Paul loved the winter’s cold. It stung his skin as even a gentle breeze felt like a bitter whip against his cheeks, it ached his lungs with every deep breath, and made his limbs so lethargic that there was an almost constant fear that if he stopped even for a moment, then he’d cease to move forever.

But Paul could leave that cold. Return to the Autonomous temple where he’d lived the last two years training to be a deacon and, alongside his other acolytes to the faith, sit cozy by a fire with a cup of hot tea and a book. He could escape that frigid strangle of the outside and embrace the finer comforts of life.

While those on the street with not a credit to their name could not.

Yes, Paul loved the cold, since it reminded him of the suffering those less fortunate had to endure day in and out, humbled him whenever the desire to complain about mundane matters surged in his gut, and emboldened him to work all the more diligently so that he could ensure he provided anyone in need with a place of safety and comfort.

All while he extolled the Winds of Freedom.

Hence why now Paul stood at the end of a line of tables, outside a small park near Howin, the city of Yoularnon’s poorest and most dangerous neighborhood. Warmed containers filled with food sat between volunteers and the poor folk who shuffled along, more often than not wearing shabby jackets and ripped pants. Paul scooped soup from a slow-cooker with a smile, extending Winds’ blessings upon all who crossed him.

Someone tapped at his shoulder. “Your turn for dinner.”

The voice belonged to a fellow volunteer. Not an Autonomous deacon-in-training like Paul, nor an acolyte from another Titanian sect, but an average civilian who simply wanted to do his fellow man a good turn. Name was Jordan Heffman, if Paul recalled, and he was a middle manager at a small legal firm several blocks away.

Paul smiled. “Ah, it’s alright. I’m not hungry yet.”

“That may be, but I haven’t had a chance to give out the food yet and you’ve been here longest, so I don’t mind taking over even if you want just a few minutes’ break,” Jordan said.

Paul paused. Jordan, like the rest of them, was here to help the needy. If Jordan had been in the back all day and only supplying food to the volunteers to dole out to the needy, then he never got to experience the light in the people’s eyes glow as they were handed the warm nourishment. In Paul’s desire to help, he couldn’t get in the way of others who were doing the same.

“Then I’ll take my break,” Paul said, extending his smile to Jordan and stepping away.

Originally, Paul had meant to take a meal and eat amongst the people when it was his turn to have a break, but he really wasn’t hungry. That didn’t mean he couldn’t still interact with the folks benefiting from the volunteers’ work. He meandered through the park where many sat and ate their meal, waving and speaking kind words to those who ate.

“I don’t know how I could thank you enough,” an elderly woman said, sniffling over her soup.

A gentle breeze felt like a gale as it washed over Paul, ruffling his deacon-in-training smocks. The religious garb was thin, so that it would easily flow in Air’s mighty movements, and thus gave Paul little respite from the cold. He embraced it, reminding himself yet again of his own fortunes as he looked down at this older woman wearing a dirtied blouse and a rough, patched shawl.

“A simple ‘thank you’ is more than enough,” Paul said. “Enjoying the meal is also enough. Please do not think I or any of us require anything more than that. We have the freedom to help, so we do it, and will continue to do so, with this blessing that we have been given by the Eternal Air Titans.”

A scoff sounded from behind. There a man stood, wearing a thick yellow jacket and yellow pants which looked made to keep moisture out, padded gloves covering his hands, and boots so large and sturdy it looked like a car could run over them and the man’s foot would remain undamaged. A thick stubble shadowed his broad jaw, curled with a sneer, as his dead eyes bored into Paul.

“Why hello, sir,” Paul began. “A fine evening to you.”

The man shook his head, then began to walk away.

Paul quickly waved goodbye to the older woman, then stepped alongside the man. “Excuse me, sir?”

“Go away,” the man said, voice rough.

“Whatever I did to offend you, I would like to know,” Paul said. “Either so I can apologize correctly, or make sure I don’t do it again. Or–”

“And if I say you following me offends me?”

“I’d still like to know the original offense.”

“Alright.” The man stopped walking and glared at Paul. “Stop spreading bullshit about freedom, then we’re right as rain.”

Ah. A disbeliever of true freedom. Likely someone who didn’t quite understand their doctrine from the Supporters sect. Paul sent a quick thanks to the Eternal Air, for providing him an opportunity to help guide this stray leaf onto the correct current.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Paul said. “But it looks like I won’t be able to help but to keep offending you, as there are no falsehoods in the freedom we preach.”

