The Buzzard's Blessing

Elara stood in the chamber, her fingers still brushing the surface of the mirror as it fell silent. The Prior's voice, now cut off, no longer pierced her thoughts, but her mind buzzed with doubt. The conversation had confirmed what she had feared: something was deeply wrong within the Order. The new Prior, with her sharp questions and too-easy assumptions, was hiding something dangerous. And that something, Elara realized, could be as treacherous as Malachar himself.

She turned away from the mirror, letting her eyes scan the room. The ancient temple had grown cold in the dying light, its stone walls casting long, foreboding shadows. Her thoughts went back to the bodies of her comrades still lay scattered across the ground — warriors and clerics who had given their lives in defense of an apparently worthless ruin. They had trusted the Order, just as she had. Now, she wasn't sure what to believe anymore.

Her boots echoed in the silence as she made her way to the center of the room, where the signs of the violent struggle were still fresh. The servant she had fought was skilled, but the desperation in his attack betrayed him — he didn’t find what he was looking for, and that meant one thing: the relic was still there, hidden somewhere within the ancient walls of the temple. And she had only forty-five days to find it.

Forty, if the scouts are quick, she reminded herself.

Elara knelt beside a broken chest, its wood shattered and the cloth within scorched. Her fingers sifted through the debris carefully. Though the protective wards had been broken, traces of magic still lingered — faint, but palpable. She could feel it humming beneath her fingertips, as though the temple itself whispered to her. There was power there, ancient and untapped.

The Eye, of course, what other power could be be so strong?

Her thoughts drifted back to the Prior’s words:

If Malachar hasn’t found it yet, it’s because it’s well-hidden. By searching, you could lead him straight to it.

It was a clever warning, but Elara couldn’t shake the suspicion that the Prior was using her own fear against her, to manipulate her into placid submission. Was the Prior truly concerned about the relic’s safety? Or was she more interested in keeping Elara away from the temple’s deeper secrets?

Elara stood, drawing a deep breath. She would need to search the temple thoroughly, but she couldn't do it blindly. There had to be some clue, some hidden path or secret door that Malachar’s men had missed. Something that only the Order could recognize and follow. The temple had stood for thousands of years, its true purpose shrouded in mystery. And while the new Prior might have sent her there under the guise of protecting the relic, Elara couldn’t shake the feeling that she was now on her own. The Prior couldn’t be trusted. But could Elara trust herself?

A sudden flutter of wings broke her thoughts. The buzzard, still perched on the window ledge, let out another low call, its beady eyes watching her intently. Under its stare, Elara felt that surge of energy flooding her up again, as Dalida herself was pouring holy fire into her very soul. Any trace of doubt vanished: she felt the blessing of Dalida’s Light, the ultimate confirmation that she made the right call — first: securing the Temple, then securing the Eye.

The stronghold of Malachar would be her next move.

She was tired of acting defensively. The sorcerers attacked the human villages, the Order’s temples, and it was only a matter of time before they grew confident enough to launch an attack against the Castrum itself. And with all of that, the Order limited itself to responding to the attacks without ever offering any counter-offensive.

The time had come to attack them first.

Elara’s thoughts went back to the bodies lying in the temple and felt a shiver of excitement: she would not rest until justice was served. The buzzard let out a low cry in an agreement, its eyes gleaming with an intensity that mirrored her own.

The priestess extended two bony fingers towards the bird, expecting it to fly away. Instead, the bird remained, unmoving, its gaze locked on hers with a wild, excited, challenging stare. As she brushed her fingers against the bird's chest, she marveled at the softness of its plumage, so sharply contrasted with the ferocity in its eyes. Her lips twisted into a small, cruel smile.

Buzzards, like other birds of prey, were spirits akin to the Order. Seeing one was a harbinger of good omens. But to be chosen by one? It was as though Dalida herself had descended from the Immortal Planes to bless Elara’s mission.

The wastelands outside had grown dark, the sky a deep, star-speckled expanse. Stars of every size and color—white, blue, red, and yellow—dotted the moonless blackness, some no larger than pinpricks, others as large as her hand. Elara turned her back at the mullioned window and strode confidently toward the temple’s entrance, her path illuminated by starlight was to her another sign of Dalida’s blessing. The buzzard took flight, its wings flapping loudly as it left the window, only to land gracefully on Elara’s shoulder.

The bird's presence filled her with certainty, a positive force that fueled her conviction. Securing the temple, finding the Eye — it was only the beginning. Soon, she would take the fight to Malachar himself.

With the buzzard perched on her shoulder and the weight of her mission pressing on her soul, Elara stepped into the night. She would bring light to the darkness, and no sorcerer nor traitor would stand in her way.