"Scholars have often argued over the eventual location chosen as our land's most Holy City. The former province of Stelleig V'ren, many have said, should have been at the forefront of candidates. Passionately, have they made their case, for what better swath of land than where our Divinity was born? What better place than where the hardships of his kin caused not malice in his heart to fester, but instead, the fervor to aid his people to then bloom so vibrantly? Such benevolence was justly rewarded, the earth itself chose Iasion, bestowing upon him his great gifts, after all. Is the soil of Stelleig V'ren not sanctified, then, as the first place where his Godly touch came to rest?

Yet, even as the blessed ground of sacrifice was ultimately where the Citadel was built and Aiseryn came to be, some division exists still among scholars. The friction remains in regards to the concept of the need for a Holy City at all. Was it not Iasion who never settled in any one place, so constant was his pilgrimage? In the accounts kept by Respen Qiyarus, Sixth Apostle of the Ascended One, we know quite well that he would never set foot within the temples, big or small, that had been built for him. Iasion's preference remained to commune with the people directly, to conduct sermon and teachings outdoors beneath the sun and open sky.

The question is debated often then, that building the Citadel in Aiseryn and keeping the Children of Blessed Blood so guarded, is unwise. The more zealous have gone as far as to vehemently proclaim that doing thus, forsaking' them to this isolation, will certainly bring to the land downfall. That we as a people have not taken heed to the natural order, and invite a subsequent scouring for such foolishness.

Any appropriately learned individual, however, will disregard such ramblings as simply that: ramblings.

A well-read scholar would know full well that the Citadel's creation was not a task taken lightly. Seers Pyrede (The First), K'ythei (The Fourth) and Elodea (The Tenth), alongside the Ruling Council of Aiseryn and the current era's Apostles of the Verdant Spire all came together to decide the path forward for the Seers. It was felt that consolidation of the teachings and incantations being re-discovered by Seers upon communion with the Ascended One was most prudent. As the political landscape has continued to shift and change well into our modern era, is it not most efficient then, that those so blessed by our divinity as the Seers, are afforded a voice amid such happenings? The role was summarily created with this very thought in mind. The 'Voice of the Ascended' would not only be responsible for dealings within the Citadel itself, but gain a position on the Ruling Council of Aiseryn.

Faith has ever had a place in guidance and mediation. It is only proper, many say, that it remains so even in the case of ruling over our cities and citizenry."

-Excerpt from Scholar Lind'yev Strelar's unfinished 'Treatise on Divinity and Infrastructure of Vrokruin in the Age of Divine Regenesis'

Muttering under his breath, Luka gingerly moved one small bottle to join it's brethren on the narrow plank of aged wood that made for a rustic shelf above the uneven worktable. Counting off on his fingers, he gestured at each in his mental survey, their order was particularly important. Saint's Breath, Consort's Tears, Dead King's Tongue, the trio of bottles was set in front of larger containers. Tomb dust could never sit alongside the dried Bloodpetal, they were always separated by the jar of slowly growing Fawn's Footstep mushrooms submerged in cloudy water. He'd committed these and many more such ingredients to memory, but even so he never felt right unless he double-checked everything. So absorbed in his task, he barely heard Asherah speaking.

Luka wasn't sure how long she'd been talking, actually, what drew his attention had been the woman's rapid snapping of her fingers. Suddenly spinning around, he nearly jumped.

"Sorry?" He said this a lot, throughout his time assisting the woman.

Asherah stood there, using her apron to wipe her hands off. She'd been often described as a 'hag', but Luka felt it a mean spirited designation. Asherah was old, sure, but a hag she was not. The years she'd lived through were evident in the form of heavy bags beneath her eyes and lines on her face, in the roughness of her hands and the grays threaded through the pitch black of her hair. The slightly exasperated expression on her features was short lived, she seemed to let that feeling fade off now that he was paying attention.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" She asked, walking over to the worktable, examining the shelf he'd been organizing. Finding it satisfactory, she hummed briefly.

Luka blinked at her, before his attention was inevitably dragged right back to the small bottles and jars. None of them had any sort of label to indicate what they were, but over time he'd come to know each by sight and smell. A time or two, of course, he'd learned them and their effects by trial and error. Lucky for him, in those instances, that Asherah knew how to neutralize just about anything within her abode. Though it often came with a proper scolding, Luka couldn't deny the nostalgia of having someone fret over him, honestly.