“Don’t give me that,” the man said. “All you Autonomous do is talk about how incredible your freedom is. Go wherever you want, do whatever you want, shirk whatever responsibility you want because you have the freedom to choose. What about the average man who needs to work for a living, who can’t get out of their circumstances because if they did, they’d get themselves and the people they loved dead? What ‘freedom’ do they have to make their lives better?

“They don’t.” The man raised his chin and glared. “Freedom is only given to those privileged enough to have it. For the rest of us, it’s a sham.”

Paul’s heart ached. Not because of this man’s words, but because of whatever life experience he suffered to convince him those falsehoods were facts. Paul had heard this argument before, both online from angry bloggers and also during debates – either mock ones with his fellow acolytes or legitimate ones with the Supporters. In said debates, he’d never gotten the upper hand against his opponents. He wasn’t the best speaker.

This man, however, wasn’t someone trying to win an argument. He was a lost soul in need of guidance. And that Paul could help with.

“If you don’t mind, sir,” Paul began, “could you please tell me your story?”

The man huffed. “It’d be a waste of time.”

“I don’t think so. It would help us communicate better if we both knew each other. I could share my story first, if that would make you more at ease.”

The man turned away. “I gotta get to work.”

“I can walk with you while we talk. I wouldn’t want you late on my account.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be helping the needy?”

Where did the sarcastic tone come from? Could he not see the dozens of people in the park, eating a hearty meal because of the volunteers?

Wrong thing to focus on, Paul.

“I still have more than twenty minutes on my break,” Paul said. “That should be plenty of time.”

The man shifted a glance to Paul, then shook his head. “Fine, whatever.”

They walked out of the park, across the street, then made their way down a large road where few people ventured.

“My name’s Paul,” he said. “I guess my story begins when I was four, when my friend JJ–”

“Don’t care,” the man said. “Whatever sob story you might got won’t change my mind.”

“Then can I again ask your story? At least may I know your name, sir?”

A minute of silence past, where they turned into a smaller alley, which thankfully was lit well enough to not cause concern. From between and over buildings, a construction site stood at the end of their path.

“My name’s Brandon,” the man said. “Lived in Yoularnon my whole life. On Eighth Ave off Bishop’s Street.” Breath puffed as he sighed. “My whole damn life.”

Paul knew the area. It wasn’t destitute and run-down like Howin, but it wasn’t affluent like downtown Yoularnon or neighborhoods like Larney or Kilney. Those who lived in that area, nearing the border of the city, usually lived from one monthly payment to another, more often than not by the sweat of their brow.

That would at least explain why Brandon had to cross that park, near Howin, to go to work which appeared close to downtown.

“Da worked construction,” Brandon said. “Whether it was the day or night shift, he always came home beat and angry. Get a drink, turn on the television, then his sorry ass would pass out in the hour. Even by the time he died five years back, I didn’t know a damn thing about him.

“Used to hate the bastard for that, but now I get it. He brought me and my three brothers through school with that job, all while Ma stayed home to raise us. Well, we got well-enough through Upper School to graduate, then get our own employment to keep us steady. Couldn’t afford college. Not that I thought that’d matter. Job paid enough to keep us by and our old man showed us the proper way of living: work hard, get paid, support your family.

Brandon clenched his fist; his fingers cracking were audible through the thick gloves. “Problem is now I got a family of my own. A wife who raises our two little ones. They’re getting older, wanting to see me more, play with me more, but at the end of the damned day I’m too exhausted to move. Or I’m stuck in the night shift, like I’ve been for the past two months, and am sleeping when they’re up and away at work when they’re ending their days.”

Brandon took a long breath. “I just know they’re gonna hate me, like I did Da. Job don’t pay as well as it did for Da. Even only raising two kids, we barely got enough to keep the lights on and put food on the table. They’re school’s not gonna be great, we can’t afford to go out as a family, and even if we did I’d be too exhausted to go anyway. And even then, it’s not like I can just leave. Job may not be the best, but there’s no other in my skillset that pays better, and it’s not like I can afford to learn a new skill.

“So what freedom do I have, Autonomous-Sect Man? How can I get out of this rut I’m in, where I work a job that barely does anything for my family and will get my kids to resent me? And before you say ‘just power through the exhaustion and spend time with the kids or attend classes in your free time’ just shut it. Have you ever worked thirteen-to-eighteen-hour days lifting, connecting, or tearing down heavy material six days a week? If not, then I don’t wanna hear about how I can just power through that.”

By the end of Brandon’s story, they reached the edge of the construction site. Yellow tape blocked Paul’s entry, though Brandon ducked under it. Plenty of men stood twenty feet away, huddled around a man showing them a tablet, all wearing identical clothing to Brandon.

“Well?” Brandon said. “Got an answer to all my problems?”

