Chapter 38 – Resting Period

Chapter 38 – Resting Period

 

Seris stood at the heart of the Cathedral of Sunlight, hands clasped gently before her chest.

Warm light poured down from the vaulted glass ceiling high above, fractured into soft gold and pale white by intricate stained panels that depicted the triumphs of the Light. The glow settled over her like a blessing made tangible, brushing her skin with a constant, comforting warmth. It illuminated the countless figures gathered below.

After what happened in Elysium, the Church of Light had issued a proclamation to the entire world.

The dead goddess Vhal had been revealed.

Her existence now stood as a declared truth. Every nation, every order, every wandering adventurer had been called to action. All who bore the taint of the dead goddess were to present themselves before the Church and submit to purification under the Saintess.

Those who came willingly would be healed and restored.

Those who resisted would be treated as enemies of the world itself.

Equipped with detection devices personally designed by Kaerthis, the Binder of Craft and Creation, clerics and paladins had spread across Eiravel. Their search had been relentless. Adventuring guilds lent their strength. Mage towers contributed their knowledge. Temples of life opened their doors and their resources.

And so they came.

They came in a flood that had seemed endless at first.

Now, even the Cathedral’s vast central nave had been filled beyond what it was ever meant to hold. Bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder. The air carried the mingled scents of travel, worn leather, sweat, incense, and polished stone warmed by sunlight. A hesitant hymn drifted through the chamber, uneven and uncertain, voices from countless regions trying to find harmony with one another.

Seris could hear the tremble in their singing. Hope, yes. But also fear.

Many looked at her with shining eyes, filled with reverence and desperate trust.

Others… did not.

There were tight jaws. Narrowed gazes. Hands that clenched just a little too hard. Some stared as if she were their salvation. Others watched her as though she were a blade poised above their necks.

It hurt. A small ache pressed against her chest, quiet but persistent.

But it was okay. Seris straightened her posture slightly, drawing in a slow breath. She was the Saintess of Light. She could endure this much.

Threads of living light began to unfurl from her.

They emerged gently, like strands of silk woven from sunlight itself, drifting outward before settling upon each supplicant. The moment they connected, Seris felt them all.

Their exhaustion. Their pain. Their fear. Their anger.

The corruption was there too, a cold, oily presence clinging stubbornly to flesh and spirit alike. It stirred at her touch, then flowed toward her, drawn like moths to the flame.

Seris focused. The threads brightened.

A man near the front clenched his jaw, his shoulders rigid. “It… it’s starting,” he whispered, voice trembling.

“Hold still,” a cleric murmured beside him. “The Saintess is with you.”

Black seeped away, drawn out in slow, quiet currents. In its place, warmth spread. Gentle, steady, and whole.

The hymn faltered, then faded entirely as people became aware of what was happening within them. Gasps broke out. A sob here. A startled laugh there.

Seris felt it as clearly as if it were her own.

And slowly, the fear began to dissolve. The resentment loosened its grip. In its place came something softer.

Relief.

Gratitude.

Awe.

Something ticklish stirred inside her chest, light and buoyant. It made her want to smile even as she concentrated.

The work was difficult. It demanded focus and patience. Each thread required care. And she missed Big Sis. The thought slipped in quietly, carrying with it a faint, familiar ache.

But this… this made it worth it.

Well, this and the levels gained through the Blessing of Light. Seris pressed her lips together, trying not to let that thought show on her face. She was a pure and perfect Saintess. Yes, she was.

The final traces of corruption were drawn away. The threads of light shimmered, then dissolved into nothing. For a moment, there was silence. Then the supplicants began to move.

They shifted where they stood, testing their bodies with cautious motions.

“My body feels so light,” one man said, his voice trembling with disbelief. He lifted his arm as if expecting resistance that never came.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” another whispered. She pressed a hand to her side, eyes wide, as though waiting for pain that refused to return.

A third dropped to their knees, laughing and crying all at once.

As realization spread like wildfire, a cheer erupted.

It rolled through the Cathedral like thunder, rising from hundreds, then thousands of voices. Praise and gratitude filled the air, loud and overwhelming, crashing against the walls and echoing back again.

“Saintess!”

“Blessed be the Light!”

“Thank you!”

Seris felt heat rush to her cheeks. She fought to keep her expression composed, lifting her chin just slightly as she inclined her head.

“May you all be blessed under the Light,” she said, her voice carrying clearly despite the noise. “I shall always be praying for your happiness.”