"Sun's still up." He commented absently, busying his hands then by rearranging the mortar and pestle a second time. Or, was it a third time?

Asherah exhaled a breath heavily, there was that exasperation again.

"I'm going a little deaf, not blind Luka. I know the sun's still up." A bristle of a statement as she reached over to drag both items away from the youth. "That isn't what I meant and you're being skittish of it. Same every season so far, you drag your feet and lollygag like a sulking child."

He hesitated, running a hand through shaggy brown hair.

"Sorry." Half mumbled, posture slouching.

She watched him, eyes sharp as she let that apology pass her by without comment.

"Before you go." A wave of her hand before she looked back to the worktable, setting a few more of her tools out. "In the crate by the door, there's a linen sack. Bring it to me."

Luka didn't move right away, feeling for a moment as if she were angrily sending him away and not firmly enforcing his departure before sunset instead. Ultimately, he did go and do as told, he always did. He'd learned in assisting Asherah, that it was best to be quick and timing was of utmost importance considering the sort of concoctions she often made.

Timing, temperature, measurements.

Attention to detail was a minimum requirement and at least, he'd picked up on that fast enough to remain helpful to her.

A brief look in the crate and the small bag did stick out amid the bundles of dried herbs and paper wrapped parcels. While curiosity briefly drifted into his mind, he pushed that thought back and turned to bring the cloth sack to Asherah. Handing it off, he waited, watching with definite interest as she carefully took it. Untying the bit of cord that secured it, Asherah hummed, her voice a low rumble.

"Stand up straight." A stern little nitpick. She didn't even have to look at him, he immediately corrected himself when she spoke.

Half turned toward the worktable, she emptied the contents of the linen bag. Out tumbled what looked like bone, at a glance. Small enough to be enveloped in even his own hand, smooth, but curved in a way Luka had not considered a bone to look. Before he could let his imagination wander in regards to what kind of creature would have such within them, Asherah snapped her fingers.

"The file." She picked it up, turning it over in her hands, examining it by the light coming through one of the windows. "You know the one, with the leather rip on the handle."

Luka did, in fact, know which one. No sooner had she said it, he stooped and began looking through a crate under the worktable. A bit of clattering of tools, of odds and ends, before he stood upright again, large flat file in hand. Handing it off, he finally ventured his inquiry.

"What is that?" He asked, still having it twisted in his mind that she held a piece of bone in hand.

Shifting her grasp on it, she held it over a small wooden bowl and began to file away at it. Scraping, grinding off bits in what began to fall as a loose, drifting powder into the container. The more swiftly she worked, the more came off. Asherah was a practiced hand at all this, efficient. Though, ever since Luka was here to help her, much of the idle busy-work of ingredients was his to do. That was in mind as he observed her, his brow just barely furrowed beneath shaggy strands of his hair falling over his forehead.

"Stag's antler." Asherah said distantly, focused on the work of her hands. "Just a bit, of course. I'm not made of coin to be able to get the whole of it."

Words spoken with a near bark of laughter, amused at her own statement. None of them living in the outskirts was exactly set in the lap of luxury, but they were alive and they made it day by day. Small blessings, was the terms he'd often heard used in regards. Luka's watery blue eyes went a little wide, all the same. The piece of antler wasn't exceptionally big, she was right, it was just a 'bit'. Even so, as far as ingredients went, he hadn't once in these past seasons seen Asherah have any in the shop at all. As such, seeing it now, watching her filing from it, was a little surprising.

"Where…?" His question drifted, he stood closer, to get a better look.

"From what I was told, from sanctioned grounds of the Shifting Woods."

A scoff.

"Not that I could very well confirm such, but unlike most living about this place I know the sight, the feel and consistency of a stag's antler for. Don't much matter where in the woods they got it, or if it's an aged memento sold off for coin. Not to me it don't matter, anyway."

A mute nod from Luka, his attention transfixed on the fine white powdering of the antler into the bowl. It'd take a while to get all of it, if she was going to file it all down into that near dust. "What's it used for?"