Paul didn’t, especially after he’d ended by refuting Paul’s unspoken point. The key to Brandon’s solution was to be more active with his family during his time away from work. Brandon, however, had a point. Just because one wanted to keep moving, didn’t mean their mind and body would actually let them.

Paul eyed several large vans and construction equipment. It appeared the company was called Col Construction.

“Thank you, for sharing your story with me,” Paul said. “With the time I have now, I can only give you hope for help tomorrow. What time do you get off work?”

Brandon scoffed. “Like you’d come back just to chat tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

“Yeah right.” Brandon sneered and his voice oozed with sarcasm. “Shift ends at seven tomorrow morning.”

Looked like it would be another thirteen-hour shift for Brandon, then. Paul’s heart ached for him.

“Then I’ll see you at seven,” Paul said.

“Sure, yeah,” Brandon said, rolling his eyes and leaving Paul for the huddled men.

Paul took a deep breath in the hopes it would soothe his shuddering body. Cold crawled through the alley, lingering over him like mist. Being so early in a winter’s morning, the sun hadn’t poked its head above the horizon, let alone the building summits. Muted pre-dawn greys had promised the light’s advent on Paul’s walk here, yet in this spot that seemed a far-off dream.

The breath didn’t help. His body tremored in the cold, his hands shaking as his lethargic fingers flexed and then stretched.

It was frustrating, as he didn’t want to appear to be suffering when Brandon got off his shift.

It was actually hard to tell which of the men walking away from the site – which was going to be a new parking garage – and chatting with one another was Brandon. Well more than half of them were tall, muscular, and pale like him, and of those men the vast majority had brown hair. One along the edge of the crowd, however, stopped as he looked at the alley Paul stood in, then shook his head, said something to the others before leaving them.

“I’ll be damned,” Brandon said, eyelids half-closed with little inflection in his voice. “Looks like at least one Autonomous does more than treat their words like a fart.”

In the thirteen years Paul had been Autonomous and all the air- and wind-related diction he’d heard, somehow that had never entered his vernacular. He’d hold on to it. His best friend JJ would probably get a kick out of it.

“My words are my wind,” Paul said. “They mean nothing if they don’t propel someone’s sails to safe harbors.”

Brandon blinked. “I’m gonna pretend I understood that.”

“If I say I’ll do something, then I will,” Paul said. “Or at least go down trying.”

It was a quiet moment that followed, one where Brandon gave another look into Paul with his exhausted eyes. “So, what special words you got for me to show I’m actually free and can take charge of my own life or some shit like that?”

Paul smiled. “In a second. You want some coffee first? My treat.”

They found themselves at one of Paul’s favorite joints, Nan’s Cafe. Not too large, not too small, with a warm, nostalgic interior people had compared to a grandma’s living room. As Paul never knew his grandparents, he’d had to take their word on that.

They’d arrived at the sweet spot in the morning between the really early birds and those heading to a normal day’s work. It still took ten minutes to reach the counter with all the people waiting, but Paul had seen the line reach out the door and extend down the sidewalk before.

With coffee in hand, they sat at a two-person table just as its previous tenants rose to leave. JJ sipped his dark roast, the drink hot enough to warm his fingers through the cup, but not too hot as to burn his tongue. He sighed with satisfaction as the bitter drink slipped down his throat, the warmth spreading outward. His muscles loosened and his posture relaxed. It was almost like the coffee was thawing his body.

“I take it you like the coffee,” Brandon said, taking a sip of his order.

“Especially after such a long morning,” Paul said, then his eyes widened. “Not to say I’ve had it rougher than you.”

But Brandon’s stare was a scowl yet again. He placed his cup on the table between them. “Say your piece. Every moment I’m here I’m not at home.”

“Right, yes,” Paul said, scrambling to remove the size-changing tablet from his pocket. “I hope you don’t mind, but I did a bit of research last night.”

Brandon said nothing, instead sipping his coffee again.

“Right, well,” Paul began, expanding the tablet and showing the screen to Brandon, “you don’t need to answer if it makes you uncomfortable, but would you say your salary is somewhere in this range?”

Paul already had his little presentation prepared. The number on the screen reflected the general range of salaries listed on Col Construction’s website for their construction workers: forty to fifty thousand credits a year. A respectable amount, though if he was feeding four mouths with that alone, it stood to reason why he was struggling financially.

Brandon gave a curt nod.

“So there are other places that could use your skills that are paying a similar salary,” Paul said. “Like here. Many places are hiring for a maintenance worker. Even Yoularnon’s head Quencher temple is looking for one.”

