Chapter 867: Temple Preparations
A pearl of sun, swallowed by swirling grey, bled weakly onto the obsidian peaks of the Fire Elf Temple. Elffire City, usually a blaze of crimson and gold, was muted, hushed in the pre-dawn mist. Bloom Week loomed – a single day away, a national holiday in Sakura Abode, heavy with the scent of anticipation.
Inside, the temple thrummed, not with the usual quiet reverence, but with a frenetic energy. Hammer blows rang out, sharp and metallic, against the rhythmic thud of bare feet on polished stone. A priestess, her scarlet robes stained with what looked suspiciously like melted wax, barked orders in a voice like crackling embers.
"More saffron! And for the love of Ignis, someone fetch the phoenix feathers! The Offering must be perfect!" Someone shouted
A younger temple employee, his face smudged with soot, scrambled past, nearly colliding with a wizened elder painstakingly arranging crimson blossoms – each petal a tiny flame in the dim light. The air hung thick with the spicy perfume of incense, battling the metallic tang of smoke and the underlying sweetness of the approaching blooms. The temple’s usual serenity was replaced by a controlled frenzy, a vibrant chaos that spoke of devotion and the impending celebration. High Priestess Lyra, her face etched with a mixture of anticipation and weariness, oversaw the final preparations. ’Another Bloom Week,’ she thought, ’another ten thousand visitors to manage.’ She silently checked a meticulously detailed schedule, her fingers tracing the list of offerings, flower arrangements, and ceremonial duties. A flicker of worry crossed her mind – the shipment of rare moonpetal incense was delayed. In the temple courtyard, teams of temple assistants moved with practiced efficiency. They arranged thousands of cherry blossom branches, their pale pink blossoms a stark contrast to the temple’s red and gold architecture. One young assistant, Rami, fumbled with a particularly stubborn branch, a silent frustration bubbling in her chest. ’If I don’t get this done quickly, High Priestess Lyra will notice,’ she thought, her heart quickening its pace. Meanwhile, in the temple kitchens, chefs worked tirelessly, preparing vast quantities of ceremonial rice cakes and sweet blossom tea. The Temple Cook Theron, usually jovial, felt the pressure mounting. ’Everything must be perfect,’ he muttered to himself, meticulously inspecting each cake for blemishes. He secretly worried about the delicate sugar blossoms they planned to adorn the cakes; he’d heard a rumor that the sugar shipment contained a batch of unusually brittle crystals.
Cook Theron adjusted his toque, the familiar weight a comfort against the nervous flutter in his stomach. Twenty-two years. Twenty-two Bloom Weeks of meticulously planned feasts, of perfectly balanced spice blends, of succulent meats roasted to a faultless crisp. He’d anticipated every contingency, from the fickle temperament of the desert winds that threatened to extinguish his charcoal braziers to the unpredictable dietary needs of the visiting dignitaries.
This year, however, felt different. The High Priestess, Lyra, had requested a dish unlike any he’d ever prepared – a legendary confection said to bloom with celestial light during the sacred moonrise ceremony. The recipe, scrawled on ancient parchment, was cryptic, filled with allusions to forgotten herbs and arcane techniques. He’d spent weeks deciphering it, his usually meticulous notes now a chaotic jumble of crossed-out attempts and frantic scribbles. Sleep had been a luxury he’d sacrificed, his days a blur of foraging for rare ingredients in the treacherous mountain passes and painstakingly recreating ancient cooking methods.
He’d even consulted the Temple’s oldest scholar, a wizened woman who mumbled riddles and offered cryptic advice in hushed whispers. The pressure was immense, not just from the High Priestess, but from the weight of tradition, the expectation of perfection that rested upon his shoulders like a mantle of responsibility. But Theron, despite the gnawing anxiety, felt a thrill course through him. This wasn’t just about fulfilling his duty; it was about creating something truly extraordinary, something worthy of the Bloom Week, something worthy of Lyra’s approval. He took a deep breath, the scent of roasting spices filling his lungs, and smiled. He was ready.
Throughout the whole year, it was rare occasions when the temples were closed to the public. But the day before the Bloom Week started, every Sakurean knew that all temples throughout the whole Sakurean territory would be closed for them to arrange final details for the Bloom Week festivities.
High Priestess Lyra, her face a mask of calm authority, moved through the temple with a sense of purpose. It has been almost 40 years since she assumed the position of the High Priestess of the Fire Elf Temple. She assumed this position when she was just a teenager. Lyra Akahane was her full name. The Akahane Family has been taking care of the Fire Elf Temple for centuries, so it’s right to say it has always been Lyra’s destiny to become a High Priestess. And we can say that she has extremely high talent for this position, as during her reign, the Fire Temple became even more famous and prestigious.
Lyra’s eyes, a deep amber, missed nothing as she oversaw the transformation of the Fire Elf Temple into a vision of floral splendor. With a deft hand, she directed her staff, ensuring every detail was attended to. Cherry blossom branches, heavy with blooms, were carefully positioned to create a frame for the temple’s intricate architecture. Paper lanterns, in hues of crimson and gold, were hung with precision, their warm glow adding to the festive atmosphere.
As the sun climbed higher, the temple buzzed with activity. Lyra’s presence was a beacon of calm amid the controlled chaos. She paused to adjust a wayward blossom, her fingers gentle as she ensured each petal was perfectly placed. Her attention to detail was unwavering as she checked and rechecked the intricate web of preparations.
The High Priestess’s voice, rich and commanding, carried above the bustling temple. She offered words of encouragement, her tone a soothing balm to frazzled nerves. To the temple assistants, she was a steady presence, a figure of reassurance in the whirlwind of Bloom Week preparations. Under her watchful eye, the temple took on a life of its own, each corner a tribute to the beauty of the season.
Throughout the day, the pace intensified. The incense finally arrived, albeit late. Rami successfully arranged the last of the blossom branches. Temple Cook Theron, despite his initial concerns, produced flawless ceremonial cakes and other festival dishes to perfection, and some of the dishes that needed to be done only during the festival, he still pre-cooked and arranged the most complicated cooking procedures.
Lyra, despite her initial apprehension, found a sense of calm amidst the controlled chaos. By nightfall, the Fire Elf Temple stood ready, a beacon of vibrant color and organized energy, prepared for the influx of visitors during Bloom Week.
The Season of Blossoms had arrived to announce the blooming cherry trees all over the Sakurean Territory!