Smoke still clings to the trail as the party leaves the Bellowback behind, carrying bruises and words they can’t take back. Tempers flare—Fel’Tal’s command, Yula’s indignation, Korren’s raw edge—before the mountain settles into an uneasy quiet. Kenshiro keeps his distance, steadying himself in small, practical ways, eyes fixed on a single destination that matters more than the argument: Tara’s Temple of Partition.
What follows is a march held together by duty and thin truce. Along the way, hints of the wider system surface—familiars, ranks, responsibility, and the quiet discipline of keeping watch—while a simpler question rises to the front: how do you pray to a godling you love? Kenshiro doesn’t have an answer, only a direction. The temple promises clarity—about Tara, about what she’s become, and about what waits when he finally calls her name.
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