“Stop right there,” Brandon said. “I’ve already looked into stuff like that. Their starting salaries are way too low for me to switch jobs.”

“Not necessarily. How long have you been working construction?”

“About ten years.”

“Then that should put your payscale at around thirty-eight to thirty-nine thousand a year.”

“Still much lower than what I’m making now.”

“But you won’t have to work thirteen-hour day minimums. Ten hours, max. Anything more than that you’d get paid either overtime or more vacation hours.”

“But those ten thousand extra credits go a long way feeding my family.”

“I understand that, but many maintenance workers also do side-work. The more people know them, the more credits they can make. Just last weekend one of our temple maintenance workers closed on a three-thousand credit job. It was a long day of work, but it was still only one day! A couple weekends like that and you could more than make up for the loss in money. And the better you perform at work, year in and out, your salary will grow to reflect that and the more people will come to you with side jobs.”

“Those jobs which will still take me away from my family. Even if I’d have shorter shifts, side gigs would eat into whatever free time I do get.”

“True, but hours-wise you’d spend less time at work even still and more time with your family. If you don’t mind my asking, how old are your kids?”

Brandon frowned. “Six and four.”

“And you said you bring them to school, so your wife isn’t home-schooling them.”

“She works around the apartment,” Brandon said. “Keeps it nice and clean, always has a meal ready, and gets everything organized real well.”

“If you’re worried about money, would it be too much to see if she could get a job?”

Brandon’s scowl deepened. “She wants to stay at home. Drop the kids off and pick them up from school when it’s time, take care of them and bring them to appointments when they’re sick, all that. She doesn’t want to be away, working, in case something happens to them or me and she needs to help.

“Besides, what kind of a man can’t afford to support his family on his own?”

Paul leaned forward. “Is she aware that being away from your family has been frustrating you?”

“Of course she–!” Brandon cut off, staring into the distance with a thoughtful expression.

Paul’s sigh was sad. “How often do you talk as a couple?”

Brandon’s mouth twitched and his finger tapped his coffee cup. “Not much since Keller was born.”

So anywhere between four to six years. Paul’s heart dropped. He’d never had a girlfriend, but he couldn’t imagine not talking to her as a partner for that long.

“It might be time you do,” Paul said. “If she’s aware of your feelings, it might convince her to make a little change herself, so you can spend more time with the family.”

“Doesn’t sound like something she’d do,” Brandon said.

No need to press the issue. Brandon would know more about his wife, whom Paul had never met, more than Paul.

“And if she doesn’t,” Paul said, “then you can still take up a maintenance job somewhere and look for side-gigs to offset the immediate loss in revenue.”

“Side-gigs which aren’t guaranteed,” Brandon said. “Gigs which you’re also assuming I can just get by talking to people.”

“It’s how I know a lot of people have done it,” Paul said. “One of the maintenance guys at my temple does side-work and is really good with A/Cs and heaters. I overheard Nan’s manager saying something about a finicky unit last summer. I introduced the two of them and now my maintenance guy has somewhat steady work here and Nan’s doesn’t have to spend thousands more for a larger company to fix their units. You have anything you’re particularly good at?”

Brandon took another sip. “I’m good with dry-wall and insulation. Also done minor roofing repair. I haven’t done it officially, but I’m good at painting, both interior and exterior. Don’t ask me about A/Cs and never come to me with a serious plumbing issue.”

“Noted, but those are already very well marketable skills. Actually, I have a friend whose parents were recently talking about repainting their home. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d love to introduce you all. Maybe your first official painting gig could be for them.”

“And you’re just gonna take me at my word?”

“You’re trying to get me to stop pestering you about this, not impress me, right? So why would you lie about something that helps my cause?”

“Good point.”

Paul held in a smile as Brandon took another sip, then he felt a yawn press at the back of his throat. Paul hid it behind his own cup, not letting his mouth open but instead breathed it through his nose. Brandon hadn’t responded well to the first time Paul suggested he was tired. Since Brandon was responding better to Paul now, Paul didn’t want to lose any progress.

Though, it appeared Brandon still caught the yawn. “Had a long night, or early morning?”

Paul waved it away. “Not nearly as long as yours, obviously.”

Paul’s dark eyes bored into Paul, quiet yet thoughtful. “After we separated last night, what did you do?”

Paul opened his mouth to brush it away, but froze. It would be rude to dodge a question like that. Besides, this could be a perfect opportunity to display what he was preaching.