She hoped it sounded dignified. Inside, she was squealing a little. Just a little.

Sir Theron stepped forward at her side, his presence steady and reassuring.

“This way, Saintess,” he said quietly.

She allowed herself to be guided away.

---

 

As they walked through the cathedral’s shining halls, the noise gradually softened behind them, replaced by the quieter rhythm of footsteps against polished stone.

Here, the cathedral felt more intimate despite its scale. Sunlight filtered through narrower windows, casting long beams across polished floors that gleamed like mirrors. The walls were adorned with frescoes depicting the history of the Church, each one rendered in meticulous detail. Scenes of ancient battles, of miracles performed, of Saintesses past guiding lost souls back into the light.

Clerics and acolytes lined the path as she walked, each bowing deeply as she passed.

“Saintess.”

“Your Grace.”

“May the Light guide you.”

Seris joyfully smiled and nodded in return. Her life was just so different now.

Once, she had been forced to move through the world unnoticed, hiding from stone and fire and hostile glares. Now every gaze followed her with expectation, with admiration, with hope.

It was a little overwhelming. But also a little nice.

When they finally stopped before her private quarters, the doors were already open, attendants stepping aside the moment they approached. The interior beyond was quiet, a stark contrast to the vibrant energy of the cathedral.

Sir Theron cleared his throat.

“Thank you for your hard work as always, Saintess.”

His voice was steady, but there was a faint stiffness to it, as though the words had been practiced.

Seris turned to him, tilting her head slightly. “Sir Theron?”

He hesitated. He always hesitated. But today, something in his posture shifted. His shoulders straightened. His jaw tightened, as if he had reached a decision he could no longer delay.

Sir Theron Luxvale stepped forward and bowed deeply.

“Again, I must apologize for not recognizing you when we first met.”

Seris blinked, caught off guard.

“We should never have left you alone for so long,” he continued, his voice lower now, weighed down by guilt. “We failed in our duty. We should have found you sooner. Reached out sooner.”

His hands clenched at his sides.

“I have faced horrors on the battlefield and held my ground,” he said quietly. “Yet when it mattered most, I failed to see what was before me. I failed you, my Saintess.”

He lifted his head, and for the first time, Seris saw the full weight of his guilt.

“You were out there. Alone. Carrying a burden that should have been ours to bear alongside you. And we did nothing, because we did not see.”

His voice dropped further. “How can we ever make it up to you, my Lady?”

Seris waved her hand, flustered. “It’s not your fault, Sir Theron,” she said. “I was very good at hiding.”

Then she paused, remembering herself. The Saintess of Light should always be composed, graceful, and dignified.

Like Big Sis.

Seris lowered her hands, bringing them together neatly before her.

“But if you are feeling guilty,” she added, her voice softening into something more formal, “then I forgive you.”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Her smile was gentle and measured.

Just like Big Sis.

“I will be counting on you in the future, my knight.”

For a moment, Sir Theron simply stared at her.

Something in his expression shifted. The weight of guilt did not disappear, but it settled into something steadier. Something resolute.

“I will protect you with my life,” he said

There was a quiet confidence in his voice now, a clarity that had not been there before.

He bowed once more, then turned and left.

The door closed softly behind him.

---

 

Seris stood there for exactly three seconds.

Then she turned on her heel, took a few quick steps, and threw herself onto her bed.

The mattress sank under her weight with a soft, welcoming give. Plush layers embraced her at once, the fine sheets cool against her skin before quickly warming. She rolled onto her side, then onto her back, then onto her stomach, arms wrapping around a pillow as she buried her face into it. The fabric brushed her cheek, smooth and faintly crisp, carrying a gentle scent of clean linen and sunlight that lingered like a quiet promise of rest.

“Comfy…” she murmured into the pillow, her voice slightly muffled.

She rolled again, slower this time, savoring the softness beneath her. The tension in her limbs melted away bit by bit, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up now that she was alone. For a few seconds, she allowed herself to simply exist, cocooned in warmth and quiet.

Then she stilled.

Her smile softened. Her eyes closed. Her focus turned inward.

She reached across the link that had been carefully established, stretching her awareness toward that distant, familiar warmth that had become so precious to her.

Big Sis? Her call drifted outward, tentative but hopeful.

There was no response. Seris frowned slightly, her brows drawing together.

Big Sis? She tried again, pushing a little harder this time. The effort made her head feel faintly tight, like pressing against something that refused to give. Still nothing.

Her fingers curled into the sheets.