The High Priest was standing before the congregation, bathed in the soft glow of the church's lights.
It was evening already.
The grand doors of the cathedral had been left wide open. Hundreds of people had gathered in the courtyard, spilling into the streets.
Everyone had their eyes fixed on the High Priest with a desperate kind of reverence.
It was Sunday today. And at the end of each week, the High Priest would recite the words of the goddess, spread her teachings, and guide the worshippers.
To listen to his speech, to just steal a glance at him up close, countless people would gather in the church each weekend.
To say that the High Priest Bowden was a respected man in the community would be an understatement.
In the eyes of the followers of Mother of Mercy, he was a prophet. Whatever he said was absolute.
So, today was that day of the week.