“I kept working for the homeless for a few more hours,” Paul began. “After cleaning up, I went back to my temple and did chores. Stuff like wipe up the hall after last night’s service and put stuff away. Then I did my nightly prayers and research, then I made this presentation before going to bed.” Paul scrolled on his tablet, going through the slides, most of which hadn’t been seen yet. “This morning, I woke up, made my waking prayers, then did my chores and set up for today’s morning service before making breakfast for my fellow acolytes, the priests, and the priest-in-training there. Then I was given leave and now I’m here.”

Brandon’s lips thinned. “How late did you stay up last night?”

“Almost thirteen o’clock,” Paul said.

“And what time’d you get up?”

“A little before four-thirty.”

“And you still came all this way to talk, huh?”

“To be fair, not all of my days are quite as packed as yesterday. But… yeah. You looked like you needed help. I could extend it to you, so that’s what I want to do.”

“And if I decide to ignore everything you’ve said?”

“I have at least six more slides of other options you could look into, but this one is my favorite.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re stubborn?”

Paul smiled. “Yeah, but only for certain, important, things. You should meet my friend JJ. He’s way more stubborn about a lot more things than me.”

“He a good friend?”

“The best. We grew up together. He was kind of the outgoing one who dragged me along everywhere.” A sad memory which was mixed with comfort and optimism curled Paul’s lips. “Even when my parents died a few years ago. I fell into a depression and wanted to shun the world. Be a loner, basically. But he wouldn’t let me. He spent time with me both in and out of class. He even came up with the idea of joining the church together, that way he could further his intended career and I wouldn’t have to live in a foster home. I told him he didn’t have to worry about me, but he wouldn’t listen. Even when he moved to the temple, he told me that if he didn’t, I wouldn’t interact with anyone else.”

Paul had found himself looking away while he talked, but he turned his smile to Brandon who was looking at Paul dead in the face. “It’s because of him that I’m able to do this today.”

Brandon nodded, finished his coffee, and then rose. “Thanks for the drink. And the talk. I’ve… got a lot to think about.”

“Would you like my contact info?” Paul said.

“Not right now,” Brandon said. “But if I want to find you, I’ll know where to go. And I guess if you want to pester me again, you know where I work and when.”

Paul didn’t want to end this conversation there, but this wasn’t like last night: Brandon was seriously considering what Paul told him and wasn’t brushing him off. At times like these, it was better for Paul to step back and give him the freedom to think without pressure.

“Absolutely,” Paul said. “Have a blessed day, Brandon.”

Brandon nodded, then turned and left the cafe.

Paul was supposed to be relaxing. He sat in the lounge his Siblings in the Autonomous sect enjoyed after a day’s work, embracing the warmth coming off the flames in the fireplace. A cozy couch welcomed him, letting him lean back and read his manuscript opposite a wall filled with books upon shelves. Before moving to the temple, Paul had hardly ever seen so much paper in his life. Now, it was commonplace.

The room was an excellent place to destress. Mostly. Some days, Paul would find himself in the lounge and, while he was meant to have a reprieve from the elements and focus on his own mental health, he’d often find his foot tapping, his body adjusting yet never growing comfortable, and his eyes flicking about the room.

In his earliest days at the temple, he would leave the space and complete more chores or help another Sibling with theirs. Only that would calm his restlessness. After a while, however, the heads forbade him to do that. The less he rested, the sloppier his work became and more overwhelmed he grew. He really did need to focus more on himself sometimes.

Just because he knew that, however, didn’t mean he was good at it.

So his foot started tapping against the thin carpet, a constant dull thud sounding alongside the crackling flames, as he tried – and failed – to lose himself in the text. A lot had happened in the three days since his coffee meeting with Brandon, but in moments like these, when all was quiet and calm, his mind kept wandering back to the exhausted construction worker.

Take a deep breath, man. Paul listened to his thoughts, but it didn’t slow his heartbeat. How’s this? If he doesn’t call in two more days, then I’ll contact–

The door slammed opened and a figure said, “Yo!”

Paul jumped, almost literally out of his chair. JJ, Paul’s best friend, was already in the room after throwing the door into the wall. He sauntered to Paul, wearing his priest-in-training smocks – free and flowing, like all Autonomous religious leaders, though not quite as elegantly designed as a full priest’s attire – with a smirk. His short brown hair hid not a thing beneath it, not the small forehead JJ had often cracked jokes about being too big to fit his tiny brain, nor his ears which stood out slightly; a child in Lower School had tried to poke fun at him for them, but JJ only said those were what gave him the lift required to fly, then used his Wind Weaver’s Gift to float for a few seconds in a tiny twister of his own creation.

Paul had laughed, as had most of their class, and somehow no one tried to go against JJ again after that.

