From the first of Thazrel, men gathered not only with arms, but with relics and oaths. Some walked barefoot. Some fasted. A few came wrapped in burial linen, singing songs meant for the dead. Gaspar left behind his crown. He slept among his men. Drank from the same water skins. Ate bread broken by the same hands. The gesture was not lost. Word spread fast—this was a crusade.
Among the host walked Tatva, a foreign physician of the Suhedi order. A man of learning and zeal, he ministered to the wounded and weak, preaching a doctrine of Three Purities—body, word, and thought. Though strange to the men of Zammora, he earned their silence through skill and sincerity. Even Gaspar listened—if not with belief, then with interest.
Tatva noticed the shift. “They believe this war has meaning,” he said one night as the fire cracked low. “Not just vengeance. Not just land or gold. They think it matters to the stars.” Tatva hesitated, “…to the Gods.” Giti scoffed. “Every man thinks his axe swings for destiny.” – “But not every march carries ghosts,” Tatva said. He gestured east, toward the rising wind. “The gods the Voj defied—some say they stir. That blood calls them.”
“Stories,” Giti muttered. “Creeds,” said Tatva. “And creeds can outlive empires.” They passed ruins etched with glyphs and script none could read. Thorn shrines, long-abandoned, were adorned again with prayer cloth and stone. Men muttered old verses. Others fell silent. Even Catellina, skeptical as she was, paused when a procession of pilgrims joined the march—seven women in white veils, each bearing a shard of obsidian said to come from the crater of Naha.
One night, a goat died without reason. The herders burned it on a pyre of dry saltbush. The next day, almost nobody spoke until noon. Tatva said softly to Catellina: “If they believe this is the end of days, then how we walk matters more than how we strike.” She did not respond, and motioned for him to be silent. Later that evening, Gaspar watched the sky, where three stars aligned at dusk. Once, that might’ve been cause for celebration, a party to mock the gods. However, now it was an omen.