His Magic had been drained. His mind, taken and shaped by someone else's will.

There were rumors—more than rumors, really—about what he had done to end up here. He and a few of his close relatives had been returned to the Slums under worse punishment, while the better ones in their family had been freed and sent to serve among the King's followers. The worst, it was said, had been executed outright or left in torment, still enduring divine retribution.

Liedsa's husband had once run with his most dangerous sibling. Under mind-wrapping spells, he might have taken part in the murder of several good family members. One of his brothers, perhaps even a few cousins. He had later adopted their children and sworn to protect them with his life, as if that could erase what had been done.

Tasha turned toward Sylia, brow furrowed. "That shop… I don't recall seeing it. Or that area."

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Sylia spread her arms wide, still smiling. "Yes, it was added at dawn. We added other things afterward. The Saints prayed together for a new small area laced with Darkling and Dark Moon powers. And so the land appeared, along with the new houses and buildings."

Tasha shook her head slowly, disbelief written across her face. "Is Gyuntez here? Or Julend's natural father?"

Sylia tilted her head, pleasantly surprised. "Yes. How did you know? They arrived this morning with Dio."

Tasha swore. "Damn him! No wonder Julend would defy me. With his father around, he must think he's absolved. Where are they?"

Sylia's smile softened into something more neutral. "In the shop. But it's not accessible yet. Just the small annex and terraces are open. There are other shops nearby, if you're interested."

Tasha's jaw tightened. She wanted to throttle the girl.

Before she could speak, Liedsa cut in sharply, "Masha Sylia, stop stirring things up with everyone. Control your Divisions."

Sylia turned toward her with a sweet, disarming smile. "Mathias Herves is around today, Liedsa. This isn't even my main Division, you know. And Masha is asleep. We're actually talking right now."

Liedsa blanched.

Her breath hitched, and sweat broke out along her brow. She scanned the square like a trapped animal until her eyes landed on a cousin at the far end. Without another word, she bolted.

"I have to go take care of some business!" she called behind her. "Gone most of the day!" Then, yelling at the children, "Behave!"

She ran, full tilt, barreling toward her cousin. The man barely had time to register her approach before the tall, broad woman grabbed him by the arm and dragged him off in a lurching retreat, confusion all over his face.

Sylia watched them go with a serene smile. "My, isn't that effective?"

Elouis watched the direction Liedsa had vanished toward and spoke up, his tone matter-of-fact.

"I'm glad she left. She was scaring off the customers and those who wanted to help, too. Probably worried about her own shop losing sales."

He glanced at Zakaria with a small shrug. "She wouldn't even let Zakaria help. The woman doesn't seem to understand Magic at all. Zakaria's supposed to be learning how to handle the Mulpen eggs. He has Earth Magic, unlike me and Jimmy, who've been working with the other magical eggs."

He looked toward the distant stand. "Julend might get mad if we don't make the pancakes we promised. Lady Syl Celia built that new wooden shop herself, on that tiny parcel you both added, Sylia."

Jimmy nodded quietly in agreement.

Zakaria, meanwhile, was frowning as he tried to clean the big brown thick-shelled egg in his hands. "Mum doesn't want me to learn Magic. Says it's bad. Maybe because some people in her family used it wrong. But I'm just learning to handle these, not cast spells."

Tasha snapped. "You promised Julend pancakes with Mulpen eggs?"

All the children jumped.

Pullina let out a little yelp, nearly dropping the enormous egg she was carrying. She clutched it to her chest, wide-eyed.

Zakarias looked up from his stool, where he had resumed cleaning the small brown eggs just after his mother disappeared into the crowd.

"What are these?" he asked, brows pinched in confusion.

Tasha turned, clearly ready to speak—perhaps to scold—but was stopped by a firm hand on her shoulder.

Her brother Guilyen spoke softly but firmly. "Let it go, Tasha. Just this once. This is an excellent offering—even coming from a Saint."

Sylia, still smiling, answered without hesitation. "We went with Mathias to collect some ourselves. Syl Celia just made her own. She has specialized Earth Magic."

At that, Guilyen visibly paled.

He turned his gaze to the woman standing calmly just beside them, arms crossed and expression unreadable. She might as well have been a statue for how little reaction she showed. Around them, Guilyen's relatives began to murmur, exchanging uncertain glances.

Zakarias frowned. "Are these eggs a problem?"

Guilyen shook his head slowly. "Not if they were harvested properly. If you went and took them from the higher Magic Beasts who live in places so remote and warped that even the highest Nobles can't reach them or in areas so dangerous no one dares to try… Then no, not a problem."

