79 - Innate
Mariana was still staring at him, still processing. Still trying to decide whether she should be more concerned… or more embarrassed.
“You inherited it.” She had said.
And he didn’t deny it. Not even a little. That alone should have been enough warning.
But before she could spiral further into that thought, Pope Aristophane IX’s gaze shifted from Zafiel back to her. Lingering. Studying. Quietly.
Mariana blinked. “Is there something on my face...?” She asked hesitantly.
The Pope didn’t answer immediately.
Because at that moment, he wasn’t looking at her face. He was looking deeper, far deeper. His eyes dimmed slightly. Not physically. But in perception. The world around him blurred, and something else took its place.
Faith Sense. A gift. A privilege. A burden. He had used it countless times before. To measure devotion. To observe divine affinity. To assess those who claimed to walk the path of faith.
And so, he looked at Mariana. At first, nothing. Blank. Ordinary. His brows furrowed.
Strange.
For someone of her lineage, for someone with confirmed divine affinity, there should have been something visible. Something distinct.
But there was nothing. No radiant glow. No structured flow. No defined presence. Just normal.
“Hm.”
Mariana tilted her head slightly. “Your Holiness?”
The Pope didn’t respond.
Because something felt off. Not wrong but incomplete. So he looked closer, focused, and sharpened his perception. And then his eyes widened significantly. Because it wasn’t that there was nothing.
It was too subtle. Too refined. Too... perfect. Mana flowed around her naturally. Constantly. And instead of merely existing, it was being converted steadily. Effortlessly. As if breathing. As if it were the most natural process in the world.
Her heart was doing it. Converting ambient mana into faith. Not forcefully, not consciously, but instinctively. Continuously. Endlessly.
The Pope’s breath stilled. Because that wasn’t normal. That wasn’t trained. That wasn’t learned. That was... innate.
“Impossible…” He murmured under his breath.
Mariana blinked. “Huh...?”
The Pope snapped out of it instantly, his expression smoothing over. Calm. Gentle. Composed. “Nothing.” He said, voice warm once more. “I was simply… admiring you.”
Mariana blinked again. “Admiring me...?”
He smiled. “Yes.” He nodded. “You resemble Darelene greatly.”
Mariana relaxed slightly. “Oh…”
The Pope reached out and gently placed his hand on her head, ruffling her hair lightly. Affectionate. Proud. “I have heard much about you,” he said softly. “In just over a month… you’ve made quite a name for yourself.”
Mariana’s cheeks warmed slightly. “I… just did what I could…”
“Nonsense,” he chuckled. “You have done more than most.” A pause. Then, his smile turned teasing. “You might even become the first female Pope in the history of the Temple of Astrid.”
Mariana froze. “A-Absolutely not.” Immediate. Firm. Zero hesitation.
The Pope blinked. Then laughed. “Such a quick refusal?”
“Yes.” she nodded seriously. “Very quick... very firm...”
Zafiel, beside her, said nothing. But his gaze flickered slightly. Watching. Listening.
“A pity,” the Pope mused lightly. “You would be extraordinary.”
“No thank you.” Mariana replied quickly.
“Very well,” he chuckled. “We will not force it upon you.” He gestured lightly. A nearby priest approached. “Bring refreshments.”
“Yes, Your Holiness.”
The priest departed. Silence settled briefly. Comfortable.
But Mariana’s mind wasn’t. Because something else lingered, a question. One that had been bothering her since earlier. Since the realization.
The Pope was barely mentioned in the novel…
Her brows furrowed slightly. Because if she was going to survive, to navigate this world and to escape Zafiel, she needed information. More than ever.
“Your Holiness?” She began carefully.
“Yes?”
“Why… have you never been replaced?” The question hung in the air.
Zafiel’s gaze shifted slightly, interested.
The Pope blinked, then smiled faintly. “Ah,” he exhaled softly. “That.”
Mariana leaned forward slightly, curious. Because in the novel, the Pope was barely present. Barely relevant. Which didn’t make sense. Not for someone of his position.
“Simply put,” Aristophane began, “no one has reached my level.”
Mariana blinked. “What...?”
He folded his hands calmly. “Just as a mage ascending to Archmage is rare…” he said, “a priest ascending to Pope is even rarer.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “So… there’s no one else qualified?”
“None,” he nodded. “Not yet.” A pause. Then his gaze softened as he looked at her. “But you…”
Mariana stiffened. “M-Me?”
“You have the potential.” He said simply.
Her stomach dropped. “No...”
“You could reach it,” he continued. “Sooner than you think.”
“No.”
“You are already—”
“Nope...!”
He blinked.
She shook her head. Firm. Unyielding. “I refuse.” Silence. Then, She added, more carefully, “… I’ll accept being a Saintess instead.” The words settled.
And for a moment, everything stilled. Then, Zafiel smiled.
Not faint. Not subtle. But deeply. Genuinely.
“… of course.” He murmured. Mariana stiffened slightly because his voice held certainty, not surprise.
Not speculation. Certainty. “You are the only one who fits that title.” He continued calmly.
Mariana blinked. “… what?”
His gaze met hers, steady. Unwavering. “Your kindness,” he said. “Your gentleness.”
Her cheeks warmed.
“And your defiance.” He added softly.
She froze.
“Your refusal to accept injustice,” he continued. “Your willingness to stand against it.”
Her breath caught.
Because those weren’t things she had openly shown. Not fully. Not clearly. And yet, he spoke as if he knew. As if he had seen everything.
“All of that,” he finished, “is what the people of Clematis need.”
Silence fell.
Mariana’s face flushed. Bright. Embarrassed. “I-It’s not that big of a deal...”
But inside, her thoughts spiraled.
Why does he sound so sure?? Why does he talk like he knows me?? Like he’s known me for years??
Her fingers curled slightly. Because it wasn’t just this. It wasn’t just his words. It was everything. The sweets. The books. The way he observed her, understood her, anticipated her.
This isn’t normal…
Her heart pounded.
This isn’t coincidence…
Her gaze flickered toward him. And he was already looking at her. Calm. Certain. Unshaken.
It’s like…
Her breath hitched.
He’s known me for a long time.
And somehow, that thought was far more terrifying than anything else she had faced so far.