The Princess' Harem
Chapter 92: The Unbroken Calling

Chapter 92: The Unbroken Calling

The first days of Viana’s journey passed quickly, each mile taking them farther from the palace’s familiar walls and deeper into Elysia’s dying lands. The dry earth cracked beneath their horses’ hooves, making a harsh sound with every step.

The air grew thin and heavy with dust, a constant reminder of the drought. Joel, Reyes, and Arden moved like a well-trained team, quiet and steady, their eyes always watching.

Viana, though unused to such rough travel, kept up, her determination pushing her forward. She fixed her gaze on the distant horizon, chasing the faint hope of the Desert’s Embrace, a flower that seemed almost too good to be true.

***

Back in the kingdom, another struggle was unfolding, far from the palace walls. Kaley, a young priest known for his quiet devotion and deep spiritual insight, served in the Temple of the Sun.

He felt the blight’s lingering presence more than most. His natural sensitivity to divine currents and spiritual energies meant he was keenly aware of unseen forces, a subtle hum in the world that others often missed.

Recently, he had been exposed to traces of corruption during his duties, perhaps from consecrated grounds touched by the blight. This exposure had forced him into a period of rigorous purification—a slow, careful process meant to rid his body and spirit of any lingering unholy taint or dark energies.

His isolation in the temple’s cleansing chambers was suffocating. Days passed in a quiet, bare room, filled with the sharp scent of cleansing incense and the faint echo of chanted prayers from other parts of the temple.

He followed strict rituals, breathing deeply, letting blessed waters soak into his skin, murmuring ancient hymns. He tried to wash away the blight’s unclean touch.

Yet, instead of fading, his spiritual awareness sharpened. The forced stillness, the quiet solitude, made his senses more keen, not less.

He could feel the blight—not just in the grim reports of failing crops and dying towns, but in the very air around him, in the sacred stones of the temple, in the kingdom itself.

It wasn’t just a sickness spreading through plants and people; it was an imbalance, a disruption in the land’s vital spiritual energy, a deep wrongness that settled heavy on his soul. It felt like a desecration, a wound on Elysia’s very spirit.

From his secluded chamber, Kaley sometimes overheard whispers. Acolytes spoke in hushed tones as they prepared for daily rites, their voices soft with worry. Older priests exchanged quiet words about the kingdom’s worsening state, their faces grim.

He caught snippets of their conversations: a desperate hope, a secret mission, the Princess had left to find a cure. And then, the name that resonated deep within his thoughts, pulsing with a strange spiritual promise: the Desert’s Embrace.

A fragile, impossible hope, yet one that pulsed with a quiet, undeniable truth that only he seemed to feel. He knew his High Priest would call it madness, a reckless venture that defied the sacred order of the temple.

A powerful realization struck him during one of his quiet meditations. The purification had not weakened him; it had changed him.

It had not removed his sensitivity to the blight’s subtle, dark energies, but rather refined it, allowing him to perceive the corruption on a deeper, spiritual level.

He could sense the blight in ways no one else could, like an off-key melody running through the land, a dark stain on its sacred essence. It was a cold, alien hum that only he seemed to truly feel.

If he could understand its true spiritual nature, this deeper aspect of the blight, then he might be able to unlock the true blessed power of the Desert’s Embrace, a power that went beyond simple healing.

He felt an undeniable pull, a strong, silent call from the divine. He had to help. It was no longer a choice; it was a sacred necessity. To ignore it would be to abandon his true calling, to fail Elysia in its greatest hour.

***

One evening, unable to ignore the call any longer, Kaley made his decision. The thought of disobeying his High Priest’s direct authority, the fear of abandoning his sacred tasks and breaking his vows, caused a knot in his stomach.

The High Priest would forbid such a journey, would call it a foolish distraction from his spiritual duties within the temple.

Yet, the greater fear—the fear of standing by while Elysia crumbled, knowing he might hold a key given to him by the divine—won out.

He moved quietly, his light steps barely disturbing the silence of the temple halls. He slipped past the few acolytes on late-night vigil, who, used to his quiet habits and pious nature, paid him little mind.

The temple was still, its grand sanctuaries empty in the late hours, filled only with long shadows and the faint scent of old incense. He walked with purpose, his mind singularly focused, heading not for the main gates, but a smaller, less-used entrance.

He knew he could not openly seek the High Priest’s permission; it would be denied. The High Priest was a man of strict order and ancient traditions, unwilling to dabble in such wild, unprecedented ventures.

Kaley’s insights, born of personal spiritual connection rather than established dogma, would be dismissed as recklessness. This journey, this defiance, would mean abandoning his sacred tasks, leaving his vows unfulfilled, and breaking his obedience to the highest authority in the temple.

It was a terrifying choice, a betrayal of everything he had been taught. But the blight was a betrayal of everything sacred, and Kaley felt a higher calling that night.

He moved to a hidden chamber where the temple kept its most sacred travel items for priests on pilgrimage. He gathered only what was essential for a priest on a vital, desperate quest.

He packed lightly—a few blessed vials of holy water, consecrated for spiritual cleansing and warding off dark influence; a small, leather-bound prayer book, its pages filled with ancient texts and symbols of protection; a simple, personal holy amulet carved from sunstone; and a sturdy canteen.

He left no note, no explanation, only the silent testament of his absence.

***

As dawn touched the sky, painting the eastern horizon in pale grays and blues, he slipped through a rarely used temple gate. The cold morning air bit at his exposed skin, but he paid it no mind.

His mare’s hooves barely left a mark on the dry ground, her light steps swallowed by the vast silence of the sleeping city outside the temple walls.

He rode alone, a solitary figure chasing a fragile hope through a dying land, guided by something deeper than reason, a silent defiance against the creeping despair and the rigid rules of his old life.