Despite the warm, sunny day, Lorelei felt like a prisoner in a nightmare as she walked down the open gallery. Diacon Valente was walking before her, his black clothes making him look akin to a giant bat - menacing, yet out of place in the fragile tranquility that had just returned to the temple grounds. The broad-shouldered knight wearing Ildemar’s colors, who walked respectfully a step behind her, was of little help to elevate her anxiety. She knew the knight was ordered by Noah to guard her, but between the two men, she felt like a prisoner escorted to their judge. And, in a way, it was exactly this.
On the way to Bishop Petronius’ quarters, they met several priests, novices, and even a pair of Night Brothers doing their rounds. The reverence and fear in their eyes, their stiff bows, and the loud whispers after she walked past them, made Lorelei’s stomach twist. In just a few days, the rumors about what she did during the vapir incident had somehow managed to spread. How far was still uncertain, but she suspected that this was the reason for the sudden summons by Bishop Petronius. He was going to talk to her about her sainthood. And more than likely, he was going to try to take her away from Ildemar, maybe even send her back to the mainland.
Lorelei bit her lips and her eyes burned. It was unfair! Just when she finally found happiness, finally confessed her feelings to Noah, finally… had her first real kiss, the universe wanted to take it all from her! She knew that Noah wouldn’t let her go without a fight, but this made her even more anxious. What if he got hurt trying to keep her in Norden? What if her friends suffered the wrath of the Church because of her?
Her nails dug into the soft of her hands as she wracked her brain for a way out of this precarious situation. But before she could find even a glimmer of a solution, They arrived at their destination. Diacon Valente knocked on the dark wood of the door and announced her presence before stepping to the side to let Lorelei in.
“We will be waiting outside, Lady Norden,” he replied to her puzzled gaze. “The Bishop wants to have a private conversation.”
Lorelei gave him a cold nod and entered. The door closed behind her, cutting off the temple’s bustle completely. With a pounding heart, she dared to look around.
The first thing that caught her attention was the lack of opulence. As a high-standing clergy and the head of Norden’s branch of the Church, she expected to see gilded devotion altars, bejeweled reliquaries, draperies made of silks and precious brocade, expensive rugs, and even more expensive furniture. In comparison, Bishop Petronius’ quarters were borderline ascetic. Warm-brown wainscots reached slightly above the middle of the walls where they weren’t occupied by ceiling-high bookshelves. The oak furniture was intricately made but well-used, especially a padded chair near a brass brazier. A filigree silver insignia of the two gods hung on one of the walls, its intersecting moons made up of thousands of flower vines. Below it stood a mahogany altar with a vase of fresh seasonal flowers and two golden wine cups - the most expensive things in the room, except maybe for the gorgeous folding screen standing just beside the large four-poster bed. The vividly painted panels depicted scenes from the life and tribulations of Saint Emina - her fight against the Giant King, surviving the fiery breath of a dragon, slaying an army of undead fiends while resisting their corrupting touch.
Looking at the colorful images, Lorelei shivered. Was she going to become like Saint Emina? A shell of her former self, a husk for an all-powerful being to wear and blend in with the mortals? If she really had no other choice but to become a saint, would any part of her remain, or was she going to disappear completely as Yanosh had warned her?
“I see you too are a connoisseur of fine craftsmanship, Lady Norden, but I’d like to have your attention now.”
Lorelei stifled a scream as the sudden voice coming from the bed startled her. Lying propped on several large pillows, Bishop Petronius gave her a crooked smile.
“Don’t react like you have seen a ghost… Although I might look like one”
Under the cover of the fluffy duvet and the white nightshirt, his gaunt body almost disappeared like a stick buried under a pile of snow. His sharp features had become even thinner and sharper, big dark circles rimming his eyes. But when their gazes met, there was fire burning in the depths of his pupils.
“You look surprisingly well for someone supposedly on the brink of death, Your Holiness,” mumbled Lorelei.
“All thanks to the blessing of Saint Emina.” He kissed the small figurine of his patron hanging from the rosary around his neck. “Still, if not for you, I’d be a cursed bloodless corpse right now.”
The old cleric waved at a chair next to the bed for Lorelei to sit down.
“Please, don’t think that I’m not grateful for what you did, my lady. You truly are my benefactor. But let’s not beat around the bush. You know why I summoned you here, Duchess.”
“I don’t.” Lorelei sat slowly on the edge of the chair and clasped her hands to stop them from trembling.
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“You are a saint.”
“I’m not, Your Holiness.”
