Chapter 116: The Rite of Recognition
Mirabelle had slept wonderfully.
And yet...
The first thought waiting for her that morning was irritation.
Pebbles had disappeared.
Again.
With exactly the same ridiculous excuse as last time.
Something’s burning.
She still couldn’t believe the flying tentacle thing expected her to fall for that twice.
Fortunately, her mother gave her very little time to dwell on those thoughts.
Tara practically herded her from her bed to her wardrobe and from there straight to breakfast.
Today was the day they would visit the Temple of the Beast Goddess.
Mirabelle had the distinct feeling that, if Tara could somehow have managed it, she would have stuffed the food directly into her mouth and pushed it down her throat herself just to get them moving faster.
By the time Mirabelle stepped into the castle courtyard, Silas, Kaelith and Lucien were already waiting before the great entrance gate.
All three wore relaxed attire.
Elegant, yet noticeably simpler than usual.
There were no embroidered family crests. No elaborate embellishments.
No excessive jewelry proclaiming noble status.
It almost looked as though a tailor had been instructed to recreate the clothing of an ordinary citizen... using only the finest fabrics money could buy.
The result was understated.
It reminded Mirabelle of her own outfit.
Her dress was equally unadorned. A soft shade of warm brown flowed over her figure like water, the fabric draping effortlessly with every movement.
Only its impossibly smooth texture and subtle sheen betrayed its true value.
Its color was almost identical to the deepest shade of her own hair.
Despite its simplicity there was no mistaking that it had been crafted from something extraordinarily expensive.
They had set out on foot.
It was tradition for the heir to walk from the castle to the Temple of the Beast Goddess.
Mirabelle didn’t mind.
If anything, it gave her another opportunity to see more of her territory.
She walked at the front while her three Beast mates followed a respectful distance behind.
In silence.
That, too, was part of the tradition.
The journey was meant to be one of quiet reflection, giving the future ruler and her mates time to contemplate themselves... and the bonds they now shared.
Mirabelle knew exactly where to go.
For one, the narrow forest path that began beyond the castle gardens was the only road leading to the temple. It stretched straight ahead without a single fork or crossroads.
But there was another reason.
The former Mirabelle had walked this path countless times as a child.
Even though she couldn’t recall a single memory of what the temple itself looked like.
Somehow...
Her feet still remembered the way.
The ancient forest embraced them.
Sunlight filtered through countless layers of leaves, breaking into shifting patches of gold that wandered lazily across the moss-covered path. The towering trunks disappeared high above, their crowns weaving together into a living ceiling where birds called to one another from unseen branches.
Every breath tasted of damp earth, resin, and fresh moss.
A gentle breeze carried the sweet fragrance of wildflowers hidden beneath ferns whose broad fronds brushed softly against one another with every passing gust.
Mirabelle couldn’t help but smile.
Even after everything that had happened these past days, nature still had the remarkable ability to quiet her mind.
She reached inward. Toward the three bonds now woven into her soul.
They felt... peaceful.
Yet beneath that calm lay unmistakable anticipation. Curiosity.
A quiet excitement none of her mates attempted to hide.
It was strangely comforting.
Like three steady heartbeats walking just behind her.
She didn’t need to look back to know they were watching over her. She could feel each of them thinking about her in their own way.
They walked for several hours.
But since Tara had pulled Mirabelle from her bed shortly before dawn, the sun had not yet reached halfway across the sky when the path curved gently around a massive outcrop of ancient trees.
As they rounded the bend the forest suddenly fell away.
The towering trunks that had enclosed them for hours gave way to an immense clearing, revealing the temple and the vast ceremonial plaza before it all at once.
Mirabelle involuntarily slowed to a stop.
The lynx female remained standing and for several long seconds, she simply stared.
The Temple of the Beast Goddess rose before her like something that had never truly belonged to the mortal world.
Everything she’d seen in Bergheim until now had been built to serve a purpose.
Castles defended.
Villages sheltered.
Walls protected.
This...
...had been built solely to inspire reverence.
White stone climbed toward the heavens in elegant arches so impossibly tall that Mirabelle had to tilt her head back to follow them.
Not a single harsh angle interrupted the architecture.
Every column flowed seamlessly into another, carved with countless intertwining vines, flowers, feathers, antlers, claws and scales — as though every Beast lineage on the continent had been immortalized within the stone itself.
Gold threaded through the pale marble like veins beneath skin.
Just enough for every beam of sunlight to catch upon the reliefs, making the entire temple seem as though it breathed with liquid light.
