Arrow Lake danse macabre

aw!

In a dark world, a faithful wolf is unseen. Not many were adepts to the faith, concentrating on the carnal pleasures the horned one has to offer. She was not one of them; her entire life was dedicated to Him, spreading His word, His wisdom to those who were willing to listen. Under the winter sun, deep within the mountains, the woman discovered an oasis, a large lake, perfect for swimming, praying, hunting. No signs of trespassing.

The priestess lay close to the shore, a thick mist surrounding her. She could practice her faith here, praying, living. Light waves were breaking on the shore, breaking the silence from time to time. Hemera close her eyes, breathed deeply, and laid her head on the thick snow.

the mist curled around him as he stepped from the shadows, his approach slow, deliberate. the lake was a mirror of the sky, an unbroken expanse of silver under the winter sun, and at its edge, the woman lay still—pious, serene, lost in her communion with something unseen.  

lucifer did not pray. faith had never been a luxury afforded to him, and yet, he recognized it in others. the quiet devotion, the unwavering belief. it was rare in a world like this.  

you rest as if the heavens themselves cradle you, he murmured, voice low, almost reverent, though amusement ghosted the edges. tell me, sacerdotessa, does your god whisper back?

he stepped closer, not yet intruding, but near enough for the mist to coil between them like a living thing. his ashen gold eyes, sharp and watchful, traced the curve of her still form.  

or is it silence you find in paradise?

!!! <3

A voice, unfamiliar and unbidden, rippled over the waves, shattering the quiet sanctity of her prayer. How dare he! Hemera’s ears dipped, her eyes fluttering open, though she refused to turn toward the intruder. From the depth of his tone, she knew: a man. „I am more than safe beneath the Lord’s gaze,” she murmured, conviction woven into every syllable. Of course, He would protect her. He had before.

Yet Hemera was no fool. No amount of prayer, no depth of faith, could shield her from death’s reach. That was a truth she had long accepted. And so, she guarded it; guarded herself. A sigh, soft yet weighted, slipped from her lips as she finally turned her plum-colored gaze upon him.

Tall. Dark. A figure carved from shadow, his presence commanding, formidable. The edge of her brow lifted as she crossed her forepaws, studying him. „He does speak to me,” she stated, voice edged with quiet certainty. „You interrupted us.” A narrowed gaze, sharp with unspoken reprimand; prayer, after all, was a conversation with God Himself.

And yet… maybe this, too, was His doing. A test. A calling. The man bore the scent of Viskani’s people, and something about him intrigued her. A soft smile ghosted across her lips. „I take it you do not speak to Him?” Perhaps, when he sought His voice, he was met with nothing but silence. If so, then he was in need of guidance; just as Periane had been not so long ago. And Hemera was not one to turn away a soul lost in the dark.

cameo unless addressed!

periane lingered at the edge of the lake, a quiet specter in the mist. she did not intrude, nor did she announce her presence—only watched, pale eyes tracing the scene before her.
hemera, steadfast in her faith. the man, shrouded in shadow, carrying something ancient in his bearing. their voices wove through the cold air, sharp and measured, a dance of belief and skepticism.
periane knew this moment was not hers to claim. but still, she listened.
her sister priestess did not waver. even before the weight of the unknown, she remained rooted, unshaken. periane had seen such conviction in her before, and she would see it again.
as for the man—his presence stirred something familiar. not fear. not reverence. only recognition. she had known many like him. those who did not pray. those who found only silence where others heard the divine.
was he lost?
or did he simply choose to walk alone?
periane did not stay to find out. she had seen what she needed.
with a quiet turn, she stepped back into the mist, leaving faith and shadow to speak for themselves.

lucifer did not waver under her gaze, nor did he shy away from her quiet reprimand. there was something almost amused in his expression, but beneath it lay something heavier, something worn. she spoke with the certainty of the devout, the kind of faith that did not shake in the face of doubt.  

once, he had known that certainty.  

i spoke to Him once, he admitted, his voice a low murmur, as if confessing a sin. his gaze drifted to the lake, the rippling water reflecting nothing but the grey sky above. and for a time, He listened.  

a shadow of a smile touched his lips, empty of joy. but men who believe themselves righteous are often the first to be forsaken. a single misstep, and suddenly, the golden path beneath your feet is gone. in its place, only fire remains.  

his eyes returned to her then, sharp and searching. tell me, sacerdotessa—what does your Lord do with those He casts into the flames? his voice was calm, almost soft, yet something edged it, something that lingered just beyond the words. is it a lesson? a punishment? or does He simply turn away when His creation proves… unworthy?  

it was not anger that shaped the question, nor defiance. it was something quieter, something heavier—doubt. rhe doubt of a man who once believed too deeply and was left to wonder if faith was nothing more than a cruel game played by those beyond mortal reach.

he took a measured, calculated breath as the presence of another loomed about. lucifer could feel the ghost of a smirk creep to the corner of his lip. religion reminded him that all eyes would cease to give him solitude for as long as he was left to stalk the earth as the demons forever plagued his thoughts.

How could He listen only for a time? Hemera stood above the man, her gaze flickering to the edge of her vision; sister Periane lingered there. Doubt clung to her like a shadow, much as it had before, but she had found her way back to the light. Hemera would not press her now. There would be time for that later.

„Every misstep is a lesson,”  she murmured, stepping closer, head inclined in quiet reverence. She listened, unwavering, never once interrupting. Plum eyes traced the scars carved into his muzzle, each one whispering a tale of hardship. He was a wounded man, one who had called out in his darkest hour only to be met with silence. It was a familiar sorrow. She had known it once.

Still, she pushed the thought away and lowered herself before him, folding her legs beneath her, tucking her tail close. This was not merely her God; it was everyone's God. At least, in her eyes. „He does not turn away. He does not forsake. He gives us the chance to rise, to make right what has been broken.” Her gaze lifted to the storm-brushed sky, a paw reaching toward the heavens. „The fire is His might, His reckoning. And you-” she paused, voice steady, unwavering. „You were reborn in the flames.” She exhaled softly, bringing her gaze back to him, her expression gentle now. Something about him, this warrior, this man who carried war in his bones and doubt in his soul, drew her in.

„Tell me your name, Warrior.” His battle was far from over. But if there was faith still left in him, she would see to it that he won this one.