I Will Always Find You

John was more than a bit curious as to what she meant by temporary, and even more intrigued by what exactly Yvara had constructed to begin with. Despite the events of the day, he did still recall a bit of what the red-scaled dragoness had mentioned the last time they visited. She had talked about every temple in her home having a statue of the Lord, as well as the local leaders of that particular temple. John knew she must have made a statue of him, but as for the High Priestess, High Scholar, and High Guardian, John wasn’t quite sure what to expect.

Those questions weren’t answered immediately. Instead, as the kittens were dashing to and fro and inspecting the various empty chambers meant to function as full temple rooms once furnished, John’s eyes were locked on a set of fairly large tarps laid over the back of the temple, near the obvious area of worship. It was obvious that was what she had been working on, presumably leaving the tarps up for some sort of reveal. John tried to direct the attention of his children toward other sections of the temple, worried the sight of the altar might raise questions from the kittens that could only have awkward and egotistical answers unless he lied about the temple’s purpose. Yvara had other ideas though, proudly parading toward the back of the temple, her claws eagerly dancing along the edges of one of the tarps as she gazed at John with pride in her eyes.

“I know that I am rather new to your family here, Lord John, but I believe I have chosen subjects worthy of holding these sacred places until you choose your favored subjects. First, as is tradition, I constructed this statue of you, Lord John. May your light shine radiantly upon us all.”

With a grand flourish, Yvara pulled the first tarp up into the air and, with a spell John only caught a glimpse of with his new Observe passive, folded it neatly into a bundle in her arms. The absence of the tarp revealed a statue that may well have been John himself, frozen at a particular moment in time. He was wearing his full battle gear which was identical to the armor he’d been wearing at the time he first created Yvara, right down to the scratches from Adantia’s metal cables that he had not yet fixed, though Yvara seemed to have left out the more severe damage the armor had sustained at that point. John’s sword was held firmly and confidently at his side, his other hand crackling with unspent mana, and his eyes were locked somewhere far ahead. True to Yvara’s comments earlier, the statue was colored in vivid detail, with such deep and realistic shadows one could almost believe the sun itself stood directly above the statue. The flat base was beveled at the edges, and on the front a gold plaque emblazoned with “Lord John Newman” shone brightly.

“Woooaahhhh, Papa looks so cool!” Miriam shouted, running forward and stopping just shy of the statue, her eyes wide as she scanned over the statue. Her siblings were far less reserved about inspecting it, actively clambering over the statue, gawking and exclaiming their observations of various pieces of John’s statue.

“His sword is so sharp, almost like a real one!”

“Oooh, his hair is rock hard – but it looks so real!”

“I’m sorry,” John sighed, pinching his temples as he turned toward Yvara. “They’re a bit excitable.”

“No apologies necessary. These statues are reinforced with the strongest enchantments I can muster; a bit of play will not even scratch them,” Yvara said, the tiniest hint of pride breaking through her voice as she flushed. “And don’t worry about the sword – it isn’t really all that sharp. My statues are both safe and durable. It is important that all who understand your glory be free to express your worship in whatever manner they see fit… including your children. These statues will stand so long as this temple is here to shelter them. Not dissimilar to our High Guardian, who I present to you now!”

John didn’t miss the slightly proud grin on Yvara’s face as she managed to work in a transitional statement while grabbing the next tarp, her fingers teasing its edge for a moment before she pulled it away in a flash, bundling it up as she had the first one.

There stood a statue much like John’s own, right down to the scratches and sheen of the metallic armor, though that armor adorned the towering figure of Sophia instead. Her wings were extended fully, in mid-flap and so tall they reached over halfway toward the distant ceiling. They were made more imposing by a particularly impressive paint job detailing them in mid-transformation. The wings were solid and fully formed near their base, black feathers carved so pristine John thought they might rustle if a breeze touched them. Closer to the ends, the wings shifted to the golden color of their magical release, and with both statues unveiled it became obvious that John’s statue had been painted in such a way that it was not the sun, but Sophia’s wings overhead that were casting the light upon his armor.

“My,” Sophia said, that one word and the slight gasp that came with it giving away the harpy’s true level of surprise. “I do not often stare into a mirror when unfurling my wings, but this seems quite detailed. It is expert craftsmanship to be sure. I did not realize you were paying so much attention to my form.”

“Since the first time I saw your wings, they took my breath away. I could not get that golden glow out of my mind… so I put it on marble instead,” Yvara said, smoldering a blush under Sophia’s praise. “Besides, I have seen the trust that Lord John places in you, and the loyalty and respect you show to him. You are a perfect candidate for the temple’s High Guardian… if you accept the title, of course! If you ever wish for me to remove the statue, you only need ask. I would have asked permission beforehand, but I wanted to present these as a surprise.”