“So, sticking yourself back here to study or…” JJ glanced down, his eyebrows rising as he spied Paul’s tapping foot. “Ah, I see. What sorry case have you taken upon your back so that you may soar them to the greater heights the Ethereal Winds desire from all of us.”

JJ had adopted a similar tone to the many elderly priests they had heard throughout the years. Every time Paul heard his friend do that, he’d wanted to be offended, but Paul couldn’t deny that even he couldn’t place whom exactly JJ was imitating, as they all sounded the same.

“Wait!” JJ said, throwing one hand forward and bringing another to his forehead, his eyes wide as if he’d just had an epiphany. “Do not tell me. The Great Winds have spoken to my ear.”

“I didn’t feel a breeze,” Paul said.

“That’s because you, my Woeful Brother-soon-to-be-Child, lack the faith of one devout devotee such as I!” JJ said, a bare smirk across his lips as Paul rolled his eyes. “Now, the Winds have told me your current lost cause is a construction worker, unable to see the joys of freedom as he toils away in a job he hates, all to provide for a family he barely spends time with!”

Paul blinked in surprise. Work at the temple had been so busy the last several days. The only time he’d communicated with JJ had been during certain morning and evening prayers, and even then he hadn’t had time to tell JJ about Brandon.

“Who told you?” Paul asked.

JJ smirked. “Brandon. Now put that book down and follow me. Brandon’s looking for you.”

Brandon was waiting in the cathedral, looking around the impressive room. Turquoise granite walls and ceilings, their swirling patterns representing Air’s wondrous movements, surrounded the mostly open, wide space that dominated the majority of the temple’s interior. Plenty of windows scattered along said walls and ceiling let in plenty of natural sunlight; in times of less extreme weather, those windows would be open to allow Air’s breezes to flow freely through their place of worship. Pews outfitted with soft cyan plushes stood, almost haphazardly, around a central raised circular stage. No true rows lined the room, instead the seating either formed compact clusters or barely dotted wide spaces, depending on wherever the parishioners at a particular service felt like sitting at any given time. This made the walkways either extremely narrow and claustrophobic, or broad enough to fit ten men shoulder to shoulder with even some room to spare.

The first time Paul saw the room when he was a child, he’d stood agape in awe. Brandon, on the other hand, only glanced around with his brow furrowed, as if he were confused.

“Brandon,” Paul called, “it’s good to see you.”

Brandon nodded to Paul, his lips a straight line. Sure, it wasn’t a smile, but at least it wasn’t a frown.

“Been looking into some stuff,” Brandon said, squaring his shoulders. “And thinking a lot.”

“Oh yeah?” Paul asked.

“Those maintenance, handy-man jobs,” Brandon began, “you never mentioned your church was looking for one, too.”

“Oh, right. Well, forgive me for keeping that information from you. I had assumed you were of the Supporters sect. I didn’t want to offend you by mentioning the opening here, or make you think I was trying to convert you to Autonomous.”

“You really don’t care which sect I belong to?”

“Not at all. There are many paths to Mother’s blessings. As long as you find it freely of your own choice, that is all that matters to me.”

“And would an Autonomous temple even hire a Supporter?”

“You’re free to choose your sect. The temple agrees. It would be quite hypocritical for us to demand you follow our ways if you only worked the grounds here.”

“Just don’t start spouting anti-Autonomous stuff here, and you’d be fine,” JJ said.

Paul took a quick intake of breath; he’d almost forgotten that JJ had followed Paul here.

“But would that not be my freedom to share my beliefs?” Brandon asked.

“As long as you don’t make people feel unwelcome or stir others to violence, then even raising the occasional disagreement wouldn’t be frowned upon,” Paul said.

“You seriously think that?” JJ said, voice dubious.

“Of course!” Paul said. “In fact, it might be nice to hear, as it could start a lively debate.”

“Not like we don’t have plenty of those around here,” JJ muttered.

Brandon actually breathed a chuckle. “You Autonomous are an odd… different group. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Supporters disagree with each other in the open before.”

“That’s why we’re the best,” JJ said with a gleam in his eyes. “So join us and be part of the winning team.”

“JJ, stop,” Paul said. “We’re not trying to convert him. I literally just said that!”

“We could kill two birds with one stone, though.”

Brandon barked a laugh. “Now you’re using a Supporter’s saying?”

“Again, winning side,” JJ said, giving Brandon a thumbs-up. “Freedom. I can say whatever I want and get away with it.”

“That’s not true,” Paul said.

“Well I should.”

“That’s also not true.”

“Then define freedom for me, my friend. Why should I, especially me as a Wind Weaver, have limits when we only extol freedom?”

