After a few minutes, the clamor of the market and the density of the stalls began to thin. The road widened, the dust seemed to settle, and before her, emerging with a stillness that contrasted with the chaos she had just left, the temple came into view.

  It was neither an imposing cathedral nor a stone building carved with Gothic arches. It was a structure of regular stones in light colors ranging from earthy clay to reddish-brown, as if each stone had been gathered from a riverbed or nearby slopes. They were joined by a coarse mortar, giving the walls a living, organic texture. The roof, instead of clay tiles or slate, was covered by long wooden shingles but some wood either treated or of a peculiar species, possessing a mossy green hue. The overall impression was of a building that hadn't been constructed against nature but rather sought to imitate a tree or a rocky outcropping covered in lichen; a further extension of the living world surrounding it.

  Selena approached cautiously, skirting the low wall of polished black basalt that marked the temple grounds. There were no iron gates or monumental doors, only an opening in the wall leading to an interior courtyard of packed earth and, at the far end, the doors of the sanctuary. They were made of solid wood a light, unvarnished pine that gave off a resinous, clean, and invigorating scent. She pushed one of the doors; it gave way with a soft creak and swung open.

  The interior lacked the grandiosity or the dark solemnity of the churches suggested by some distant, blurry memory. Light poured in, but in a peculiar way. The floor consisted of wide planks of light wood, worn and marked by the footprints of countless feet that had crossed them, giving it a soft, warm glow. There were no lined-up pews. Instead, scattered throughout the space, were low, round cushions stuffed with straw and covered in simple fabrics of earthy tones. The atmosphere was one of serene, almost domestic humility.

  Exhausted—more from the accumulated emotional tension than the physical effort—Selena let herself fall onto one of the cushions nearest the entrance. The straw stuffing pricked her slightly through the fabric of her dress, but it was a minor discomfort, almost comforting in its tangibility. Here, in this silent space bathed in that strange light, the heart that had been hammering in her chest since she woke up finally began to quiet. It wasn't peaceful, but it was a truce.

  A sweet, floral scent, like wildflower honey, floated in the air. She looked up toward the ceiling, searching for its source. The greenish wooden shingles were not opaque. They were translucent, like thin sheets of some treated resinous material, filtering the sunlight and turning it into a watery, greenish clarity that bathed the entire interior in a tranquil, subaquatic hue. In the center of this sea of light, a circular atrium of plain, uncarved wood elevated a small platform. Behind it, against the back wall, stood the statue.

  It was a sculpture of light-toned stone, polished by time and touch. It depicted a young woman with serene features and an expression of infinite kindness. She wore flowing robes, carved to look as if moved by an eternal breeze, and one breast was uncovered with the naturalness of a wet nurse or of the earth itself that provides sustenance. In her hands, she held a simple jar. From the mouth of that jar, a thin thread of real water fell with a soft, uninterrupted murmur, feeding a low, circular fountain at her feet. Inside the fountain, carved into its own stone rim, were thousands—literally thousands—of tiny, perfect flowers; every petal, every stamen sculpted with exquisite detail. It was a petrified garden drinking from the eternal spring of the goddess.

  The whole ensemble—the light, the water, the wood, the stone flowers—conveyed a sense of contained life, of a perpetual and compassionate cycle. Selena stared, mesmerized, until a soft movement jolted her from her contemplation.

  A man had stepped out from one of the discreet side doors that blended into the wood paneling of the walls. He was thin, of average height, and dressed in a simple tunic of dark, almost forest green, with trim of deep chestnut forming simple floral patterns at the edges. His face was etched with a network of fine wrinkles, but they were wrinkles that clustered around his eyes and mouth, marking smiles and attentive gazes rather than the hardness of years. His expression conveyed kindness so genuine and calm that the only response that surfaced in Selena’s dazed mind was a simple word: the father.

  The man approached her without haste, his bare feet making barely a sound on the polished wood. He stopped at a respectable distance in front of her as she sat on the cushion. His eyes, clear as honey, looked at her without judgment only with curiosity and a deep calm.

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  —May Aelthra be with you, little blade of grass— he said, his voice melodic, deep yet soft like the murmur of the fountain's water. —What brings you to the Temple of the Glowing Moss on this beautiful midday?— He waited expectantly, his hands clasped naturally in front of his tunic.

  Selena had to swallow hard before speaking. She looked him directly in the eyes, searching for any hint of falsehood or greed, and found nothing but that unshakable serenity. —I was told there was a women's shelter here— she replied, keeping her voice as steady as she could.