He looked at the egg Zakarias was holding, his tone more cautious now. "But making them? That would take Celestial or Half-Celestial power. Beasts like that could only be summoned through Celestial or God Blessings, and even then, it's just legend. I've never heard of anyone creating eggs with eye magic."

Zakarias blinked. "What?"

Guilyen exhaled. "The Earth Magic that makes these… it comes from the combined forces of the Blood Lords and the Dark Lord. The eggs themselves are formed from a golden light—something the beasts can use only a few times a year, or even just once in a decade. Depends on their rank. The Celestials are the best equipped for it, but it's said they create them only for the suppers of the Lords' personal servants. No one else."

He pointed to the one in Zakarias's hand. "That Mulpen is very thick and dark. That means it came from a highly restricted breed. I don't know how you're supposed to crack it."

Sylia gave a gentle shake of her head. "This one's actually the lowest layer in a Thousands Layers Egg. It's extremely thin and looks dense, but it isn't. We gave him a bracelet with a blessing. He should be able to open it with some concentration and maybe a little help."

She smiled again, more softly this time. "It's more about the lesson. We don't truly need him to crack it. Don't worry about Julend. We'll make his ourselves, like we promised. With even a little extra."

Tasha stood still, trembling slightly. Her face had gone pale.

Guilyen exhaled, voice low and strained. "Then… Lady Syl Celia… is not a Sainted Priestess."

Sylia's smile didn't waver. "No. She is a Sainted Half-Celestial—and no Priestess. She's a Spiritualist Monk type. We didn't want to frighten people. Especially the Nobles. They tend to worship her kind like Gods."

She turned slightly, hands folded with serene precision.

"She carries Celestial-blessed powers. So many Blessings that she can walk among the Celestials with her head high. She could even be considered queen of a flock of Celestials—something like the Queen of Celested Beasts."

Her tone was almost conversational now.

"She's been around far longer than this body. Longer than this part of me. We're separate pieces, born in different ways. We might merge. Or not. It depends on what we need. Sometimes we merge just long enough to learn from each other. Then we separate again. Like any normal being like us does."

At the name, Guilyen began to tremble. His face had gone pale. He looked at his sister with alarm and then to his cousins with a growing darkness behind his eyes.

Slowly, stiffly, he bowed deep and low.

"My Ladies," he said, voice almost cracking, "please allow us to retire for today… and enjoy your time here."

He straightened, then backed away carefully.

Tasha looked at her brother. "What are you—?"

He didn't answer her. Just glared.

"You're on your own," he said flatly.

Guilyen continued to walk backwards, head bowed, each step measured. He did not stop until he reached his cousins' level, where he dropped into an even deeper, more formal bow. He held the posture there, silent, reverent.

Sylia beamed at him, her tone light but edged with something unmistakably sharp.

"One can see an educated man of Noble blood." she said. "You're a churchgoer, clearly an erudite. So I assume you understood my references."

She tilted her head slightly, her smile never wavering.

"I don't know if she has better supporters. I rather doubt it. So yes, it's best you retire. Never get involved. You are a Camerioni, after all. You might find yourself in the worst hellish places just like some of your ancestors and relatives who didn't know their place."

Her voice softened, almost thoughtfully.

"I suppose you were here for Magali? Since your cousin raised Kyle so well. But I wouldn't bother. Not even with Kyle."

Guilyen looked up slowly, confusion in his eyes. "My Lady? Did Kyle do something to upset you?"

Sylia's voice was airy, still smiling. "Not at all. He's perfectly polite. Smooth. Carries himself like proper Noble Gentry. It's obvious he was raised exceptionally well."

Then her smile dipped slightly. "But good upbringing doesn't always change one's nature."

Guilyen frowned slightly, the question written across his face.

Sylia answered before he could speak.

"I mean the kind who prefers much younger girls. He's quite fixated on Betty. I'm still watching. I shielded Pullina from his eyes. He doesn't look at mature women. Only the younger ones."

She glanced toward the side, her tone now dipped in something quieter and heavier. "That's why I make Kullen sleep beside us whenever he's around. Just in case he decides to visit."

Tasha's eyes widened in shock.

Sylia's tone remained light, but every word struck like a knife through linen.

"I believe his real father died because of that same taste," she said. "And I believe Kullen's father was killed by that one and his charming little circle of friends who shared a preference for much younger girls. Churchgoers, too. Or even better—those related to the Church. Very specific, if you ask for my opinion."

She gave Tasha a sidelong glance.

"I thought Kyle was separated from Magali so she wouldn't be influenced by him."

Tasha stared ahead, her expression vacant. She didn't speak.

Sylia continued, unbothered.

"Well, maybe when your head is clearer. I doubt it ever will be truly sane but this one's is." She gestured to Tasha's brother, still smiling. "Some things come from the blood. Others from the Soul. And sometimes from both."

