Northern Conquest Sea, Navaha
As evening settled over Navaha, within a dimly lit cottage, the woman known as García sat upright in her chair, her expression grave as she discussed the string of unusual events following the Church fleet’s arrival. Her eyes were laced with wariness and unease toward these uninvited guests.
The sudden appearance of the Church fleet had left her deeply unsettled. On the surface, it looked like they were merely escorting refugees ashore—a purely mundane task. But several signs hinted that things might not be so simple.
“Er… Yes, Madam. You’re right. Yesterday afternoon, that Church fleet did carry out some rather strange operations at the harbor. It’s entirely possible their activities in Navaha aren’t limited to mundane matters. But from my perspective, even if their purpose includes secret business, I don’t believe we’re their target.”
“From what I’ve gathered, the delegation they sent consists of a military unit—the Sacrament Knights—not Inquisitors from the Tribunal. Their mission appears to be escort duty, and they’re even using a proper passenger liner. If this were an investigation, the setup would’ve been completely different. So I believe we’re not their focus. Whatever happened at the harbor yesterday may well have been unrelated to us.”
Standing before García, the man named Gómez calmly shared his thoughts. Unlike the ever-suspicious García, he felt that the Church’s sudden arrival likely had nothing to do with their side. Perhaps the harbor disturbances were just incidental.
“You’re being far too careless, Gómez. If the Church’s presence here even remotely touches on the mystic, then we can’t afford to be complacent. Just because they didn’t send Inquisitors doesn’t mean they haven’t noticed us. What if this is just a smokescreen?”
“I’ve received word that Church personnel spent the entire morning and afternoon searching along the coastline and within the city—clearly looking for something. These Radiance zealots are becoming increasingly suspicious. Before we find ourselves cornered, we must make preparations… especially for the worst-case scenario—protecting the Cocoon.”
García’s tone was stern, her face etched with frustration at Gómez’s seemingly lax attitude. But at her mention of a real search being carried out earlier that day, Gómez’s brow knit slightly.
“They’re actually searching for something? Hm… if that’s true, then we definitely need to take this more seriously. But Madam García, I still don’t think we need to jump to extreme measures just yet. At least… not until we’ve confirmed whether or not these zealots pose a threat to us.”Gómez continued calmly, and García narrowed her eyes at him before replying.
“So then… what are you suggesting, Gómez?”
“Madam, I suggest we send someone to infiltrate their dreams. In the dreamscape, we can uncover their true motives for coming to Navaha. If they are here for us, we can begin countermeasures immediately. And if not, we won’t waste resources on needless paranoia.”
“Now that the Cocoon has matured enough, we’re capable of deploying the Dream Snare ability. And within a dream, no one can lie. Even those zealots from the Church will find it difficult to detect traces of tampering.”
Gómez laid out his proposal with quiet confidence. García pondered for a moment, then raised a key concern.
“What you’re saying… does make sense. But there’s a problem: Dream Snare can only be used when you’re near the target. And all those zealots are holed up at the harbor under heavy guard. Getting close without being noticed will be difficult. How exactly do you intend to cast Dream Snare under those conditions?”
“That’s actually quite simple, Madam. The harbor might be tightly guarded, but not all of them stay there all day. Many of them wander into the city during the day. That’s our opportunity.”
Gómez offered with a hint of a smile. García raised an eyebrow at him, curiosity piqued.
“They wander… during the day, don’t they? But Dream Snare needs a base level of drowsiness to be effective. That’s not easy to achieve in daylight. And by nighttime, they’ve all returned to the ships.”
“No, no, Madam García. Not all of them return to the ships at night. As I understand it, there’s one particular place—one that continues to draw some of those zealots even late into the evening. A few of them even stay there well past dark. That’s when we strike.”
A faint smile played at Gómez’s lips as he spoke. García narrowed her eyes slightly.
“And this place you’re talking about… what is it?”
…
Time slipped by swiftly. As the last traces of daylight vanished from the sky, night fell completely over Navaha.
After dinner, the already quiet seaside town sank into silence. With few sources of nighttime entertainment, most residents went to bed early. One by one, the city’s lights dimmed and went out.
Late at night, aside from a few workshops in the suburbs still burning the midnight oil, the most lively place in Navaha was the city’s church.
Like those found in other towns of similar size, Navaha’s church was neither grand nor lavish—a modest, ordinary building just large enough to serve the needs of the citizens.
At this hour, deep in the night, the church near the city center still had its doors wide open. All the lights were aglow, and solemn hymns played on special instruments echoed from within, accompanied by murmurs of pious prayer.
Normally, the church would have long since closed by this time. But today was different—because the Church’s fleet was docked at Navaha’s harbor.
This was a pilgrimage fleet, and aboard were countless zealous believers of unwavering faith. These devout pilgrims strictly followed the schedule of their daily religious rituals, and evening prayer was among the most important.
To them, prayers throughout the day were sacred and non-negotiable. Although the holy scriptures didn’t specify that prayers must be held in a church, true devotees preferred to do so if a chapel was nearby.
