The Temple of Light hummed with its usual midday activity, priests moving through hallways with purposeful efficiency while supplicants came and went seeking divine guidance or cultivation assistance. Sister Elizabeth organized medical supplies in the preparation room, her golden eyes focused on cataloging inventory with the methodical attention that had become second nature over years of service.
The work was meditative, each bottle and bandage placed precisely where it belonged, creating order from the chaos of constant use and replenishment. She'd always found comfort in this routine, the simple act of maintaining readiness to help those who needed healing speaking to the core reason she'd joined the Temple in the first place.
Footsteps approached rapidly, breaking her concentration. Sister Margaret burst through the doorway with expression mixing urgency and concern, her usual composure fractured by whatever news she carried.
