The Miracle of Shattered Glass
It was too late.
The moment she sensed there was no escaping it, time seemed to slow. The sharp glass shards cascading from above came into vivid, meticulous detail—every jagged edge laid bare.
Or rather, that was how it felt.
She reflexively stepped back from the center of the fall zone, but the spray of fragments was far too wide.
At this rate she might avoid serious injury, but minor cuts were inevitable.
"Kyaaah!"
At the startled screams of the worshippers, Cecilia reflexively covered her head with her hands.
In that instant, white light burst from her palms.
Clang!
The savage roar of glass shards striking the floor rang out right beside her.
Yet as the seconds ticked by, she felt no searing pain of her skull splitting open. No warm wetness trickled down.
Huh?
When she cracked open her tightly shut eyes, she saw people frozen in shock.
And at her feet, the glass shards that had fallen in a neat circle—no, they were powder now, mere remnants that deserved to be called dust.
...Why is it the glass that got pulverized instead of my head?
She awkwardly lowered her hands, and glass dust cascaded from the backs of them.
Then, from among the rigid crowd, someone shouted.
"Whoa! It's a miracle! God has watched over the Saintess!"
That cry was the signal flare.
The worshippers who had witnessed the miracle clasped their hands and began to marvel at the Saintess's majesty.
"Such brilliantly shining divine power!"
"As expected of the Saintess!"
...What?
Her startled heart now pounded for an entirely different reason.
This is divine power?
The divine power the Pope and priests used healed people, but this was...
Cecilia looked down at her hands, still faintly glowing, with a dubious expression.
They said the root of divine power is the power of purification, but it was physical purification?
The fact that her divine power took a different form—that her two hands had become weapons capable of turning even hard glass to powder—wasn't really the big problem.
The real problem was...
So how do I turn this off?
Surely she wouldn't have to live with glowing hands for the rest of her life.
As the thought of a future spent with self-illuminating hands made her dizzy, the Pope came running toward her, forgetting all dignity.
He was so startled that his face had gone as white as his ceremonial robes.
"Oh, God. Are you all right? Are you hurt anywhere...!"
"I'm fi—"
Before she could finish, the Pope seized both her shoulders and poured divine power into her. A massive white radiance, on a completely different scale from what had come from her own hands, enveloped her entire body.
It felt like being wrapped in a soft blanket dried in the sun.
Cecilia briefly savored the comfort before giving a small shake of her head.
"Your Holiness, I am unharmed. As you can see, I wasn't hurt at all."
Even if she had had a scratch, the divine power just poured into her would have erased every trace of it.
After carefully examining her with his eyes, he finally withdrew his hands.
"...It seems so. I am truly relieved."
The Pope let out a deep sigh of relief and smiled weakly.
"Still, just in case, let us go to the treatment room."
"I'm really fine..."
Cecilia trailed off, unable to readily agree.
She truly hadn't been hurt in the slightest, and more than that, she remembered the one who had shouted to her just before the glass fell.
"I'm worried about you."
The Pope lightly wrapped an arm around her shoulder.
Behind him, she could still see the murmuring worshippers and priests. Farther off, the knights of her family who had noticed the accident and were rushing over.
Finding no way out, Cecilia reluctantly nodded.
"Then I will impose on you for a moment."
In the brief moment she turned, led by the Pope, she quickly scanned the crowd.
But the man in the robe had vanished without a trace.
The place she was half-heartedly led to was a small room with a couple of simple beds, a wooden table, and a long sofa.
They called it a treatment room, so I thought there would be lots of patients...
Noticing her confusion, the Pope explained that it was a space for nobles who came to the temple seeking treatment and blessings.
As he personally set down warm tea and snacks, the Pope spoke.
"You must have been quite startled?"
Startled? That was an understatement.
Not a bolt from the blue, but glass shards—and calling them shards was generous; they were the size of windowpanes.
At the time she had been too shocked and disoriented to fully register it, but she had nearly had her head split in two.
Yet instead of confessing the truth, Cecilia offered an awkward smile.
"I was startled, but I'm fine. And I wasn't hurt."
The Pope before her was fretting excessively, and more importantly, someone else who had entered the room with them had been shedding tears nonstop for a while now.
"Hic, I-I thought the Saintess was badly hurt...!"
It was Sena, who had been by the Pope's side from the very beginning. Which meant she had witnessed the accident firsthand.
