The priestess looked at Faker for a moment longer, then finally relaxed. The rigid formality eased from her shoulders, replaced by something more human.
"You people must be tired." she said. "Summoning takes… time out of a person. Even when it succeeds."
Tolstoy raised his right brow, "You seem quite relaxed after summoning three extra dimensional outsiders."
"When your world has been on the brink of death for some time, you try everything." the princess said as she smiled a little. "You are not the first one's i have summoned to this world. I do hope you are the last one's though"
"What?" Grey shouted unintentionally.
"Oh no not like that. I meant that I hope you solve the problem with my world." The priestess laughed. It was a light chuckle with a tinge of sadness. "Come. We can talk while we eat. The rules of this world make more sense when you're not standing beneath an altar."
Faker glanced at Grey, then shrugged. "I'm listening."
...
The side hall opened into a modest refectory. Stone tables, well-kept despite their age. A pair of acolytes set out bowls it was simple food, steam rising, the scent warm and grounding. The type of food you would except at a temple.
Bread. Root vegetables. A thin broth that shimmered faintly, as if touched by light.
Tolstoy eyed it. "This safe?"
"I won't poison you...Heroes...after I did all the work to get you here." The princess replied.
"No need to be formal with us, this our job. You can address us as you would mercenaries." Grey interjected.
"As you say. Please, sit"
They sat. For a while, no one spoke. The first spoonful chased away a fatigue none of them had acknowledged. Not physical but something deeper. The kind that followed after transition between worlds.
Only then did Faker finally speak.
"So" he said casually, resting his elbow on the stone table, "what are the rules here?"
The priestess didn't bristle at the bluntness. If anything, she seemed relieved by it. She folded her hands around her bowl, fingers warming slowly.
"Our world runs on Faith" she said. "Not metaphorically. Literally."
Tolstoy let out a short laugh. "That's never a good sign."
"It isn't" she agreed. "But it is stable. Or… it was."
Grey watched her carefully. "Define faith."
She considered the question, eyes drifting to the candles lining the walls. Their flames were steady, too steady.
"Faith is alignment" she said at last. "Belief given direction. In this world, faith determines how many magicules your body can hold and circulate."
Fake's eyes narrowed slightly. "So belief increases capacity."
"Yes. The stronger and more coherent the faith, the wider the channel." She tapped her chest lightly. "Those with shallow belief can barely light a candle. Those with deep faith can move mountains"
Tolstoy paused mid-bite. "And if someone doesn't believe?"
"They live mundane lives" she replied. "They farm. They trade. But the world does not answer them."
"So... why were we able to use the magicules when we arrived here?" Faker asked her.
The priestess didn't answer immediately.
She set her bowl down with care, as though the explanation itself required steadiness.
"Because you did not arrive empty" she said.
Grey's gaze sharpened. "Meaning?"
"You carry systems of belief from elsewhere," she continued. "Convictions. Laws. Structures you already trust—power that expects to respond when called." Her eyes moved from Grey, to Tolstoy, and finally back to Faker. "When you crossed into this world, those internal alignments didn't vanish."
Tolstoy frowned. "So our old rules still work."
"For now," she said quietly.
Faker leaned back, considering. "Then the magicules here responded to us because we already had… channels."
"Yes" the priestess nodded. "Unrefined ones, Foreign ones but strong."
Grey's fingers curled slightly against the table. "And that's a problem?"
"It is" she admitted. "This world tolerates borrowed frameworks poorly. Magicules here want the Faith System, it gives them a direction in through the body channels. When they don't recognise the channels, they strain against them."
Tolstoy grunted. "Translation?"
"If you continue to draw power without alignment" she said, "you will damage yourselves or the land around you."
The candles along the wall dimmed for just a heartbeat, as if in agreement.
Faker's expression darkened. "So we're running on compatibility mode."
"Yes" the priestess said. "And compatibility mode always breaks."
Grey exhaled slowly. "Which brings us back to your Goddess."
She nodded. "Maria is the stabilising axis. Her blessing doesn't give power. It teaches the magicules how to listen to you."
Tolstoy raised an eyebrow. "And the cost?"
She met his gaze without flinching. "Faith."
Not obedience. Not worship. Just that single word.
"But not tonight" she added quickly, seeing their reactions. "Faith is not something taken in exhaustion. Tomorrow, I will explain what Maria is, what she was, and why this system exists at all."
She stood, gathering the empty bowls.
"For now" she said gently, "Rest. Even mercenaries need context before they choose a contract."
As they rose from the table, Grey glanced once more at the candles they were still burning, still too steady.
A system held together by belief. And a world that was running out of it.
The priestess led them out of the refectory and into a quieter wing of the temple. The corridors here were narrower, the stone worn smooth by centuries of passing feet. No grand murals. No proclamations of divinity. Just practical spaces made for people who stayed awake while the world slept.
"This place wasn't built to impress" she said, almost apologetically. "It was built to endure."
Tolstoy chuckled under his breath. "Story of the world, huh?"
She gave him a small smile but said nothing more.
The rooms she showed them were simple there were beds with clean linen, a basin of water, a narrow window each. The kind of accommodations that spoke of limited resources carefully preserved.
"You are free to leave the grounds if you wish" the priestess said. "But I would advise against wandering tonight. Faith runs thin after dusk."
Faker glanced at her. "The night's dangerous?"
"Unanchored" she replied. "When belief weakens, the world forgets how it's supposed to behave."
That earned her a long look from Grey.
"I'll wake you at first bell" she continued. "Tomorrow we speak of history. Of the First Covenant. Of the reason Maria became necessary."
She paused at the threshold, then added quietly, "And of the cost we are still paying for it."
With that, she left them to their rooms.
"Good Night.. I guess" Grey said as he went in.
"Hey Tolstoy, try not to transform tonight." Faker told the Werewolf.
"You too... try not to wander at night." Tolstoy smiled as he said at that.