Asherah kept working at filing. A thoughtful hum escaped her, gently.

"Can be used for many things, truly. As versatile as the hands that manipulate it." She explained. "Mix it with Bloodpetal, it's able to kill infection. Prepared with Consort's Tears, it can staunch fierce bleedin'. Just as well, prepared with Fawn's Footsteps in their final stages of growth, it can be a paralytic."

Luka was quietly trying to commit this too, to memory. The stag's antler hadn't been something he'd ever seen, let alone worked with preparing so he definitely didn't want to accidentally mix something deadly. This was, of course, a very real possibility considering Asherah's stores in her shop. Still, the fascination held him, that something natural that came from the very flora or fauna of the earth could do things akin to magic. That miraculous things which defied some worldly logic could be done by one with knowledge, without having to be born blessed, was thrilling in his mind.

To him, it was magic in a tangible, reachable way. It was possibility to him in a way true incantation was not.

"...that's not what you're going to use it for though, right?" Luka asked, his tone still that odd little monotone he'd yet to grown out of.

Another laugh, Asherah shook her head. "Of course not, what use is a paralytic to me?" She looked to him, smiling, the lines at her eyes more pronounced. "Just because I have it within my ability to make such dreadful things, doesn't mean I would. But, Luka, you have to know of dreadful and harmful things in order to prevent or mend them."

Tapping the file against the bowl, she clicked her tongue. Setting both piece of antler and tool aside, she regarded the fine powder a moment.

"You know the nervous looking man who comes diligently every few days of late? Gregory. He always picks up the tonic for pain. It isn't for him, I know that much. Cagey as an ill bred horse, but he let it slip his wife's with child. If I had to guess from his questions on the tonic, she's nearing the end of it. The pain he's describing isn't his own, it's the words she uses to make him understand it. I wouldn't be surprised she can't move about much. Childbearing's a heavy burden, don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Luka stood there almost awkwardly a moment. He knew well enough a child was a burden on the mother, hadn't he been what left his own mother too frail? Hadn't that been why his aunt Rosaline had been the one to raise him? The thought tumbled about in his mind, from thoughts of his mother who he'd never seen, who remained a hollow gap, to his aunt who he'd seen at her last breaths after she'd ensured he would live on.

He spoke to scatter his memories.

"So this will be for her pain?" Luka asked.

Asherah nodded. "After a fashion. Mixed with Saint's Breath, amid the thorns of Spiral vine and white lillies, in precise proportions, I'll be able to make something to give her an easier time with the birth itself."

She set a hand to her lower back, sighing. "I'm no spring doe, I havn't set the mantle of midwife about myself since likely before you were born, but sometimes." A smile surfaced, she laughed, showing teeth. "We do what we can, with what we can."

"Make ourselves of use. Help our fellows." He echoed, vaguely the sentiment slid around him loosely like an embrace.

"See, you're bright when you want to be." She joked with a slight, approving nod at the youth. "Would that you wanted to be more often."

A hesitant smile, knowing the humor in her words but the praise tangled in it making him feel momentarily shy.

"I told him to come find me when his wife seemed poised to have the child. Irina, I think he said was her name, I'm sure if I misheard him they'll correct me then." Asherah waved a hand dismissively. "Still. I expect you to be ready to accompany me when the time comes. I'm an old woman, Luka, I can't be lugging everything about on my own."

The boy nodded rapidly. "I will, I'll be ready." He insisted. "I'll let everyone know I may have to go suddenly, to help. So they'll also know."

At this, Asherah's smile softened considerably. While Luka didn't often speak much, he had realized over time that he had given Asherah a fair enough glimpse into those that made up his odd little family. She nodded in turn.

"Good." She extended a hand, roughly smacking the boy on the back, between his shoulder blades. "Speaking of. I know the sun's still up, but you've got somewhere to be, don't you? I think you've lingered enough, any longer and they're bound to come find you and I don't want so many people stomping around in the shop. Cramped enough as it is, Ascended be good."

Luka smiled in turn, he ruffled a hand through his hair, pushing bits of it off his brow. "Yes I know. I know." He turned to start moving. "I can still be back at sunrise tomorrow, like usual."

"You'd better. There's loads still to be done, some of the stores are running low and I certainly can't be out of key ingredients before the season changes."

