Shrine Guardians' Gratitude

The Shrine Guardians' Gratitude rests in my palm like a coin carved from pale jade, its surface cool and surprisingly smooth for something that has weathered wind and rain. The disk is small, about the size of a thumb, with a lip of brass-washed metal that catches the light as you tilt it. Carved into its face are four guardian silhouettes, each one facing outward in a protective circle, their lines clean as if etched by a patient master with a single steady hand. The enamel-blue in their eyes glints when a torchlight catches them, and a subtle warmth radiates from the center, almost like a heartbeat you can feel through leather gloves. The texture is a study in contrasts: the stone-soft feel of the disk against the cool bite of the metal edge, the way the raised reliefs catch your nail as you turn it over to read the faint runes along the outer rim. The runes whirl into focus only when you tilt the talisman toward a shrine’s quiet doorway, as if it remembers the exact shrine you’ve chosen to honor. Lorekeepers speak of the Shrine Guardians themselves—statues that woke when a community fell to ruin, guiding the faithful back to the path of care and remembrance. This Gratitude token was said to be forged not from ore alone but from a handful of the guardians’ own patience—proof that mercy endures when the world seems to slip away. In practice, the Gratitude is a storyteller’s tool as much as a trinket. When kept close, it seems to hum with the presence of the watchers, and in moments of need it can become a small, tangible boon. Players tell of it lending a brief, soft shield to a wary party, or coaxing a healing pulse that seems to come from the shrine’s own heart. It is most often used during shrine rites or lors of public events, where sharing the charm with companions feels like passing a letter from one guardian to another—one that says, “Thank you for keeping watch.” I’ve watched it rotate between pouches and belt loops on a long journey, always rediscovered at a moment when a group needed a little more steadiness than the world would give on its own. Market talk, too, threads itself through its story. Word is that the Shrine Guardians' Gratitude can fetch a steady price on Saddlebag Exchange, a line of chatter that rises and falls with the rhythm of shrine activity and festival hushes. Traders whisper that demand spikes when a new shrine event draws people into the same corridor, and that seasoned collectors prize a clean, unblemished piece more for its lore than its glow. The Gratitude becomes less a mere object than a thread tying people to memory—an emblem of care that travels as far as the next shrine’s gate, and perhaps a little farther, if you listen closely to the guardians’ quiet, approving murmur. It asks you to step softly, to trade honestly, and to remember.