Thomas arrived early, his eyes lingered on the spot he saw Nimue yesterday. But the harbor was ordinary today—no priestess, no shimmer, just crates and gulls and the usual salt-stained rhythm.
He sighed, adjusting the rope on his shoulder.
"She’s not coming back, Thom," a dockworker called out. "You want better odds, try praying in temples instead of working the docks."
Thomas chuckled, but the jest lingered. "Maybe I should."
His cousin barked a laugh. "They’d turn you away at the door. You should look for other women. Ones who don’t wear sea robes and speak in riddles."
Thomas shook his head. "I didn’t mean it like that. I meant—what if I really ought to be a priest?"
The dockworker nearby snorted. "You? A priest? You’d give up in three days. Prayer’s not just words, Thom. It’s silence. It’s sacrifice. You’d miss the noise."
Thomas didn’t argue. He just nodded, thoughtful.
The idea didn’t leave him. It settled somewhere behind his ribs, quiet and persistent, like the tide beneath the docks.
The temple steps of Stella Maris shimmered with salt and candlelight. Evening bells had not yet tolled, and the air was thick with the scent of myrrh and sea fennel. Thomas stood at the base of the steps, his hands rough from rope and tide, his heart uncertain but steady.
A priestess descended, her robes the color of moonstone, her gaze calm and curious.
"Can I help you, son?" she asked.
Thomas cleared his throat. "I want to be a priest."
She blinked, then smiled—slightly pleased, slightly taken aback. "Have you thought deeply about it?"
Thomas looked up at the temple’s spires. "I can’t think of anything else."
She studied him. "Tell me about your prayer life."
"I pray every morning before work," he said. "And I thank the goddess in the evening. That’s how I was taught."
The priestess nodded slowly. "As a priest, prayer is what you do when you aren’t laboring. There is no ceasing. No doffing your robes at the end of the day for merriment."
Thomas considered this. He said, "I’d like to be given a chance."
She paused, then gestured toward the temple’s inner cloister. "There’s an evening prayer group. Come tonight. If you find it suitable, then perhaps we can tread deeper water."
Thomas bowed his head. "Thank you, Sister."
The priestess turned, her steps light as tidefoam. Thomas remained a moment longer, watching the temple doors, as if they might open wider just for him.