Ivan's footsteps echo as he enters the grey stone halls, presented with a carpeted aisle that ends in a modest stone altar bearing a pale cream cloth accented with gold. A few golden riches adorn its surface, but the rest of the church's interior is far more modest, with the pews on either side of the aisle being made of wood sourced from the High Forest.

The stained glass windows colour the waxing morning sunlight in hues of deep orange and red as it bathes the modest congregation, no more than a few people—most aren't here to pray, but seek more material aid from the priests like their counterparts outside.

But one woman in the pew catches Ivan's eye.

Her icy-blonde curls tumble down her shoulders as she bows her head in prayer, her rounded figure half-hidden by the pews, but Ivan would recognise her anywhere.

Rosie.

He wasn't expecting to find her here. He knows she goes to the church more often than he does, but he never took her for one deep in the faith. To find her here so early is curious, but it doesn't interest him enough to ponder it. In fact, he feels the inexplicable need to leave.

"I must go to the priests and see if they have holy water on hand. If not, we shall have to wait for it," Khaliss says, "But there is also another matter I must attend to."

Ivan shifts his curious gaze to the cleric. "Oh?"

"Sylfir tells me that the forest and farmland cannot heal on its own—not within a reasonable time. If we were to leave now, without cleansing the rot, she reckons this village would struggle to deal with the substantial loss of crops."

Ivan hums. "We wouldn't be able to forage or hunt in the forest..."

"Sylfir proposes an offering to Silvanus, but I do not see why Lathander would not do. The domain of life and new beginnings is his—and what is the end of this beast if not a new beginning for this village?"

Ivan nods, humming in agreement. "You want to discuss this with the priests, then?"

Khaliss nods. "We may be here for some time."

Ivan looks out toward the pews, and a stillness comes over him. "I reckon I could use some time here, anyway."

Khaliss seems to ponder him for a moment. "So be it. I will return to you, hopefully sooner rather than later."

Ivan watches her leave, keeping to the edges of the church where the light from the stained glass windows colours her silver hair in fiery hues. She reaches a smiling priest who welcomes her, and together they leave the main hall of the church to discuss their plans in private.

Ivan returns his gaze to the pews again. Rosie is still kneeling, her head bowed in prayer. He hopes she stays that way as he inches closer, taking the farthest seat from her in the back row on the other side of the aisle.

His fear is childish, he knows... but he remembers the look in her eye as she brushed her fingers across his arm. He remembers how she tried to force them between his fingers.

And he just stood there, dumbstruck. She had never been so bold before. Usually, he would like that in a woman, but... Rosie is different. It doesn't feel right coming from her. Not when she's always been so timid.

He pushes the thought away, and his mind drifts to someone else. To Sylfir, and wonderings of what's going on in that head of hers. He wonders what he did wrong—what he's done to turn her away from him so suddenly—but nothing concrete comes to mind.

He didn't expect to feel so hurt by it, and yet he does. Maybe he's more fragile than he thought. Maybe he cares more than he would like to admit. He doesn't know anymore.

But he ponders the possibilities, nonetheless.

The day the beast rampaged through his village was the day the world as he knew it ceased to exist. Now he understands that there is more to his sleepy village—he knew that there was a world beyond it, of course, but not as implicitly as he does now. Now he understands just how large it is, just how dangerous it is, and just how insignificant he is in its grand tapestry, a mere thread among millions.

Now he realises that his understanding has inspired greater yearning, which in turn has inspired reckless action, and now—in this church whose walls he has barely been inside in the last five years—he finds himself reflecting. Deep down, he knows why he threw caution to the wind. He knows why he risked his life for Sylfir, and why it hurts him so much to feel the sting of her scorn after the fact.

He shakes his head. Of all the travellers that came to his village, she had to be the one to stay more than a bloody night. The only one to push for a deeper connection—something beyond the flesh. The only one to be truly vulnerable in front of him. And she let him be vulnerable, too. She is the only one who he told about his mother.

Ivan wonders if he would have fallen for any of the travellers he's lain with if they stayed for more than a night or two. He wonders if he would have been inclined to share in something more meaningful. What's worse, he doesn't know if an answer to that question would even be comforting. Maybe... maybe if he was simply given to falling, then none of what he feels for Sylfir would mean anything. Maybe it would just go away, and there would be a day when he realises he doesn't even think of her anymore.

But if he wasn't just given to falling... then the opposite would be true. This connection would be something special. Maybe he'll never stop thinking about her, even when she leaves. Maybe he'll always feel this hurt—a pain born of eternal yearning, a pain fed by a thirst that is never quenched.

