Chapter 144: A Parade of Petals and Prayers
The next morning, the team winds through a wood so lush it seems almost embarrassed by its own beauty.
Sunlight spills through the canopy in great, golden shafts, dew still clinging to curling ferns, wildflowers spilling across the path in a kaleidoscope of hues, and somewhere overhead, birdsong stitched through the leaves like the whole forest had decided, just for today, to put on its very best dress.
Vuvi and Pip walk at the center, flanked by Veena and Sera, Zora drifting leisurely above them all, soaking in the view like a man on vacation.
Frostlick pads along behind them with Raikya perched squarely on her back, slightly concerned by the sheer number of bodies surrounding them.
Sha’Rona and her glimmercat lead wordlessly at the front, either too angry or too overwhelmed to deal with what’s happening behind her.
Because, behind them, walked half the village, who had decided to join the procession. They were singing, dancing and praising Pip’s name in overlapping, joyful songs and hymns.
The whole thing feels less like a walk-out and more like a parade that simply hasn’t found a destination worth stopping for yet.
Two bunny-kin twins dart past Pip, draping wreaths featuring flowers of every kind around his neck.
A fox-kin passes Vuvi a basket of baked goods, and Vuvi dives almost immediately in with both hands.
"I never get tired of this part," Veena says, watching the festivities unfold around her.
"Hmmhmm." Vuvi mumbles and nods, mouth stuffed full of cream-filled pastry.
Pip glances up into the branches and gives a worried beep as a half-visible figure streaks by overhead.
Vuvi forces down a pastry, swallowing hard. "Don’t worry about them, that’s just Jeffrey. He does that."
High above them, Lula and Penelo scream with delight as they streak from branch to branch atop a thoroughly pleased glimmercat, who seems personally, professionally committed to making both women scream as loudly as possible.
Pip shakes his head, shoulders sagging, a small puff of steam hissing off his shoulders.
Sera, one hand around a turkey leg and the other nursing a bottle, asks, "So what exactly should we expect from the dwarves?"
"No idea," Vuvi admits. "They were pretty thrilled when they realized it was Pip. Promised we’d get a ’proper greeting.’"
"Define ’proper greeting,’" Sera says.
"I didn’t ask for specifics." Vuvi responds.
"You never ask for specifics."
"Specifics ruin the surprise."
"Specifics prevent ambushes, Vuvi." Veena adds, helpfully.
"So does charm." Vuvi scoffs and slaps Pip’s shoulder, "And we have plenty of charm."
Pip gives a bashful beep in response.
"Word of the Pleasure Prince is travelling fast." Sera says as she throws an arm around Pip. "I’ll stay extra close, make sure nobody tries to get handsy with our boy." She adds, hauling his hip snuggly against her own.
"Fame like his was always inevitable," Zora says, "given that he leaves every woman he meets screaming for the Great Mother. Honestly, I wouldn’t be shocked if Her Holiness made the trip down herself, one of these days, for a turn."
"Don’t joke about that," Vuvi says. "With our luck, she actually would show up, and somehow it would still end up being my problem to manage."
"It’s was always going to be your problem to manage," Veena points out. "You made that decision the day you built him."
"I regret nothing!" Vuvi says, already reaching for another cream puff.
Far away, in the Royal Capital...
Melissa, Maiden Mother of the Church of The Great Mother, stands at the center of a vast, circular chamber before an altar.
Behind her wait three tall, breathtakingly beautiful women, draped in sheer, nearly invisible gowns that do extremely little to disguise the curves beneath them.
A golden blonde, a rich brunette, and a fiery redhead stood silently behind Melissa, each radiant enough to make the altar’s candlelight look dim by comparison.
Melissa prays aloud, voice trembling with devotion.
"I bring you the offering you requested." She cries out, "Before you stand the Church’s most devoted, most powerful and most beautiful Saint Sisters. Masters of the Mother’s magic and mercy alike."
She names them one by one. A blonde, wielding the holy light itself, able to summon weapons forged from it. The brunette, commanding shadow, bending darkness to her will. And the red-head, a living furnace, capable of calling forth the Mother’s holy fire.
The three Saint Sisters kneel, begging to be used as worthy vessels for the Great Mother’s will.
Silence follows their pleads.
Then the chamber begins to brighten, and brighten even further, until Melissa throws an arm across her eyes against the blinding glow, crying out in reverence.
"She answers us!" Melissa’s howl echoes across the chamber.
Then the light fades slowly and Melissa blinks her vision back, and hears giggling behind her, then laughter, then a triumphant voice.
"It... it worked!?"
She turns around to face the Saint Sisters. "Who... who are you?"
"Hela," says the blonde.
"Bela," says the brunette.
"Nela," says the redhead.
"The Sisters of Mercy." They all say in unison.
Melissa collapses to her knees, openly weeping with reverent joy. "The Great Mother has answered me!" she says between sobs.
The three women looming over her trade a quick, guilty glance before Hela crosses to her, lifting her gently by the shoulders.
"Indeed." Hela smiles warmly, "Our mother has great plans for you, and even greater rewards. But this little... arrangement," she says more quietly, "...stays between us. You shouldn’t pray to her about it again. At all."
Melissa blinks, confused, until Bela and Nela flank her with reassuring smiles.
"We are so proud of you." Nela says, beaming with pride.
"Your hard work and devotion do not go unnoticed." Bela adds.
"Of course." Melissa replies, "I live to accomplish the Great Mother’s will."
"Good." Hela steps back, admiring her new borrowed body with open delight. "Thank you for securing such excellent vessels."
Melissa flushes. "Only the very best for the Sisters of Mercy. Our Saint Sisters are the Church’s pride, and... its sword."
"More powerful than I’d even hoped," Bela murmurs, giggling as black, writhing tendrils crawl up from her own shadow, curling across her skin.
"We’re not planning on hurting anyone... are we?" Nela asks, summoning a small, swirling sun between her palms, eyes bright with reflected fire as the air crackles around it.
Hela flicks her wrist, and a greatsword of solid light materializes in her grip, gleaming, humming with power.
"Of course not," she says, smiling.