Thus, ever since the fleet arrived at Navaha, pilgrims from the ships had been flooding the local church. After so long at sea, they were eager for the opportunity to pray in a proper sanctuary. As a result, the city church was compelled to extend its hours—such as right now.
Within the church, a crowd of pilgrims remained, quietly partaking in the late-night prayer. Among them were richly dressed nobles, ragged ascetics, ordinary priests, and nuns. Among them, too, was Vania.
Clad in a standard white habit denoting her role as a healer, Vania knelt with calm focus before the Altar of the Three Saints, her hands folded in front of her, her expression reverent as she immersed herself in tonight’s prayer.
It was already quite late. The church, once packed, now had many empty seats. Disliking crowds by nature, Vania had chosen a later time to come and pray. Most of the pilgrims had already returned to their ships; only the last few lingered in the pews. Once they finished, the church could finally close its doors.
As solemn music filled the sanctuary, Vania closed her eyes and continued praying with unwavering focus, offering up her devotion to the divine she held in her heart.
She had been praying for some time now. Perhaps due to the lateness of the hour, a creeping drowsiness began to rise within her, tugging at her mind, gradually clouding her focus. The fatigue coiled around her spirit like mist, making it increasingly difficult to concentrate.
After nodding off several times, Vania eventually paused her prayer, removed her glasses, let out a long yawn, and gently wiped away the tears forming at the corners of her eyes.
“Uwah… I really am getting a little sleepy. Is it just because it’s too late at night? Looks like I’ll have to pick an earlier time for evening prayer next time… otherwise I’ll get too tired to focus properly.”
“But still… I’ve prayed this late before and didn’t feel this drowsy… I usually don’t have trouble staying focused during prayer…”
Rubbing her eyes, Vania frowned in puzzlement. From a young age, she had always loved prayer. Feeling unfocused during it was extremely rare for her.
“Maybe I overexerted myself yesterday treating those wounded… that must be why I’m feeling so tired now. Anyway, I should finish my prayer quickly and get some rest…”
“Even if I’m sleepy, I must focus and complete my prayers. To leave them unfinished would be a disservice to the Lord…”
With that thought, Vania steeled herself once more. She slipped her glasses back on, clasped her hands, and closed her eyes to continue praying, forcing herself to stay attentive.
But this time, the drowsiness came on even stronger—and she couldn’t resist it.
Unaware, Vania slipped into sleep.
There, in the church pews, surrounded by fellow pilgrims lost in solemn prayer, Vania’s head gently bowed, her hands falling slack by her sides. No one noticed as her body slumped quietly against the bench, and the soft sound of her even breathing was the only clue that she had drifted into slumber.
…
Unconscious, Vania began to dream.
She found herself standing in the middle of the grand plaza of the North Tivian Cathedral District. Around her bustled vague, indistinct silhouettes of people. Vania looked on in confusion at the familiar setting. She didn’t know what had happened—nor what she was supposed to be doing.
Because she had not entered the dream through lucid dreaming, Vania was unaware she was dreaming at all. She wandered aimlessly across the plaza, her steps directionless, her thoughts adrift. She wanted to do something—but didn’t know what.
Just as Vania wandered in confusion through her dreamworld, one of the indistinct figures passing by suddenly began to change. From the crowd emerged a silhouette shrouded entirely in black mist, its form obscured and impossible to discern. The shadowy figure slowly approached Vania and stopped right in front of her. After what seemed like a faint smile, it spoke:
"Hello there, Sister."
"Um… hello, sir… may I ask who you are?"
Vania looked at the figure with puzzlement and asked her question softly. The shadow gave another amused reply.
"Who I am doesn’t matter. What matters is—who are you? Sister, judging by your attire, you must hold a rather special position within the Church, don’t you? Could you tell me your name and your role?"
"Ah… my name is Vania Chafferon. I was formerly a Scripture Attendant in the Historical Scripture Department, Tivian Division, of the Pritt Archdiocese. I’m currently serving as a temporary Healing Sister at the Aphro Grace Hospital…"
Facing the shadowy humanoid presence, the Vania in the dream answered blankly, her eyes filled with uncertainty. Upon hearing her response, the shadow gave a slow nod.
"Formerly a Scripture Attendant, now a Healing Sister, huh… Just as I thought—anyone in that outfit likely holds a special post in the clergy… If she’s medical personnel, then she may be responsible for healing within that fleet… and might know what their true objective is…"
Murmuring to himself, the shadow processed her response. Then, his gaze returned once again to Vania as he spoke.
"Well then… Sister Vania, I still have a few more questions I’d like to ask. I hope you’ll cooperate."
"Of course."
Vania nodded silently at the shadow’s request.
…
Late at night, on the third floor of a high-end lodging somewhere in Navaha.
Dorothy, having just finished her bath, shivered slightly as she hurriedly got dressed. Now seated by the hearth, towel in hand, she gently dried her hair while warming herself near the fire.
Suddenly, her brows knit together, her expression subtly shifting—as if she had sensed something. Her hand slowed its motion as a strange unease settled in.
"Hmm? Vania’s prayer tonight… why did it suddenly stop? It was already faltering just before that. Did something happen to her?"