“I’m not doing this right now, JJ. And I’m sure Brandon didn’t come all the way here to watch us debate.”

“You’re only saying that cuz you know I’d win.”

Paul looked away from his friend’s grin. Unfortunately, JJ was better with rhetoric than Paul was: no matter how many debates or arguments the temple had them conduct, JJ had never lost.

“I’m sorry, Brandon,” Paul said. “What did you want to see me for?”

“Oh yeah,” Brandon said. “Like I said, been thinking a lot. I’m gonna look for different work. Maintenance work somewhere and maybe get some gigs on the side. Talked to Jess about it. She had no idea I’d been feeling this way. She supports my decision and would think about getting a part-time job if things get bad. But one where she could take off work easily, just in case.”

“That’s great to hear!” Paul said. “You have a place in mind?”

“A few,” Brandon said. “Already sent out some applications.”

“And these side-gigs,” JJ put in, “what do you plan on doing?”

“This and that,” Brandon said. “Dry-wall, insulation, possibly paint houses.”

“Oh, that’s awesome,” JJ said. “My parents have been saying for months how they want to paint their place.”

Brandon looked at Paul. “This the friend you were telling me about?”

Paul nodded.

“Wait, Paul,” JJ said. “Did you already tell this complete stranger that my parents wanted a fresh coat on their house and possibly offer for him to do the job?”

“That does about sum it up, yeah,” Paul said.

JJ clapped his shoulder, then squeezed his skinny fingers. “Thanks! My parents have been dragging their heels for too long on this.”

“Whoa, hold up,” Brandon said. “Nothing’s been set in stone yet. We don’t have any concrete plans for me to do this job.”

“Yet,” JJ said. “What are you doing on Friday?”

Brandon blinked. “The usual. Wake up, work all night, go home, and try to sleep with all the noise that’ll be in the apartment.”

“Ooh, a night shift.” JJ shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. You probably start around – what? – seven or eight? Come to my parents’ place for an early dinner at five. You can meet them, tell them what you can do, and you all can see if it’d be a good fit for you.”

“But, wait, don’t your parents need to have a say in this?” Brandon asked.

“They actually wouldn’t care,” Paul said. “It’s kind of how they are.”

Brandon frowned. “What about my wife and kids?”

“Bring them,” JJ said. “My parents are used to the chaos.”

“And you’re sure?” Brandon asked, although he was looking at Paul.

“This would be a great opportunity,” Paul said. “A first step to bring you to a better path, Brandon. If you’re too uncomfortable with it, we won’t force you, but I think this is a great idea.”

A long breath filled the following silence, with Brandon glancing around the cathedral again, then finally he met Paul’s gaze again. “Alright, I’ll do it. Give me the details and we’ll be there.”

Paul leaned back against the Schmidt’s plush couch, sighing with both relief and satisfaction. Relief, as it had been a long couple of days and not much could beat one of Mr. Schmidt’s steaks, and satisfaction, as he was watching the beginnings of his latest endeavor bearing fruit.

Fruits which bore a great genesis to Brandon’s new, and soon to be better, life.

Excited murmurs sounded from a second-story room, where Brandon and Mr. Schmidt were in the midst of walking through the house and talking about what colors Mr. Schmidt wanted for each room. During dinner, after the obligatory awkward greetings and somewhat stiffened – yet eventually loosened with time and food – conversation ended, Brandon showed JJ’s parents before and after pictures of his own apartment. It had apparently been impressive enough to instantly allow the Schmidts to feel safe with Brandon doing the job on their place.

Not that Paul had any doubt. The Schmidts were suckers for doing someone a good turn, and it wasn’t like they didn’t have the credits to spare in case Brandon’s work turned out to be subpar and they needed to hire someone else to fix it.

Chuckles rang from the dining room as Mrs. Schmidt and Jess, Brandon’s wife, continued chatting over another bottle of dark Neirean ale, though that was dim in comparison to the roars of glee and gales found in the living room where Paul now rested.

Brandon’s children, Keller and Klaus, both laughed as they floated several feet in the air, bellies facing down, clothes and brilliantly blond hair flapping in the breeze. The source of the powerful gusts, standing in the room’s center, was JJ, smirking at the epicenter of his tiny, almost lazy whirlwind. Both Paul and JJ had played with the kids after dinner ended, but the little ones exhausted Paul far too quickly for their liking. Thankfully, JJ had Paul’s back and entertained them with his Gift.

Until JJ’s mother, just visible through a doorway, waved at them. Upon placing them down, Jess explained to her children to thank the Schmidts for the meal, but it was almost time to go as Brandon’s shift started soon. Instead of gratitude, the children groaned due to the end of playtime. A swift glare from their mother got them to give a hurried thanks, then they trudged into the dining room.

