The priestesses, dressed in white, walked in a line toward the altar, carrying bowls of flowers and freshly baked bread. The incense smoke curled in spirals toward the ceiling, mingling with the light streaming through the tall windows.
Erian watched from one of the temple's side doors, far from the crowd of worshippers gathered before the altar. He still had his apron tied around his waist and his hands were damp from soapy water.
The voices of the young women rose in a soft, repetitive hymn, accompanied by the rhythmic chime of bells and the beat of drums that drifted through the air with an almost hypnotic calm.
One of them placed a cluster of grapes upon the altar. Another poured honey into a small stone bowl.
The air smelled of incense and freshly cut flowers, and each prayer seemed to echo against the walls like a promise.
