Chapter 36: The Moon and Harvest Goddess

The Church Library

The church hadn’t changed much from her memories. The stained glass from decades ago seemed a touch brighter. Or perhaps it was just the filter of memory bringing the past to life. Wenger pushed open the door, a bit of dust colliding with the light as it spilled into the library. It looked like it had been cleaned not long ago.

She didn’t know much about the rest of the church. Gods and the like had no connection to her; the library was her only destination. Her fingertips brushed over the silent books on the shelf, her gaze locking onto a slightly swollen volume. She took it down, recognizing it instantly as the one from last time, now slightly cleaner from a quick wipe. The Book of Isaiah.

She didn’t know its contents. Opening it to where the parchment had been, a letter fell straight to the floor. A mix of suspicion and curiosity flickered in her heart. Picking it up, she sat in a nearby chair and slowly unfolded the paper, revealing Rella’s delicate, elegant handwriting.

“By the time you read this, I’ve likely already left. I foresaw the fate bestowed by the Lord, and though unwilling, I cannot refuse. This may cause misunderstandings. I left of my own will. From the day I became a nun, I knew I had to be prepared to dedicate myself to this. I know you have no interest in faith, so I won’t say more to annoy you. I’m sorry for knowing the prophecy but being unable to tell you… Do you remember that statue? Though time has eroded much of its lore, I found similar records in other texts. The Moon and Harvest Goddess—Selunia. I can still feel Her presence. To avoid unnecessary trouble, this is what I wanted to tell you. But that faint divine power isn’t enough to sustain Maple Whisper Village’s prosperity. It may mean the ‘harvest’ has another cause… I’ve gathered some books you might find useful, placed under the main podium. Viyi is a promising child. If possible, sending her to the kingdom’s academies or the Church for study would be good options. Of course, if you’re confident… May the days ahead go smoothly, in the name of the Silent Lord.”

Rella had written much, and despite saying she’d avoid topics Wenger disliked, she ended with faith. Wenger wasn’t annoyed, just indifferent. The words left her a bit dazed. So much mystical talk—religious types always had plenty to say. The harvest was obviously her doing, but could a goddess really be sensed? Rella knew something but couldn’t tell her, dangling it like bait…

Grumbling inwardly, Wenger quietly tucked the letter away. She sat in the room for a while, reminded of that day with Rella, when Vick was also in the village. Today was different. The rift was repaired, the village’s safety no longer a concern, and Vick was still here. But the church felt empty, the nun who’d stayed for decades gone so abruptly.

Wenger went downstairs, retrieving a large bundle of books from under the podium. After a quick flip through, she stuffed them all into her inventory. On her way out, she pondered Rella’s suggestion. Between the lines, Rella implied Viyi could take her place. But what kind of person Viyi became wasn’t for Wenger to decide. That little one was probably still sleeping, sprawled out.

Wenger had no connection to faith, but if Rella said so, perhaps Viyi had potential. Giving her another option couldn’t hurt. The orphanage was empty. Viyi likely made those potions because both she and Rella were absent. She hadn’t studied much before, but with the adults gone, she had to figure things out herself. In that case, it was time to head back. She needed to focus on her advancement.

The Herb Garden and Beyond

Wenger took a longer route—more time-consuming, but she remembered to visit the herb garden. The Sun-Moon Roses shimmered with flowing hues under the sunlight. They sparkled like diamonds, yet not overly dazzling. The garden’s roses swayed in the breeze, each shrub bearing two or three blooms. The flower clusters were gradually unfurling in the sunlight.

She wasn’t sure how long their blooming season lasted. Would harvesting them at their peak yield better effects? Viyi had knocked off flowers in the morning, while Wenger picked hers at dusk. Perhaps she should try noon and midnight for comparison. But would they even bloom at night? Plucking them then might not be ideal…

Muttering to herself, Wenger carefully picked a few. After harvesting, she took the mountain path back to the treehouse. The path was slightly rugged. She recalled the fork ahead led downward, but on a whim, she chose the upward trail. This path was paved with simple gravel—not muddy after rain, but not easy to walk. Wenger rarely took this route. Yet, in the scope of her life, it was one she often traveled.

Time stretched into a thread, crowded with countless events. A few years could be considered frequent. The land teemed with life, chamomile swaying in the wind. At the mountainside, sunlight scattered like whispers, carried by gentle breezes. Wenger’s silver hair danced in the wind, almost glowing. She leaned down to smell the chamomile’s mild, slightly bitter scent. Back then, she’d had ideas, but now no one remained to perform the sect’s many rituals. Maple Whisper Village no longer needed them.

She lingered a while longer before deciding not to wander elsewhere. Life was a series of starts and stops. The time spent on the road was short; it only felt long when your years were few. She’d seen redwoods spanning dozens of arms, yet her own years were but a tenth of theirs.

Back at the Treehouse

Returning to the treehouse, she unpacked Rella’s curated books. The slanted script used for scriptures took her a few extra seconds to decipher. Enchanter’s Guide, How to Summon a Familiar, 108 Quick Methods for Alchemy, You’re Already Great at Summoning, How to Slay a Dragon… Each title was more absurd than the last.

Wenger’s face twitched, suspecting someone was messing with her. After such an emotional setup, they left a pile of nonsense to prank her? She flipped through briefly. Alchemy veered into theology—not interested. She had no familiar, but with Peach and the dragon egg, she wasn’t considering one. The enchanter’s guide seemed more reliable, though the process looked complex. As for dragon-slaying, she didn’t even open it, tossing it aside for table-propping later.

Only the enchanter’s book stayed in hand—she didn’t have time to study it now. Closing the door, she took out the dragonvein stone and colorless crystal shards. A flame flickered to life in midair, a rhythm harmonizing all elements in another dimension. She repeated the attempt over and over in the room. On the other side, the girl wiped her drool, hugging Peach like a pillow, and went back to her deep sleep.