JJ sat down next to Paul, taking a long breath to refill his lungs.

“That was nice of you,” Paul said.

“It was nothing,” JJ said. “Not nearly as good as what you did for Brandon and his family.”

“It wouldn’t have been so quickly successful if your family wasn’t so generous.”

JJ waved it away. “This is just what we do. But you did all the hard work, getting them here. Don’t try to belittle what you did.”

Paul smirked. “Thanks. I’m just happy things are looking better for them.”

JJ nodded, though his eyes seemed distant. He got like that sometimes. Usually, it was when he knew their superiors at the temple were doing something grand and life-changing, like aiding the Peace Keepers in a mission or outlining a new law for the Republic. JJ had always wanted to be a part of those tasks, but as a priest-in-training he wasn’t ready for it yet. Well, he wasn’t ready according to their superiors. If it were up for JJ, he’d tag along, if not lead, every one of those important duties.

The most recent task had their temple’s highest superior, Bishop Diego, investigate a mine in some mountain range closer to Linick with a local Supporter bishop. Why they didn’t choose bishops from Linick, Paul hadn’t an idea, but Bishop Diego suddenly left a couple days ago with barely a word. Then, that night, some priests and deacons left for the same mine, leaving only one deacon to run the temple at the moment.

Whatever had happened at that mine must have been extremely important. And JJ was likely annoyed, again, that he couldn’t be involved.

“Hey,” Paul said, patting JJ’s shoulder. “Look, you’re going to do amazing things, too. You’ll be a priest in a year or two, then you can also do so many incredible things like Bishop Diego.”

JJ huffed. “Thanks, but I’d rather do them now. It’s not like I–”

JJ stopped, then looked down at his buzzing wristband. The ID showed Deacon Mark, the one still at the temple, was calling. JJ quickly answered.

“Hello?” JJ said. “Yes, I’m still here. Yes, he’s with me.”

JJ mouthed “earpiece” and Paul quickly slid the tiny piece from his own wristband and placed it in his ear, tapping JJ’s wristband to link to the call.

“I’m here,” Paul said. “What’s going on?”

“Just wanted to let you two know,” Deacon Mark began, “to head to East Hospital when you’re done. Bishop Diego’s back and resting there as we speak.”

“Is he alright?” Paul asked.

“What happened to him?” JJ demanded. “Was this from the mission?”

“Yes to both,” Deacon Mark said. “But you’ll get details at the hospital. When can you get there?”

“We’re leaving now,” JJ said, rising.

“We’re leaving in a few minutes,” Paul corrected, joining his friend. JJ glared, but Paul held up a hand. “We’re almost done with this. But we’ll be there as soon as we can.”

“Alright,” Deacon Mark said. “I will see you both soon.”

The call ended, though JJ’s glare didn’t.

“We can’t just leave them without even saying goodbye,” Paul said.

“This is important, Paul,” JJ said.

“So is this, JJ.”

JJ’s nostrils flared, then he took another breath. “I’ll be by the door.”

Paul wanted to call out to JJ as he stormed away. He didn’t want JJ to think that he didn’t care for Bishop Diego’s well-being, but at that moment Brandon and Mr. Schmidt returned to the dining room. Brandon’s family rose to leave.

I can talk with JJ on the way to the hospital. Paul turned to the dining room. Right now, I need to see this through.

“Thank you,” Brandon said, clenching Paul’s hand in a crushing grip. “For everything. If you ever need anything, just let me know.”

“Please,” Paul said. “I’m just glad I could help.”

“You did more than that.” Brandon’s gruff voice broke a little. “I’ve already got three interviews lined up and this side-gig. Because of you, I feel optimistic for the first time in years.”

Paul beamed, his heart warming. Whatever drama waited at the hospital was likely important, but at the moment, this was what truly mattered. Seeing a soul find its freedom, or at least the start of it. Nothing could be more satisfying, more fulfilling.

“I’m happy to have been of service to you,” Paul said. “If I can do anything else to help, please let me know.”

“Stop that. You’ve done enough.” Brandon looked over Paul’s shoulder, where JJ was visible at the front door. “Did something happen?”

Paul sighed. So much for enjoying the moment. “Yeah, with our bishop. We don’t know details, though.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Brandon said and, even in his gruff tone, Paul didn’t detect any sarcasm. “But, you being you, you’ll probably stick your nose in it until you find a way to help, won’t you?”

Paul chuckled. “That sounds about right.”

“So get to you, then, and save someone else’s world.”