Galactically speaking, religion is a deeply personal idea. A study done at the Galactic University roughly three millennia before your temporal latitude found that the fewer restrictions placed on it- and the less it was acknowledged from those considered to be “leaders”- the less people came to care on a macro level, and while nothing was ever officially done about it the true rulers of the Empire slowly and unofficially phased out any mention of each of the sixteen major religions. This had the intended consequence of making most people assume everyone else had the same beliefs as them. By and large, locally speaking, this was a fairly accurate assumption and so- barring the odd planetary holy war usually erupting around the time of any given planet’s discovery of spaceflight- the Empire was afterwards fairly peaceful on that front.
On Malyria the practice of tree worship had sprouted among the earliest settlers, probably as a result of some misguided second-wave newcomers incorrectly interpreting a man named Farmer Johnson’s excitement at the new buds on his pear tree one late spring day. Despite the fact that he was later found insane and that the tree promptly died two days after the incident in question, a mystical belief took root in the surrounding townships that the trees were in fact the overlords of the planet. Bolstering this belief was the relative scarcity of trees during that time, and the practice grew until people began to construct living tree prisons for themselves as a form of penance. Tree Worship as a way of life was a dominant factor in most Malyrians’ lives until a local leader named Baron Fleming, of no particular noble birth, burned every tree on the planet and as far as anyone could tell wasn’t immediately struck dead and sent to The Place of the Foul Root. In the current age the lone holdover practice is that burials are not considered sacred unless they take place in the shadow of a tree at half past four in the afternoon (by Quadrant One Standards).
On the third evening after James’ disappearance, Melora Morris strode up a hill and checked her watch. It was four fifteen (QOS). A beautiful willow tree stood to her left, drooping sadly in the lack of breeze. It had no shadow yet. She sat and waited for the appointed time, thinking about how much she was going to miss her James. Of the sons she’d had so far, he was the best. Then again, she thought, maybe she wouldn’t actually miss him that much. He had also been the most recent, and if they were getting better as time went on it was entirely possible that the next one would be significantly better. Much had changed in time since the policeman had come to her door. She’d been thinking a lot about the conversation they’d had, and she’d come to remember that when James had been extracted from her she almost had named him Jason until he had thrown up on her, causing her to lose her train of thought. The more she remembered and the more she thought about how cute the policeman really had been (in his smart uniform with the bright, beautiful star badge) the more she thought maybe the whole scenario wasn’t a total loss. Anyway at that point anger was a useless emotion, and given that there was no body at least she wouldn’t have to pay for a full-on burial. The two of them had put forward a decent eighteen year run but honestly, how good had the boy actually been? Wasn’t there an even money chance she would have a better one? The first two had been actual failures of a decreasing degree, so the idea that she was ramping up to something really special had good reason to gain traction in her mind. She checked her watch again. Four twenty five. Five more minutes. She hoped the moon would come out. It’s tough to find the shadow of a tree when the moon isn’t out. Half past four QOS on her side of the planet may have been the middle of the night, but things must have been done this way for a reason. It had to be better to do it that way than not to.
She’d brought James’ favorite corduroy vest. Her plan was to fold it up, dig a little hole, and put it inside. She began to claw gently at the dirt, but as the moon showed no sign of revealing itself she figured she might as well give it up as a bad job. There was a pine tree in her backyard. She’d just wait for a moony night and do it then. With a sigh that spoke of regret and wasted effort, she strode purposefully back down the hill, home, and to bed. She had to be at work in the morning, after all.