Asherah picked up the file and antler chunk again. Eyes back on her work, she called out just as Luka got to the rickety wooden door. "In the crate, the bundled lavender."

Luka paused, looking at the crate, at the neatly wrapped flowers, fragrant and dried. He hadn't noticed them before, fixated on getting just the linen sack she had asked for.

"For your altar." Answering him before the inevitable question, still not looking at him. He could hear the filing again.

It felt like he stood there much longer than he did in reality. What felt like ages, looking at the bundle of flowers, was a few breaths at most. Reaching for them, carefully, he cradled them carefully against his chest. The scent was strong, it tickled the back of his memory in a very particular way. Chewing his lower lip, he turned toward the door again, also not looking back at Asherah when he spoke.

"Thank you."

Luka didn't wait on a response, he knew enough that the idle hum he heard was her acceptance of his thanks.

He kept the flowers close to his chest. Keeping them against himself to protect them. Though Luka had shot up in height over the last few seasons, he was thin as a rail and easily shoved if he wasn't careful. Luka had learned to be very careful, often avoiding the eyes of others, making himself small and remaining out of the way so as not to garner attention nor cause issue. He wasn't quite like Van or Sinaht. The prior being the tallest of the group and wider at the shoulder already, by virtue of these things others moved before shoving into him. Van was sturdy that way, even if knocked into, he was unlikely to be the one to lose balance in any exchange. The latter, while not built the same, kept from being shoved around because of his sharp tongue and sharper stare. There was a fearlessness in Sinaht. The way he walked and carried himself, it was like he was itching for a fight whereas Van always seemed like he would try to avoid one.

Though, not because he feared getting hurt.

In fact, it was more like Van didn't want to have to hurt anyone else.

By contrast, Luka was the most outright timid. It didn't bother him as much anymore, not since having been taken under Asherah's wing. He didn't need to be tough or outgoing, not when he worked with herbs and ingredients, not when a steady hand and accurate measure was more important in creation of poultices and elixirs. He had found his way to be useful, his way to help, and he would never wish for anything else.

The scent of lavender clung to him. It was different than the stink or the bitter smells that often came with Asherah's alchemy. They rarely had lavender in the shop at all, it was a flower without a place in the stores because it had no use in Asherah's work. It was a flower with nothing to offer except it's sweet smell, but that too was something of worth, Luka thought. There was the slightest stinging behind his eyes as he walked, the more he thought about it, the more of the scent he breathed in.

His aunt had loved the smell of lavender. Luka recalled mentioning it so briefly, so offhand to Asherah while he'd been busy mixing something for her. Back in Mei Serin, before everything went to ash, there was the lavender carefully placed and tended by his aunt Rosaline. Thoughtfully dried and placed in their home, fragrant and simple, a dreamy purple. He remembered whenever his uncle Oskar had something to apologize for, which happened fairly often, he would present fresh lavender in attempts to gain Rosaline's forgiveness. More often than not, it worked. The smell was associated to him with memory, with a nicer time, when his world was smaller and safer.

If he shut his eyes, he could almost be back there now. Sitting by a sunlit window, the scent of lavender, one of his uncle's books laying open in his lap with all the big words he couldn't yet read.

Before he could think to try and close his eyes, something jostled his arm. Abruptly, he clutched the bundle flush to his chest, eyes wild for a moment as he lifted his head to turn around. When he looked, relief settled quickly as he locked eyes with a familiar gaze and not some pickpocket or drunk.

Round face framed in curls, Lotte's smile was wide as she held onto Luka's forearm.

"Luka, didn't you hear me callin' you? Makin' me look like a right loon, you know. People were turning 'round and lookin' at me like I was." She scolded, though the smile and following laughter made it feel less so.

He exhaled a breath, relaxing. "Sorry." His own smile was weaker, but sincere. "I was thinking is all."

Lotte released him, starting to walk as he fell into pace alongside her. She was still dressed in the drab colored dress and coarse apron she wore at the smith. Despite appearances, sweet faced as Lotte was, she'd taken to helping out at the worn down blacksmith. The gruff old man who handled the slowly deteriorating shop that'd 'been in his family for years' only agreed to let Lotte work because his son had convinced him to give her a chance to earn there. Lotte never complained, never whined, she was diligent. Luka thought it was a little scary, actually. Scary that she had the energy to hammer away at an anvil and still fuss at Sinaht and the rest after the way she did.

