86 - Nothing
The months that followed did not unfold the way Mariana had expected. They were… smoother. Suspiciously smoother.
At first, she had braced herself for difficulty—long hours of study, complicated rituals, exhausting control over divine energy that would leave her drained and frustrated.
She had prepared for failure. For setbacks. For the kind of slow, grueling progress that most protagonists suffered through before achieving anything meaningful.
But instead—
“Again.”
Mariana raised her hand, her focus steady. Light gathered—not violently, not erratically—but gently. Like a quiet flame being coaxed into existence. It formed at her palm, soft and warm, before dispersing outward into the air like drifting petals.
A nearby priest exhaled in awe.
“Perfect.” High Priest Bane murmured.
Mariana blinked. “Already...?”
Across the hall, Pope Aristophane IX watched silently.
Too fast, far too fast.
What others struggled to grasp in months—years even—Mariana absorbed in days. Theology? She understood it instinctively. Faith manipulation? Natural. Healing arts? Her affinity was so precise it bordered on unnatural.
No. Not bordered. It was.
Even now, as she stood there, the Pope could faintly sense it again. That quiet, continuous conversion. Mana flowing into her, turning into faith without resistance, without loss. A self-sustaining system. A miracle.
“That will be enough for today.” Aristophane said at last.
Mariana lowered her hand. “Already?”
Bane hesitated. “… Yes.”
She frowned slightly.
That had been happening a lot lately. Lessons ending early. Training being shortened. Priests exchanging glances when they thought she wasn’t looking. It didn’t take long before she got her answer.
“Pack your things.”
Mariana blinked. “… excuse me?”
The Pope stood before her, hands folded calmly. “You will begin your pilgrimage.”
Her eyes widened. “A-Already...?!”
“Yes.”
“But I just started—”
“You are ready.”
“I-I'm not ready—”
“You are.” He repeated gently.
Silence.
Mariana stared at him, searching for any sign of hesitation. There was none. “This feels like getting kicked out early.” She muttered.
The Pope chuckled. “Think of it as being trusted.”
“That... doesn’t make it less suspicious.”
But in the end, she went.
The pilgrimage changed everything. City after city. Town after town. Places she had only read about—now real, now vivid, now alive before her eyes. And everywhere she went—
“Saintess…!”
“Please, help my child—”
“Bless you… bless you…”
Mariana healed the sick. Treated wounds that had festered for years. Eased pain that medicine could not touch. And when healing was not enough, she gave what she could—food, supplies, aid sent from the Temple.
She worked. She walked. She listened. And slowly, quietly, her name spread. From whispers to recognition, to reverence.
“The Saintess of Clematis…”
Not a title given lightly. Not one easily earned. But she earned it anyway.
—
“Still nothing…”
Mariana stood at the edge of a bustling marketplace, her eyes scanning the surroundings carefully.
Hidden signs. Symbols. Anything.
The information guild... I knew it exists. Stories like this always had one.
A shadow network. An unseen web connecting everything. And if she wanted control, real control over her situation, she needed it.
“… nothing here either.” She sighed.
But she didn’t stop looking. Not in this town. Not in the next. Not in any of them. And whenever she had the chance, she met with Sadia.
“Still no leads?” Sadia asked, sipping her tea.
Mariana shook her head. “None.”
Sadia frowned. “Same here.”
A pause. Then both sighed. “Figures.” They muttered in unison. But despite that, they kept trying.
—
Meanwhile, the empire moved like a machine. Precise. Relentless. Unstoppable.
In the palace, Empress Lilith sat across from Grand Duchess Darelene, the two women sharing quiet tea beneath the afternoon sun.
“She’s grown...” Lilith murmured.
Darelene smiled softly. “She has.”
“And quickly.”
“… yes.”
A pause. Then Lilith added quietly, “Too quickly.”
Darelene said nothing.
—
Elsewhere, steel clashed.
“Again!”
Grand Duke Maximus stood firm, watching as knights sparred under his command. Beside him, Grand Prince Eirwen moved through the ranks, correcting stances, sharpening discipline.
The Crimson Knight’s Order grew stronger. Sharper. Ready.
And at the center of it all, Zafiel. Documents piled before him. Reports. Requests. Execution orders. “Approved.” His pen moved. “Denied.” Another signature. “Proceed.”
A flick of ink. Rebels surfaced. Rebels fell. Plots formed. Plots were crushed. Nothing escaped him. Nothing slipped through. And yet—
“Soon.” His hand paused. “Everything...” His gaze darkened slightly. “… will fall into place.”
—
Back in the Temple, a gathering. Bishops from across the empire. All seated. All silent.
Pope Aristophane stood at the center. “My great-granddaughter,” he began calmly, “has exceeded expectations.”
Murmurs. Approving. Respectful.
“She is,” he continued, “without question… the Saintess this empire needs.”
No objections. None dared.
Time passed. Not slowly. Not gently. But steadily. Inevitably. Until—
—
“Tomorrow.”
Zafiel stood alone in his chamber. The night was quiet. Still. “… finally.” His fingers rested lightly against the window. “… I have everything.” His reflection stared back at him. Calm. Composed. Certain.
“After all this time,” a faint smile, “… you’re here.”
—
Elsewhere, Mariana shivered. She didn’t know why. But something felt… wrong. “… I don’t want to go…” She muttered, hugging her pillow slightly.
Tomorrow, Zafiel’s 22nd birthday. The event. The turning point. Even if things had already changed, that day still felt important. Too important.
“I should just skip it…” she whispered.
“Yes, you should not.”
Mariana froze. Slowly, very slowly, she turned her head. “… Father?”
Grand Duke Maximus stood at the doorway. And behind him, her entire family.
“Wha-What’s going on...?” She asked cautiously.
“Meeting.” He said simply.
Minutes later, they were all gathered. The atmosphere, serious. Unusually so.
Maximus stepped forward. “There has been a change of plans.”
Mariana’s stomach dropped. “What... kind of change…?”
Silence. Then, “You will attend the Crown Prince’s birthday.”
She blinked. “… we will?”
“No.”
Her breath caught.
“You will.”
“… what?”
“You will go alone.”
The room went quiet.
Mariana stared at him. “… alone?”
“Yes.”
“W-Why…?”
Maximus’ gaze remained steady. “Because the rest of us will be returning to Forebros.”
Her mind blanked. “… what?”
“Urgent matters.”
Darelene nodded slightly. Eirwen crossed his arms. No one argued. No one disagreed. Because whatever it was, it was serious.
“… so I’m the only one staying…?” Mariana asked slowly.
“Yes.”
“… and I have to go…?”
“Yes.”
Silence. Heavy. Unavoidable.
Mariana swallowed because suddenly, that event, that place, that moment, felt a lot more dangerous than before. And for the first time in a while, she felt truly alone.
“… understood.”
But far away in the palace, Zafiel smiled. Because everything was exactly where it needed to be.