Ivan sighs as he shakes his head. He's winded by these thoughts, each one coming to him like a devastating blow, painful enough to bring a tear to his eye. There is nothing left to him but prayer. What comes to him as he clasps his hands together is more feeling than thought. In this moment, it is raw emotion he uses to communicate with any god who will listen. He squeezes his eyes shut and hopes for an answer, but he hears only silence.

"Ivan?"

The voice that utters his name is muffled like he's hearing it through a thick blanket. It sounds distant... but familiar. He opens his eyes.

Rosie is standing there, by his pew, watching him with curious eyes. He frowns, and she mirrors his expression.

"Ivan..."

"Yes?"

"You're... you're crying."

Ivan's lips part in a silent gasp as his hands go to his face. He brings them back only to find that his fingertips are wet, and he watches in a stupor as his tears glisten on his skin.

Quickly, he wipes the tears from his eyes and wipes his hands on his shirt, and though he knows it's futile, he can't help but pretend it never happened.

"Are you all right?" Rosie's voice is gentle, but Ivan recoils from her as she reaches out.

"I'm fine," he says.

"Oh..." Rosie pulls away. She seems hurt, or embarrassed maybe. Ivan can't tell. In truth, he's not sure he cares.

"I-I'm surprised to see you here. It's... been a while since you've come to church."

"Hmph. Now's as good a time as any. I suppose we should be grateful the gods saw fit to spare our little village in the end. Would that they had seen fit to put the beast on another path in the first place."

Rosie frowns. Now she seems more off-put than hurt—it must be the bitterness in his tone. He's sure she's not used to seeing him in such a sorry state. Maybe now she'll have such a low opinion of him she'll leave him be for once. For now, though, she persists.

"I saw the fighting, you know. We all watched it from the village—what little we could see in the darkness, anyway. I heard you took part."

Ivan stifles an exasperated sigh. "You and half the village. All I did was shoot a few arrows from the safety of my home. Any thanks should go to Sylf and Khaliss and the Uthgardt."

Rosie lingers in the corner of his vision. He won't even look at her. If she has any respect for herself, she would leave, but she doesn't.

"I prayed for you, you know—you and Sylf and the others. If I could have done more, I would have."

Ivan is silent.

"I heard one of the Uthgardt got hurt. The halfling..."

She keeps droning on and on. Ivan starts to tune it out. He doesn't even know why she's telling him this. He doubts that she actually cares about the halfling, or Sylfir, or Khaliss. She just wants to talk to him, but gods forbid she has anything to actually talk about.

It's only then that it occurs to him he and Rosie have never, in all the time they've known each other, sat in comfortable silence. She always wants something from him, even now when he wants a quiet moment to himself in a place where quietude is supposed to reign. He grits his teeth in frustration.

"...Ivan?"

"What?" Ivan finally looks at her as he spits the word, and its venom reaches her, judging by her wounded expression; it's like she's been stung and is now reeling from the pain. He regrets his harshness immediately, and he softens as she stands there like a wilted flower.

He finally rises from the pew, reaching out to her.

"Rosie."

She's silent. If Ivan wasn't so ashamed, he might laugh—she's finally silent.

"Rosie, I'm sorry. I just—things have been difficult for me lately. I mean, they've been difficult for us all, but..."

"...I know," she says, but she can barely meet his eyes. Still, she doesn't recoil when he touches her. In fact, she seems to lean into it.

"I appreciate you looking out for me..." Ivan says.

She finally looks him in the eye, and he sees a glimmer of hope. It makes him feel the slightest hint of dread, and he wonders why he ever said those words. She reaches out for him, taking his hand from her arm and holding it in hers, letting their fingers intertwine.

"I'm always here for you," she says, and the softness of her voice almost makes him believe it, but... it doesn't feel right. He wants to pull his hand away, but he's almost frozen.

Then he spies movement in the corner of his vision. Farther inside the church, Khaliss emerges from the room the priest took her into, and they lock eyes. It's only then that Ivan finds the strength to pull away from Rosie.

"I have to go," he says.

"I'll see you later?" Rosie says.

Ivan nods, anything to get her to let him out of the pews. She steps aside, and he has to fight the urge to flee. Instead, he walks toward the western wall, where he waits for Khaliss by the church doors, watching her as she skirts the edge of the church hall to return to him.

When she gets to him, she looks between him and Rosie; the latter having now returned to her place in the pews.

"Is everything all right?"

"Yes," Ivan says, "I think it's time to go."

Khaliss ponders him for a moment, but she has the good sense to let the matter rest.

"Come, then. I am sure Arfin cannot stand to wait a moment longer," she says, holding up the vial of holy water in her hand.

They leave the church and take to the village streets again, heading back to Ivan's home with their precious treasure.