"Ah, s'fine. I would've been on my way earlier but I had to wait 'round for someone to pick up a commission. Old man Theo didn't feel like waitin' so guess who had to! Hah." She grinned as she spoke, amused. A glance over to him, then. "What's that you got there?" Curiosity in her tone, in her eyes.

Luka blinked, looking down at the bundle of lavender in his arms and for a split second, almost hesitant to show it to her. He did ultimately, though. Gently, lifting them enough so she could get a good look.

"For the altar." He said it quietly, voice even. "Asherah gave them to me."

She moved closer, enough to both invade Luka's space for a moment and get the scent of the flowers before backing off. "Oh? That's weirdly nice of her." She laughed.

Luka felt his lips press to a firm line, but he pushed himself to speak anyway.

"It's not weird of her to be nice." He said it with the faintest hint of defensiveness. "She's direct and stern, is all."

As dismissive as the words had been from Lotte, it definitely still stung in an odd way. He hadn't mentioned the lavender to any of his friends, it'd simply not come up. Many things they'd grown up with, or recalled from their lives prior to the journey and the caravan, the outskirts struggles and eventual almost-stabilization, just didn't get discussed exactly. It felt selfish, but Luka found himself suddenly unwilling to be forthcoming about the significance of the flowers to him. Perhaps it was okay, at least in small instances, to keep some things for himself alone.

Lotte nodded, uncertainty in her gaze a second. Maybe she'd caught on to his tone, maybe not, Luka couldn't tell exactly.

"Well, all the same." She smiled again, trying to lighten things once more. "They smell real nice, they'll go proper on the altar."

Luka relaxed, turning to look forward, sort of, before his gaze was downcast as per the usual. They fell into silence, but Luka couldn't tell if it was comfortable to her or not. He was more than accustomed to it, favored it much of the time, but Lotte was talkative, actively so. It was a little easier to overlook in the moment at least, given the sounds of other passerby. Though, unlike his present company, he didn't feel compelled to 'fix' the silence by speaking.

"Hyuna said the lilies would be ready by now, she might've already started picking them. Not even waitin' on us, can you imagine? How impatient." Lotte continued, wiping the sheen of sweat off her brow with the back of her hand. She lowered her voice, then. "I was thinkin' recently, you know, I'm not sure where Hyuna's getting coin these days. Do you think she's stealin'?"

Secretly, conspiratorial.

Luka felt the tension up the back of his neck, he didn't want to be a part of this conversation now. It felt unseemly to speak of someone this way when they weren't around.

"I…" He hesitated, obviously. His brow furrowed. "I don't think you should be asking me, you should ask her if you're so curious."

His hands felt clammy, all of a sudden. Luka wasn't accustomed to speaking up like that, even if his voice was small.

"Ascended be good, I was only wonderin'! Not accusin', nothin' like that." Lotte backtracked, visible pink to her face at being more or less scolded. Perhaps, Luka thought, she hadn't anticipated that from him but he couldn't blame her considering his usual attitude.

He looked forward again, speeding up awkwardly.

"We should get hurry back, didn't Sinaht and Van say to wake them before sundown?"

Luka remembered that much, they'd arrived back after non-stop travel that very morning. Exhausted, it seemed only fair to let them sleep unbothered a while. They had wanted to be up for preparations, however, given they'd striven to return on time.

Lotte grabbed hold of her skirts, rushing her steps with more ease to catch up.

"Oh! Oh that's right, that's right." She huffed. "They did say that, I'd nearly forgotten with everything going on..."

She was more than happy to latch onto this topic, cleanly forgetting the prior. Nodding without reply, Luka just kept a faster pace. Lotte continued talking, about this or that, he'd tuned her out for the most part. If she noticed, she didn't call attention to it. He retreated in his mind to a different place. A smaller one, a sunlit window, the scent of lavender, a sorely missed simplicity.

Luka felt with certainty, Rosaline would love his gift upon their altar and that thought alone made him feel as though warmly embraced by her again.