Chris sped through the city streets, the car roaring as if he were leaving the moonlight itself trailing behind.


    His heart pounded wildly, and tonight''s events had upended his perception of the world. The woman in the white gown—undoubtedly a being beyond ordinary comprehension.


    If extraordinary beings like her existed, then what about gods?


    A shiver ran down his spine. Chris recalled the countless jabs he’d made at Ymir’s devotion to the Goddess of Dawn.


    “Oh, merciful Goddess, I am your most devout follower,” he muttered under his breath.


    Crossing through the Lycra District, Chris didn’t slow until his car was atop Crescent Bridge over the Missi River. He pulled over, yanked off his mask, and decided to tend to the injury on his left ear.


    “Wait… what?” His fingers brushed the side of his head, and he quickly rolled down the window, leaning toward the side mirror for a better look. The spot where the bullet had grazed him showed no trace of injury, only the dried blood on his neck proving he’d been hurt at all.


    “Could this be my new supernatural power? Self-healing?” he murmured, his voice tinged with wonder.


    The cool river breeze snapped him out of his thoughts. Chris grabbed a water bottle from the car to clean the blood off his neck. Stripping off his jacket, he inspected it for bloodstain, then climbed back into the driver’s seat.


    By the time he pulled up to the “Good Fortune” grocery, the place was shrouded in darkness. Imir had already closed up shop. Chris sighed in relief. Moving quickly, he shifted the potted plant beside the door, retrieved the key hidden underneath, and let himself in.


    He locked the door behind him, weaved past the shelves, and tiptoed upstairs to his room. Once inside, he closed the curtains, flipped on the light, and collapsed into his chair.


    Fishing the silver mask from his pocket, he stared at it, tonight’s events replaying vividly in his mind. A sudden thought struck him. He dug into the desk drawer, pulling out a small knife. With a quick motion, he made a shallow cut on his arm. Blood welled up briefly, but the wound closed within seconds, knitting itself together as if nothing had happened.


    “I knew it!” A grin spread across Chris''s face.


    Wiping the blood from his arm, Chris marveled at his smooth, unblemished skin. The rush of excitement was short-lived, however, as exhaustion settled over him. He yawned, turned off the light, and collapsed onto his bed, still fully clothed.


    ---


    Morning light streamed into the room, rousing Chris from a deep sleep. For once, Imir hadn’t dragged him out of bed at the crack of dawn. Stretching, Chris spotted the silver mask still lying on the desk where he’d left it. Panic flickered across his face.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    “Thank goodness I locked the door. If Imir saw this, I would have to make up a story.” he muttered, tucking the mask into a dark wooden box hidden beneath his bed.


    After a quick wash, Chris descended the stairs to find Imir behind the counter, helping a customer check out. Without a glance, Imir called out, “There are eggs in the kitchen. Fry a couple for yourself.”


    Chris raised an eyebrow. Imir’s calm demeanor was unusual, given his penchant for grilling Chris about what he did at night.


    Sure enough, as Chris stood at the stove flipping eggs, Imir appeared in the doorway. “There’s a hymn recital at the church this afternoon. We go together,” Imir announced, his tone leaving no room for argument.


    Chris froze mid-flip. His usual retort about the Goddess of Dawn hovered on the tip of his tongue but went unspoken. “Fine,” he said, his voice resigned.


    Imir was very satisfied with Chris''s attitude. He nodded and turned to leave.


    Later, Chris ate two fried eggs, drank a glass of milk, and came to the door of the grocery store feeling relaxed.


    At this moment, a raspy voice called out, “Chris.”


    Turning, Chris saw Old Moen reclining in a chair outside his house, his glasses perched on his nose.


    “Hi Mr. Moen, is Bella missing again?” Chris asked with a knowing smirk.


    Bella, Moen’s white cat, was notorious for wandering off.


    “She’s a handful,” Moen admitted, offering an apologetic smile. “Sorry for bothering you.”


    “No worries,” Chris didn’t mind. He couldn''t remember how many times he had helped Moen find Bella.


    After a quick search of the house, he found Bella perched on a tree in the backyard.


    “Here, Bella,” he cooed, waving a stick to catch her attention. The cat’s curious eyes followed the swaying branch as she crept down the trunk. A graceful leap later, she landed in Chris’s arms.


    After finding Bella, Chris cradled her in his arms and made his way through the house, heading outside to give the cat to old Mr. Moen.


    “Thanks, Chris. May the Goddess bless you,” Moen said as he cradled the cat lovingly.


    ——


    That afternoon, Chris seated beside Imir in the church, fighting off drowsiness as hymns filled the air.


    “You are the eternal beacon, guiding lost souls through darkness.


    In the endless night, you bring the dawn of hope…”


    Chris was drowsy, his eyelids heavy with sleep, when Imir discreetly nudged him with an elbow. Startled, Chris realized the hymn recital had ended. He hurriedly stood up with the congregation, quickly touching his brow and chest with his right hand while reciting aloud, "Praise the glorious Dawn Goddess!"


    Eager to escape, Chris made for the exit, but the priest, Yordle Megan, intercepted him.


    “Chris, wait a moment,” Yordle said with a kind smile. “Someone wishes to speak with you.”


    "By the way," Yordel added, turning to Imir. "Imir, I trust you won''t mind?"


    "Of course not," Imir replied, his tone calm and composed.


    Chris''s heart sank. Had the goddess overheard every mocking word he’d ever uttered about her? "Who are they? And, uh... what do they want?" Chris forced a stiff smile, his voice betraying a hint of unease.


    "They''re from the Sanctum," Yordel said, adjusting his glasses with a deliberate air of mystery. "And trust me, it’s probably good news."


    "Follow me," he continued, gesturing for Chris to follow. "They’re waiting for you in the lounge."


    Chris shot a glance at Imir, who remained utterly unperturbed, his expression betraying nothing. It was hard not to suspect that his father had, in some way, sold him out.