“If it does not displease my Father, you may keep my statue here so long as you wish, or until you find a more worthy warrior,” Sophia said, though John could see a pride in the tilt of her lips.

“And of course, not only for her invaluable aid in the temple’s scenery and assistance with supplying it, but also for her intense passion for this world and her desire to learn every aspect of it,” Yvara said, pulling and folding the third tarp as she spoke, “I present to you our High Scholar, Orria!”

Orria’s statue was a bit less grandiose than the battle-ready poses of John and Sophia, but it made up for it in the details and the raw beauty. Orria was kneeling before a flower bush, one that burst in vivid blooms of countless colors, shapes, and sizes. There was an order to the madness, a pattern of lines and rings and gradients through them that spoke of deeper thought than mere random blooms, but it was a bit much for John to do more than appreciate. The statue of Orria was cradling one of the blossoms tenderly, leaning its stem toward her face and smiling down gently at it.

“You don’t seem very surprised,” John noted, glancing over at Orria. “Saw it while you were helping with the plants outside?”

“Yvara asked for input on the arrangement of the blossoms. She wanted to ensure that the flowers were accurate to the many species I’ve been spreading across this world, and also to make them look as pleasing as possible to the eye. It also means that now I know exactly what flowers to cover the surrounding grounds with; soon every one of these species will be within eyesight of the temple’s exterior.”

“Who did you pick for the fourth statue? The High Priestess?”

Yvara looked back at the statue a bit abruptly, as if she had almost forgotten it was there. “Ah, no one, my Lord. The last statue is reserved for that of the High Priestess, and the position is somewhat more sacred to the temple than the others. A High Scholar can be any member of the community who one can reach out to when seeking knowledge – often in smaller villages, it is a village elder, or a scholar if one has settled there. A High Guardian is a title that, over the eons, has been given to different people for different reasons. It has been everything from a ceremonial title to a sort of champion’s crest, passed down to whoever can defeat the current High Guardian in a duel. Most commonly in recent years, it is the title borne by the leader of the Lord’s forces in the area the temple serves, in addition to any proper ranks they may bear.

“A High Priestess, though, is only a title given to one who dedicates themselves fully to the service of their community and the spreading of the Lord’s joy. Though their role to their individual community may differ, they must be devoted entirely – heart, mind, and soul – to that service. It is not a role that can be asked of any person, but one that must be willingly sought out. That space is reserved not for one asked to fill it, but one who seeks it out willingly and earnestly.”

John didn’t say anything, and tried to keep his expression neutral, but Yvara’s words absolutely mesmerized him. Yvara was perhaps the most vocal of his creations about her past life and memories, whether real or imagined, and the way she detailed the culture surrounding her temples and their society was fascinating.

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but it still seems as if there is a statue there. Can we see it?” John asked, gesturing toward the tarp that was clearly draped over something vaguely humanoid.

“Oh, you aren’t wrong, my Lord – a-and you wouldn’t need any forgiveness if you were,” Yvara blurted out. “In cases where succession isn’t clearly defined or when temples are newly erected, it can sometimes be a while before a High Priestess is anointed. In those instances, it is common practice for a statue to be commissioned by an artisan to fill that space – an original piece, one modeled after no living being, frequently of whatever race the sculptor happens to be. I crafted it with as much love as the others, my Lord, but it is only a placeholder until someone attains that title.”

Despite her attempts to downplay what lay underneath the tarp, Yvara put as much flair into the reveal as the others, skillfully twirling and twisting the cloth into a neat bundle as she gestured with a flourish toward the unveiled statue. John’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped slightly as the statue was uncovered, something stirring in him at the sight of the ivory-haired maiden underneath.

“The tradition is to craft a statue as beautiful as possible. The custom began in a relatively obscure part of the world with little documentation for its origin, so we don’t know exactly what began it, but we do have some ideas.”

Yvara’s words were mostly lost on John, as he strode ever closer to the statue, finding himself strangely enraptured by it. Perhaps it was simply a factor of it being an original work, unlike the replicas of himself and his lovers, but this statue seemed somehow more… real. The feminine figure was tall, nearly as tall as John, and her figure was a radiantly delightful hourglass with deep curves. She had long, snow-white hair with bangs that hung to her shoulders, while the back dangled all the way to her ass. She had two black horns protruding from the top of her head, short and curved with dangerous points at the end, surrounded by black flowers placed in a ring around the base of each.