“Then how do you explain the purifying blessing you’ve summoned?”
“We are in the House of the Gods. I prayed for a miracle and the Two Fathers responded.”
For the first time, something akin to a smile stretched the old man’s lips, but, like a winter sun, it was short-lived.
“I don’t think the ambassadors from the Capital would buy into this, Lady Norden. The Church has its ways to check for traces of divinity… or for the presence of a suitable host thereof.”
“You’ve already sold me out!?” Lorelei couldn’t contain her appallment. “The one you call your benefactor!?”
“Give me some credit.” Bishop Petronius huffed. “We might not have been on the best of terms, but I’d never stoop so low. But, as you have probably already seen, the truth has its ways to surface. The whole temple is abuzz. It would be naive to think that the news won’t reach the proper people on the mainland.”
Lorelei grabbed the gray fabric of her habit and stared at her knees before finally managing to find her voice.
“So then what? Someone will come and drag me to Limris?”
“Why viewing it so negative? Under the Church’s protection, all your needs would be taken care of. Being a saint is an honor. A mantle many would willingly take.”
“In exchange for my soul, life, and memories!” Lorelei lifted her head abruptly and locked eyes with the old cleric. “Or did you think I don’t know the price of sainthood, Your Holiness?”
“Who told you all that?”
“A friend I…” Lorelei couldn’t force herself to say ‘trust’. “A knowledgeable benefactor.”
“As it seems.” Bishop Petronius didn’t even care to deny it. “Indeed, when one receives the blessing of divinity, one has to pay a price. But it isn’t true that all memories are completely forgotten. From all the records of ascending saints, we do know that some of their core traits remain unchanged.”
“Core traits?”
“Mannerisms and core habits. The feeling of connection to the host’s loved ones. The original’s basic likes and dislikes. Affinities towards certain subjects-”
“So a thing will try to pretend to be me while I’m gone forever!” shouted Lorelei.
“A saint will also honor their host’s final wish,” continued the old cleric, ignoring her outburst. “Like protecting the host’s precious people from harm. Any harm. A bargain many would be happy to make.”
“Y-you…!” Lorelei gasped. “You are threatening my family!”
“Not me. But there is no doubt the higher-ups would consider using as many people as necessary to get you to comply with their demands. Running is not an option. And neither is fighting.”
“And what if my wish is to level the Church to the ground?” hissed Lorelei and stared into the man’s face.
“The summoning ritual has precautions for exactly such cases.”
“Says the man of the cloth.”
“You are free to put it to the test.” Bishop Petronius’ cold blue eyes pierced her. “But if you really want to guarantee the safety of the ones you love, you know what to do.”
Lorelei looked away, her gaze falling on the night table next to the bed. An empty soup bowl and a platter with bread, cheese, and butter were still there from the Bishop’s breakfast. A gleaming surface caught the sunlight streaming from the windows and blinded her for a moment. The old cleric’s words reached her from afar:
“Life is precarious, child. Death can rip us away at any moment and separate us from our loved ones. Then isn’t it better to sacrifice a life predetermined for death for a greater purpose? You can protect your friends. Your Duke. All of Norden if you want. And all you need to pay is a single life. In return, you can gain the power to do miracles. To protect the weak and battle evil. Your ‘death’ to summon a saint will bring more good to the world than your life ever could, my child.”
“And who decides what’s evil, Father?” whispered Lorelei. “How should I… no, how could a being from another realm grasp the intricacies of our world?”
“The Church will always provide guidance to a newly-descended saint.”
“So who they name the enemy is the enemy? And what if they name Noah? Norden? The Binshi?”
“I told you. If your wish is for their lives to be safe, no one can force a saint to kill or harm them.”
“A caged bird with broken wings is still alive, but is it truly living?”
Lorelei suddenly stood up and smiled brightly at the confused Bishop Petronius.
“Indeed, Father, our conversation has opened my eyes. If I try to run, the Church will catch me using any means possible. If I try to resist, the Church will crush me and my home..”
“Then…?”
“Then there is a simple solution. If there is no vessel, there is nothing for the Church to chase after.”
Jumping swiftly, Lorelei grabbed the butter knife from the night table and pointed it towards her heart. Bishop Petronius’s panicked stream was mixed with a wild roar and a crash. A second later, a large hand grabbed her wrist while another one pulled her into a hug.
“I’m here, my love! Let go of the knife. It’s alright. I’m here now.” Noah’s warm voice shook Lorelei to her core. Her knees buckled and she hung limp and sobbing in his arms.