Within the high city center at the middle of town, protected by the old walls that marked the town's limit countless generations ago, sat the Prodesse Dominicus. A great cathedral measuring over a thousand paces long, the cathedral was both a monument of architectural pride as well as religious. With its high, narrow towers pointing regally into the sky and its carved statues and pillars that decorated every face of the magnificent building, the citizens of the city spared no expense to express their deep spirituality to the One with such a magnificent construction.
No buildings were built within a hundred paces of the structure, and few were built that close, for the grounds surrounding the church were as austere as the building itself. Paths of carefully cut stone wound around fountains and gardens, each tended carefully by those that sought to earn the One's favor or blessings. Trees, a rare sight within the city itself, were planted and maintained, giving the grounds an almost lush appearance yet never blocking the view to the great cathedral's glory. The highest point of the city was at the top of one of the cathedral's high parapets, a point topped with the holy symbol of the religion.
And the doors, famous for never being locked, were just that. Visitors came and went at all hours, travellers in need of spiritual guidance, holy inspiration, or just a hot meal. The church never closed its doors, a policy of the current Archbishop, and one that lived today.
I told you that someday we would be together again.
With a steady, determined rhythm, the man walked briskly across a series of gardens leading to the grand entrance of the cathedral before him. It was early Morningtide, and not many people had begun their pilgrimage to the Prodesse yet. Up ahead of him, a group of nuns walked together in a tight-knit group, each carrying a small wooden chest full of articles of clothing. The man passed them by without a word.
You promised that it wasn't the last time we would see each other.
Now at the door, he hesitated for a moment. One deep breath, exhaled... another deep breath. "He will know," he muttered, stepping into the threshold. There were more people inside than he had expected, but none of them seemed to notice his arrival. He glanced across the entrance hall to the farthest corner, noting the presence of a young girl kneeling upon the floor, and a congregation of priests.
And there, off to the side and away from the rest, the entrance to a confessional.
I knew it was wrong. You knew it was wrong. But we didn't know if we would ever see each other again. Was it right?
With a surprisingly loud groan, evident by the number of shocked faces suddenly turned in his direction, Thom Parhelion changed destinations and went around the clustered rows of seating pews and praying pilgrims, stopping before the door of the confessional booth. "He would know. They all would." A nod of his head showed that he had already approved this notion in his mind, and so inside the booth he went.