“Some say the traditions began as a light-hearted joke or play on words. The High Priestess is to dedicate her life to the Lord… since a statue cannot be worthy in mind or devotion, some say that in the oldest temples they crafted a statue worthy in body, beautiful enough to become his wife and so be dedicated to him in that regard. Some say it was simply tradition to ‘dedicate’ the statue to the Lord, and only the most beautiful of statues could be worthy of being dedicated to him.”

John was barely listening, now only inches away from the statue, unable to tear his eyes away from it. The womanly statue’s figure was accentuated by a dark-black dress with silver trim and highlights around the breasts and waist. The dress was loose around her legs, but form-fitting and barely less than skin-tight around her hips and waist. It had long sleeves that even included fingered gloves, lacy and silken in appearance but as black as night save for where the silver trim accentuated them in patterns that didn’t mean much to John, but were beautiful all the same.

There was a large opening in the dress over her chest, providing not only a pleasing view of her ample cleavage, but also perfectly highlighting a large crystal placed just below her collarbones, with several strands of fabric attaching it to the dress as if it were a necklace built into the very fabric. The crystal seemed embedded in her chest, though John couldn’t say whether that was intentional or simply a necessity due to it being a statue.

“She’s absolutely gorgeous,” John said, blinking a few times in surprise. He had been thinking that fact many times as he examined her, but he hadn’t actually meant to voice the thought out loud.

“I-I’m glad you think so, Lord John,” Yvara said from somewhere behind John. He never turned, continuing to gaze over the statue. “I must admit, I am rather proud of it myself. Inspiration struck while I was beginning its construction; I wasn’t entirely settled on the design when I first began, but before I knew it, she stood before you as she is now. I deigned to forego the tradition of making her of my own race in favor of modeling her after your species, now that I have seen you with my own eyes… though I admit I could not resist adding a few smaller touches. The slitted pupils and the horns are modeled after some of those I most admired as servants of the temples.”

John stared at the face, the unknown and yet strangely familiar visage of this statue. A single beauty mark dotted her jawline, just below pink lips that looked so real John almost believed he could lean in to kiss the marble and feel it give way under his touch. Green eyes gazed back at him so intensely he half-expected them to blink at any moment, the blackness of her slitted pupils gazing at him with a shocking depth. John couldn’t decide what was more aroused at that moment, his mind or his libido. Something about this woman spoke to every part of him.

“I can’t put my finger on it, but something about her is absolutely enrapturing,” John said reverently, finally tearing his eyes away. He glanced over to where Yvara was standing, and noticed the slightly off looks he was getting from the others. Even the kittens had stopped to stare at him. “Yvara, would you…”

John trailed off, his inventory screen opening almost of its own accord. His fingers traced the list, past the few items they had looted, past his equipped gear, to something he had tucked in a far corner, out of sight and out of mind. John pressed the button to retrieve it, and within his hands appeared a small, dark violet crystal, about the size of his fist. The stone Moira had given him during their last meeting, shortly before he left the Brighton Manor. Though it lay dormant, John would’ve sworn he could feel a latent energy thrumming inside it. His eyes roved over the stone for a moment, and Observe highlighted its details once more.

Artificial Crystal of Life

“Well, I’m certainly glad you find my work so appealing,” Yvara said, her eyes wavering from John’s face down to the crystal he was now cradling in his palms. “Lord John, what is that you’re holding?”

“What’s her name?”

The dragoness paused for a moment, caught off-guard by the unrelated question. Her mouth moved as if to speak several times, but the only sounds to come out were some awkward stammers.

“Her… name, my Lord? I had not given her a formal name.”

“You said that inspiration struck when you were crafting her, and you’ve created a magnificent piece of work here. Did no name ever cross your mind, even for a moment?”

“...Well…” Yvara’s voice quivered slightly, nerves and a slight blush causing her eyes to fall to the floor, “...there was one. When I was little my mother used to tell me stories about the first temple, built from the ground by one of our own race. It was erected so long ago that the ‘history’ we have of it has become more myths and legends, truthfully. All the same, we still tell it.

“Stories of the first High Priestess, who gathered a following to build a peaceful society from the chaos and conflict that raged at the time. How she built the first temple, trained the first High Guardian to help protect her followers, sought the first High Scholar to educate them, and brought your blessings to our world for the first time. It’s all myths and legends, but… it is believed her name was Ysia, and as this was the first temple… well, I hadn’t intended to share it, but in my head I thought that Ysia was a fitting name. Forgive me if you find that at all… blasphemous, my Lord.”

“Ysia…”

John whispered the name as Yvara fell silent. Somehow it seemed off, though only slightly, as if it were missing something.

“Yvara, would you be able to make another statue in this one’s place?”