Behind the countless arches rose an immense circular structure.
Not quite a dome.
Not quite a halo.
A gigantic ring of impossibly intricate golden latticework surrounded the temple’s central sanctuary.
From this distance, it almost resembled the crown of a god.
Countless white banners drifted lazily between the columns.
None bore the crest of Bergheim.
Instead, each displayed only a single golden symbol: A stylized mask.
The same serene face the Beast Goddess herself wore.
The plaza before the temple stretched wider than the courtyards of most castles.
Perfectly smooth white stone reflected the morning light, interrupted only by enormous circular flowerbeds overflowing with blooming roses, lilies, climbing ivy and flowering shrubs.
Between them stood hundreds of bronze offering bowls.
Some overflowed with polished apples, pears and peaches.
Others held walnuts, hazelnuts and chestnuts.
Fresh herbs.
Honey.
Milk.
No guards watched over them.
No one would have dared steal from the Beast Goddess.
Mirabelle slowly exhaled.
"...Wow."
Even Kaylith remained unusually quiet beside her.
The silence wasn’t uncomfortable.
It felt...
respectful.
Only then did she notice the figure waiting at the foot of the broad staircase leading to the temple doors.
A single priest.
His robe was pure white.
Not embroidered.
Not decorated.
Its elegance came entirely from its flowing cut, the fabric falling in soft layers all the way to the polished stone floor.
Simple. Almost humble.
His face was hidden behind a smooth porcelain mask.
White as fresh snow.
The lips bore neither smile nor frown.
Only perfect stillness.
For one strange heartbeat... An inexplicable sense of familiarity settled over Mirabelle.
The masked man stepped forward.
Not hurriedly. Not slowly.
Every movement possessed an almost ceremonial precision.
When he reached them, he folded both hands before his chest and lowered his head in a deep bow.
"Your Grace."
Even his voice remained calm.
Without a trace of surprise.
As though he had expected her arrival long before she herself had known she would come.
"The Beast Goddess welcomes the Heir of Luchsenstein."
He straightened before turning gracefully toward the immense entrance.
Two towering doors of white stone had already begun to open.
Not with a creak.
Not with the grinding of ancient hinges.
Silently.
As though the temple itself had recognized its newest visitors.
A cool breath of incense drifted outward.
It carried notes of cedarwood...
burning herbs...
fresh flowers...
and something ancient Mirabelle couldn’t quite name.
She exchanged a brief glance with her mates before following the masked priest through the plaza into the waiting darkness beyond.
Mirabelle took only three steps.
Then she stopped.
Her males came to a halt beside her, saying nothing.
Neither of them had expected this.
The temple’s exterior had been magnificent.
Its interior...
...made the outside seem almost modest.
The sanctuary formed one vast circular hall beneath an enormous dome that disappeared into shadow high above.
Mirabelle couldn’t even estimate its height.
Dozens of slender white marble columns followed the curve of the walls like silent sentinels, rising effortlessly before disappearing into an intricate network of arches overhead.
Sunlight poured through towering windows between them.
Not colored glass — Crystal.
Each pane so impossibly clear that the sunlight entered almost untouched, bathing the entire hall in warm white and gold.
The polished marble floor reflected it all like still water.
There wasn’t a single throne.
No pews.
No rows of benches.
The hall had been designed for only one purpose.
To draw every pair of eyes toward its center.
There... Upon a circular dais of black stone stood the altar.
It wasn’t a simple block of carved rock.
It resembled a monumental table, hewn from a single piece of flawless white marble. Its perfectly smooth surface stretched several meters in every direction, untouched by decorations or offerings.
Everything surrounding it had been made deliberately quiet.
Because nothing...
absolutely nothing...
was meant to compete with what rested beyond it.
Mirabelle’s gaze slowly lifted.
The statue.
For a heartbeat...
she forgot how to breathe.
The Beast Goddess wasn’t standing.
She sat upon the far end of the great altar as though it were her throne.
Her immense serpent tail coiled elegantly around the marble platform several times before disappearing beneath it, each individual scale carved with such impossible precision that they almost seemed soft enough to touch.
Her upper body turned ever so slightly toward the entrance. Toward them.
One graceful arm rested upon her scales where her knees would be if her lower body wouldn’t have been the tail of a serpent. The fingertips barely touched the stone, relaxed enough to suggest effortless confidence.
Her other hand lay open upon her lap.
Palm upward.
Neither inviting.
Nor dismissing.
Simply... waiting.
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