She folded her arms and tilted her head slightly. "Mathias has the same assessment as mine. Maybe we should do something about him. Ask a God to rearrange his Soul. Cut it. Replace it. There are ways."

Then, with a breezy tone that made the words land even harder:

"Honestly, he's welcome to Betty. They deserve each other. Each is corrupted in their own way. Maybe that's why you're so fond of Betty, Tasha."

Her voice dropped, quiet and cruel.

"Trash attracts trash. And with a name like Tasha? A-Class Trash must be truly cherished."

"Then, my Lady, we shall send him to the more controlled Gentry-class Slum quarters. Instead of the Slums where he might be tempted by taking advantage of the weak and follow his passions. There, he'll have the chance to do his work…be useful and perhaps find redemption while surrounded by the right people to keep him controlled and subdued."

Sylia beamed. "Oh, my! You've read my mind." Her tone was delighted, yet laced with that same edge of power. "Some of your bloodlines deserve praise. They are very wise."

She gestured lightly toward the square behind her. "Take some wine and sweets from your Church's Winged Celestials production. We brought them with Mathias on our way back from a Celestials' Dimension. There are also a few gifts from the Church Priests. After all, your little trip with your family to a Saintess' nest needn't be in vain."

As Guilyen looked up, trembling slightly, a transparent, winged half-beast man materialized beside him. The creature's form shimmered faintly with divine light as it handed him a bottle and a cloth-wrapped parcel. Guilyen dropped to one knee, humbled.

A moment later, a rip in the air unfolded like a ribbon. A Magic Portal opening cleanly. Several Priests stepped through in ceremonial robes, carrying polished cases and sacred bags. Their arrival stirred the wind and silenced the square.

Sylia turned to face them.

As she did, her form shifted. Her hair grew longer, richer in color, her garments unfurled into fine cloth laced with divine sigils, the sort worn not by Slum Saints but by Celestials themselves.

Raising one arm, she traced a single elegant line through the air with her finger. A burst of magic flared into the sky, crackling, intricate, and unmistakably divine.

"Today," Sylia declared, her voice echoing unnaturally through the square, "we welcome the Subarugam Sub-Church to settle just northeast of here, right outside the city."

She smiled again, her tone casual and amused.

"We are welcoming both a Half-Enclave and a full Enclave devoted to the Sub-Church—and its more dominant affiliated Churches and Temples. Do not be alarmed if you see naked nymph Spiritualisti walking on water near one of the temples devoted to Devragam. That's how Lord Chester prefers it."

She gave a playful shrug, as if explaining something mildly inconvenient.

"So that… is how we get it."

***

Sylia smiled despite herself. She had just taught Tasha a lesson and thwarted one of her latest devious schemes, likely saving the lives of the woman's own relatives in the process. Tasha remained the same. A greedy, malicious Soul who never hesitated to exploit others for personal gain. That had never changed, and no matter how much they tried, Tasha's vices seemed beyond control. She was, without a doubt, irredeemable.

Still, Sylia felt satisfied that she had managed to stop her from going too far this time. She had even managed to deal with one of Tasha's most insufferable and corrupt allies. Liedsa. That woman was truly something else. On a ten-point scale of moral decay, Liedsa would score a twelve, while Tasha, of course, would shatter the scale entirely and score a hundred. There was simply no comparison, especially when you were familiar with Tasha's former lives.

Fortunately, Sylia's Source remembered every single one of them. She knew exactly what the woman now called Tasha was capable of. That one had a talent for manipulating others, exploiting their emotions, and feeding off their weaknesses.

Sylia allowed herself a moment of satisfaction. She had accomplished most of her goals for the day. The children in the Slums had learned something new and seemed genuinely happy. That in itself pleased her. Now, she only had to settle things with Julend's attackers.

She already had a plan, one she suspected would make Julend cry. But that was his own fault, really. He had been far too naive, placing his trust in people who clearly meant to betray him. Sylia had sent Syl Celia to stay with him while she dealt with Tasha and ensured her humiliating departure. Now, only one troublesome matter remained.

Sylia didn't think she was being cruel to Julend. At least, not entirely. She had prepared a little gift for him. A spacious, three-story apartment in a brand-new building, created along with the very land beneath it by a Higher Spirit Sylia had summoned the day before. The new residence was heavily protected and equipped with Portal Doors linked to several Dimensions and secured Enclaves, some of which were even Time-Zones.

It would allow Julend to escape the Slums for extended periods. She had also included numerous traps for anyone foolish enough to try and harm him.

Now, with everything in place, Sylia could reasonably expect a little cuddle and a kiss from that adorable little Green Turtle.

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