“Oh! I’m sorry, Lord. I… does my statue displease you after all?” Yvara asked, confusion and despair blending on her features. “If you wish for me to dispose of it, I can easily do that, and make another attempt. I promise to do better this time, my Lord.”

“It’s not that,” John murmured, reaching out to run one hand along the statue’s cheek. Though it was perfectly colored as soft, pale skin, there was no fooling his fingertips as they slid along the cold stone. That feeling made him sad, in ways beyond words, despite already knowing what they would find. “Yvara… I have a crystal entrusted to me by a good friend named Moira. She said this crystal can animate objects, in a similar way to how I created the family I have here. I want to use it on your statue.”

Strangely, saying out loud what he wanted to do made John feel a bit more insane, but seemed to relieve almost everyone else. Then again, at this point, Orria was one of the only people to not have directly witnessed John bringing someone to life from a Barrier creature, so perhaps it had become somehow mundane to them. The thought nearly brought an amused grin to John’s face.

“On… on my statue? You want to bring her to life?” Yvara asked, her voice reverential and shocked to her very core. “My Lord, that would be one of the greatest honors I could imagine. If my creation has inspired you to do such, I more than welcome it!”

John nodded silently in confirmation, then turned back to the statue. Those green irises still stared back at him as intensely as before, now almost seeming to glisten with anticipation. John wasn’t exactly sure how to activate the crystal, but given that Moira had not parted any instructions to him, he hoped that it was not some complex ritual. John raised the crystal to the statue’s chest, just below the green one embedded in her cleavage, and began to gently press it against the hard marble.

Without actively willing it, a soft trickle of mana began to flow through John. He might not have noticed it save for the slight wane of his mana bar and the new passive of his Observe showing the blue lines of energy trickling through him, into the stone, and from there into the statue beyond. With a sound like a stick being traced in the sand, the marble of the statue gave way, turning almost liquid as the deep purple crystal slowly floated further and further into the statue’s chest. After a few moments, John no longer had to press on the crystal himself – it seemed magically drawn to the statue, slipping further inside of its own accord, until it vanished entirely within the suddenly welcoming marble.

John took a single step back as the last of the crystal vanished into the statue, waiting for some sign of its effects. Nothing happened for what felt like eons. Everyone waited with bated breath, in a room so quiet a single pin could’ve dropped. The statue stood motionless, the crystal lost within its depths, no sign of activity – even John’s Observe only saw the crystal, lurking deep within the marble statue, still pulsing with the mana it had taken from him.

Then, in a single miniscule movement, her eyes shifted. Her black pupils and green irises twitched for a moment, as if awakening from a dream, and then focused on John. A stillness beyond silence passed over the room. The woman’s body still remained as motionless as before, and as the moments dragged on, John began to wonder if something had gone wrong. Had the spells the Order used to cleanse the crystal failed in some way? Had the crystal been too damaged in battle, or had-

”Creator?”

The woman’s lips did not move, but an unfamiliar voice rang in John’s mind, and her eyes quivered slightly. It was a quiet voice, calm and emotionless, distinctly feminine but otherwise monotone.

“Was that… was that from you?” John asked what he hoped was now only formerly a statue, pointing at her uncertainly. The woman still did not move, but words rang through his mind again.

”Yes, Creator. What do you wish of me?”

John stood flummoxed for a moment, unsure of how to answer, his jaw awkwardly opening and closing as he fought for words. He didn’t particularly want anything; hell, he hadn’t even intended to use the crystal until the moment he saw the statue and stood transfixed by its magnificence.

“What is your name?” John finally managed to ask.

”...What is a name?”

The question only furthered John’s stupor, though he at least managed to avoid sputtering like a fool this time.

“A name is… it’s what people call you, it’s how they address you. A name is something that, if I said it, you would immediately know I was referring to you, and not someone else in the room,” John said, vaguely gesturing at the women behind him. The statue moved for the first time, tilting her head a few degrees. He heard soft gasps, though he couldn’t tell exactly from whom. Then the animated woman moved her head back into place and her eyes met with John’s once more.

”I’m sorry. I don’t believe I have something like that. Creator, would you like to give me a name?”

The idea wasn’t unappealing, though it had certainly been some time since he’d done something like that. The last person he’d named was Sophia; everyone else had either had their own when he created them or picked it in their own time, like Farrah.

Thoughts bristled in John’s mind, trying to come up with something that sounded suitable. Yvara’s name for her still resonated in his head, but it took several moments for him to find what it seemed to be missing.

“Created with an Artificial Crystal of Life… and named after the first ever High Priestess,” John mused, glancing into the distance as letters mingled in his head for a moment longer. At length, his eyes focused again, and he met the woman’s gaze once more. “Yes, I think that will do nicely.”