  The man, Father Theron, as he would introduce himself, nodded slowly. He did not seem surprised. —First of all, young lady— he said, clearing his throat softly, —I am Father Theron, leader of the congregation of the West Ward— He paused briefly, letting the information sink in. —And your name, little one—what is it?

  —I am Selena— she said, and as she spoke it, she felt it was the first time she was truly introducing herself to this world. She shifted her gaze to the side—a gesture of either learned or genuine discomfort—and continued, weaving the lie that now flowed with terrifying naturalness. —I was separated from my group. And I don’t know the area. They left me… without money— The last part was a whisper heavy with a shame that wasn't entirely faked.

  Father Theron sighed, a sound of deep understanding, not pity. —It is a sorrow that the flow of life often brings us to these moments— he said, his voice imbued with a paternal warmth. —I like to think of a quote from the Book of the Eternal Cycle: ‘As the seed grows in adversity, Her love will make us grow in difficulty.’— A warm smile that reached his eyes lit up his wrinkled face. —You asked about the shelter. But this is the temple, little sprout. The shelter only opens when the sun sets. And it is managed by Sister Elara. If you wish to stay with them, you must see if there is a spot available— His smile slowly faded, replaced by a hint of authentic sadness. —Aelthra has no limits to her compassion. But as humans… we are bound. By resources, by space.

  A nightly shelter. With limited spots. It was something. It was a possibility. —I will wait— Selena said decisively. —And if you’ll allow me, I’ll stay here. I’ve always wanted to learn more about the goddess— It was an opportunistic addition but said with enough shyness to sound believable.

  Father Theron’s face lit up again. —Wonderful! You are a sprout, and you have turned green again!— he exclaimed, his joy appearing genuine. —The desire for knowledge is the first watering of the soul— He turned and walked with calm steps toward the statue’s fountain. He took a small, simple cup carved from a single piece of light wood and filled it with the water flowing eternally from the goddess’s jar. Then he returned and held it out to Selena, who remained seated on the floor. —A gift from the Eternal Flow of Life. A drop of water for the greenery being nourished once more.

  Selena took the cup. The water was cold, surprisingly fresh. She drank it in one gulp. It had no special taste, only the clean purity of spring water. But the gesture, the symbolism, reached her in an unexpected way. Amidst the chaos, the fear, and the disorientation, someone had offered her a simple glass of water without asking for anything in return. For the first time, an act of selfless kindness.

  —Thank you— she murmured, handing back the cup.

  —You are welcome, little Selena— he said, placing the cup in a small niche in the wall. —The water flows for everyone.

  Inspired by the atmosphere, by the need to maintain her facade, and by a genuine curiosity that was beginning to bud, Selena asked: —When I was little, my mother was a follower of the Church of the Eternal Sap. But she died when I was a child. What can you tell me about the goddess?

  Father Theron sat on the cushion across from her, crossing his legs naturally. His eyes shone with the pleasure of a teacher before an interested student. —Aelthra. The Lady of All Life. Mistress of the Eternal Flow. Goddess of Compassion— he recited, the words sounding not like a memorized lesson, but like a lived truth. —The Holy Scriptures say that when our world was formed from the Void, She was born with it. From her infinite compassion, life was born. From her hair, all plants. From her blood, all water. From her heart… humanity— He paused, then winked at her with an almost conspiratorial gesture. —Though I, personally, like to think of her not as a woman of wood or stone, but as an immaterial force that governs all life. The same flow that tells a river where to run, or a vine where to grow. The same force that leads us, humans, to prosper, to help, to be. It is the connection between all that lives.

  Selena’s mind, still sharpened by the remnants of an education she couldn't fully remember, processed the information. An animistic religion. Or pantheistic. The goddess is the essence of the life cycle, not as a capricious anthropomorphic being. The goddess of compassion, but also of the inexorable flow. It was a strangely comforting theology.

  —The goddess of the flow of life— she murmured, more to herself than to him.

  Father Theron nodded, a serene smile on his lips. —Exactly, little sprout. Of the flow that gives, and the flow that, sometimes, takes away. Because everything in this world is change; it is a cycle. And in that change, we find our place, our compassion, and our strength.

  Selena looked toward the statue, toward the water that never ceased to flow. Finding her place in the flow. It was a massive concept. There seemed to be a framework, however vague, in which to try to understand her existence. They weren't answers, but it was a context. And in her situation, even a context was a luxury.