The accident unfolding right before her eyes must have been quite a shock; the girl who had been too shy even to approach now sat pressed right up against her, clumsily pouring divine power over and over.
And right onto the top of her head, no less.
I-It's so bright!
It was so dazzling that her eyes stung, and physiological tears were about to spill.
"Sena, I'm fine, so please stop..."
"B-But the glass, something that huge fell on the Saintess!"
"Sena? I told you I'm not hurt?"
"Hic!"
"Stop... Stop!"
As her vision grew ever brighter, she finally grabbed the girl's hands. Just like that, the radiance faded as if it had been a lie.
Whoa, I almost went blind.
"See? Do I look hurt anywhere?"
"But there are tears in your eyes..."
That's because of you.
While Cecilia struggled to swallow the truth, Sena's gaze roamed over her body here and there before falling away.
"...You seem okay."
The girl lowered her wet eyes dejectedly, then fidgeted to intertwine their clasped hands. That alone was enough for the child to regain her composure as if by magic.
Just as Cecilia, having barely preserved her eyesight, reached out with her free left hand to brush the hair stuck to the girl's cheek—
Bang!
As if one commotion invited another, the door flew open without a knock.
The one who appeared was none other than her older brother, Nox. Breathing hard as if he had run all the way, he came straight to her.
"Cici, they said your head exploded!"
His large hands seized both of Cecilia's cheeks. He must have been thoroughly shocked; his hands were ice-cold and clammy.
So he does worry about his little sister, at least?
"My head didn't split, so don't worr—"
"Even if it's a useless part of you, it would be a disaster if it disappeared!"
Nox muttered seriously as he thoroughly inspected her perfectly intact head.
What exactly had she expected from this guy?
The urge to tear off his own useless parts surged up.
Grabbing his wrists and peeling them off, Cecilia continued smoothly.
Don't worry.
"Please just get lost."
"Cici, I think your inner thoughts slipped out again."
Of course, this time it was deliberate.
But Nox didn't so much as flinch at the verbal abuse; instead, his eyes sparkled ominously.
"Don't tell me you're saying that to us brothers?"
"Yeah."
Wait, brothers?
By the time she realized the subtle error, she had already affirmed it.
Nox grinned and turned around.
"Miguel. Cici says you should get lost too?"
Only then did Cecilia shift her gaze behind him. The knight who had been standing awkwardly on the threshold, unable to easily enter, flinched and trembled in the shoulders.
"...I apologize."
What's wrong with this guy now?
His silver hair hanging dejectedly looked so pitiful that anyone watching would think he was the culprit who had broken the window.
Nox, who had been sidelong-glancing at the flustered Cecilia, let out a deep sigh as if he had been waiting for it.
"Sigh, I barely managed to drag him here while he was blaming himself for failing to escort you properly. If I'd known he'd be scolded so harshly, I wouldn't have bothered."
"What? No, that's not—!"
"Poor Miguel. As our merciless Saintess says, he should hurry up and get lost."
She clamped her gaping mouth shut in disbelief. She wanted nothing more than to gift that mouth a fist named mercy, but not only the Pope but also Sena was present.
I can't shatter a child's ideals.
Barely swallowing the vulgar words that had risen to her throat, Cecilia called to the knight.
Of course, completely ignoring the annoying Nox.
"Sir Miguel."
"...Yes."
"Unless you personally smashed the window, I don't think you bear even the slightest responsibility, so please come in."
After all, the duty he had been assigned was only to escort her to meet His Holiness the Pope. There was no need for him to blame himself for failing to protect the Saintess from the accident.
Even so, the hesitating knight only slowly stood before them at the Pope's nod.
"Thank you for forgiving me."
Miguel offered her a polite bow of the head as if he had received some great grace.
No, there's nothing to forgive...
The sight of a beautiful man looking dejected was quite pleasing to the eye, but separately from that, she felt uneasy.
After the Pope and Sena, was it now the Holy Knight's turn to be soothed?
Just as she barely swallowed a sigh heavy with fatigue—
The Pope, who had been watching their conversation with a benevolent expression, spoke first.
"Sir Miguel. Have you properly settled the commotion outside?"
"Yes. For now, all the worshippers have been sent away."
"Well done."
"And while cleaning up, I discovered something that appears to be the cause of the accident."
"Is that so?"
The Pope asked as if surprised.
"This is it."
Miguel suddenly held out what he had been gripping in his hand.