The Shattered Glass
“If you would wait inside, I shall fetch His Holiness.”
Cecilia nodded and walked alone into the prayer room.
Thanks to Miguel withdrawing with Nox in tow, the surroundings fell silent.
“Nothing’s changed here.”
The dome ceiling was filled entirely with a painting of the God, sunlight shattered through the brilliant stained glass, and a marble statue the height of the building itself stood at the front.
This prayer room was the very place she had first opened her eyes after the possession.
Why the Cecilia who had been suffering from a fever had been left in a prayer room instead of a recovery chamber or healing hall remained a mystery even now.
Recalling the bewilderment and despair of that moment all over again, Cecilia approached the statue.
She gazed in silence at the God who smiled benevolently with eyes covered by cloth, then slowly sank to her knees.
And instead of clasping her hands, she raised her long, straight middle finger.
O God, if you are the cause of this ridiculous dream, I shall forgive your sins—so please return my diploma to me.
It was an insolent prayer, but she had been irreligious even in her previous life. An otherworldly god was even less her concern.
Besides, this being was the most likely culprit behind the unwanted miracle that had dumped her here.
If she had possessed ten middle fingers, she would have raised every last one of them.
“O God?”
“…….”
“No answer, huh.”
She had never expected a furious deity to descend and hand her a way home.
Her enthusiasm thoroughly cooled, Cecilia rose from the floor and brushed off her knees.
Or rather, she had been about to—until she spotted something beneath the dais.
Still half-crouched, she picked up the object protruding between the floor and the raised platform.
It was an old notebook wrapped in yellowed, faded parchment.
Something of the Pope’s?
This prayer room was permitted only to cardinals, the Pope, and the Saintess.
She was just about to check the first page when—
“Saintess.”
A gentle voice made her flinch and turn.
An extraordinary figure stood tall in the doorway of the prayer room.
White hair cascading like bird feathers, a serene smile upon his face—this was the heart of the Temple and the proxy of God himself: the Pope.
“Under God’s blessing, I greet His Holiness the Pope.”
She placed a hand over her heart and bowed her head lightly. The Pope closed the distance in a few strides.
“Forgive me. Have you been waiting long?”
“Not at all. Time passed quickly while I offered prayers to God.”
It had been closer to a curse than a prayer, but still.
Answering brazenly, Cecilia lifted her head and faced him.
A being as exalted as the Emperor of the Empire itself.
Even if her own head was empty of knowledge, she understood well enough how great the Pope was.
A man born with a vast Divine Power that appeared only once in a century, if that.
The saint of the age who, though closest to God, sought out the lowest places to give and give again.
Above all, he was the godfather who cherished Saintess Cecilia dearly.
She had no memories of her own father, so of course none of her godfather remained either—yet the simple act of facing him brought a sense of ease, suggesting the original Cecilia had been quite close to him.
Indeed, right after the possession, when she had refused to accept reality and fled barefoot in a frenzy, it was the Pope who had slipped his own shoes onto her feet. It was also he who had poured Divine Power into her through the night until she recovered.
“Dear me. I called you here so we might offer prayers together after so long, yet I am a step too late. Had I known, I would have prepared the tea you enjoy.”
“No, tea is fine anytime……”
Mid-conversation, Cecilia suddenly closed her mouth.
Hm?
An ardent gaze was boring into her from somewhere.
Finding the culprit was not difficult.
Behind the Pope, a small, thin girl was peeking out.
“Your Holiness. That child……”
“Ah, I forgot to introduce her. She is a girl I encountered while performing service in a territory suffering severe drought. She recently awakened to Divine Power and is currently living as an Apprentice Priest. Her name is Sena.”
The child’s black eyes sparkled like obsidian.
“Sena is so fond of the Saintess that she insisted I bring her along.”
Too shy to step forward, the girl twisted her body this way and that.
It was a sight that would have drawn an automatic smile from most people, yet Cecilia could only sigh inwardly.
What resided inside this shell was a modern person clearly cursed rather than loved by any god.
Still, she could not shatter a child’s pure admiration, so she hurriedly rummaged through her pockets.
All she found were two pieces of candy she had secretly hidden from Nox to eat on the way home.
“Hello, little one. Would you like some candy?”
She added a gentle smile to the hastily prepared gift. The Pope interjected awkwardly.
“Ah… Sena is five years younger than the Saintess.”
“Ah.”
Five years younger than Cecilia meant she was fifteen.
An age neither wild for candy nor suited to being called “little one.”
I thought there was at least a ten-year gap! Is it because she’s so thin?
Having committed an unintended rudeness, Cecilia was about to snatch the candy back when—
“Th-thank you!”
Sena snatched the candy with lightning speed.
Then, growing shy again, she ducked back behind the Pope.
“There are truly many who admire the Saintess, just like this child.”
Gently stroking the girl’s thoroughly flushed head, the Pope continued.
“Which brings me to my request. For this Alms Festival, I would like the Saintess to conclude the ritual in my place. What do you think?”
I think poorly of it, actually.
A human who believed gods were merely another species of being, stepping forward to lead a ritual?
This time a truly insulted god might actually appear.
Wait… thinking about it, that doesn’t sound so bad?
The idea was rather tempting, yet any rational person would of course refuse such a proposal.
“The offer is an honor, but I have not yet received official appointment……”
The Pope would have heard of Nox’s failure as well; it was a suitable excuse.
Yet the Pope merely shrugged lightly, as if it were no issue at all.
“That you are a being God Himself watches over is all that matters. What weight could the will of a mere creature possibly hold?”
In other words: the Emperor’s opinion was of no importance whatsoever. A pointed remark.
Unable to find a better excuse, Cecilia answered with an awkward smile.
Whether the Pope took that smile as affirmation—or simply decided to take it as such—he began forging ahead on his own.
“I must share this joyous news with everyone at once.”
“Pardon? Right now?”
“Yes. Let us go to the main prayer hall together. The worship service of the faithful is just ending.”
“Your Holiness?”
“I can already imagine how delighted the congregation will be.”
“Your Holiness!”
Growing desperate, Cecilia lunged and seized the hem of his robes.
“Saintess?”
“Ah, that is……”
I’m going crazy.
No matter how kindly he treated her, the man before her was still the Pope.
Spinning her thoughts to cover the rudeness, Cecilia thrust forward the notebook still clutched in her hand.
“This! I found it under the dais!”
“This is……”
“Might it be Your Holiness’s belonging?”
“……Does the Saintess not know what this is?”
“This notebook?”
The Pope’s expression as he looked down at it was subtle.
It looked like nothing more than a bundle of old paper. Was it something important?
When she regarded him with curiosity, the Pope carefully accepted the sheaf.
“This is not merely a notebook. It is a diary.”
Good heavens. Not just any notebook, but His Holiness the Pope’s personal diary.
If she had opened even a single page, it would have been a disaster.
Cecilia hurriedly explained.
“I didn’t open it at all, so please don’t worry!”
The Pope, embodiment of mercy, accepted her claim at face value.
Without another word, he slipped the diary into his long sleeve and turned slightly.
“Then let us hurry to the main prayer hall!”
Wait—weren’t we supposed to have forgotten that topic…?
Staring blankly at the Pope’s retreating back, Cecilia trudged after him.
I’m screwed.
In truth, reciting a completely hollow prayer before a large crowd was no problem at all.
The problem came afterward.
Right after the Marquis had told her to participate in the “Alms Festival,” she had looked up records of past events.
According to those records, at the end of the ritual that opened the Alms Festival, the “Messenger of God” ignited a sacred flame upon the altar.
A flame raised with Divine Power, huh.
And how exactly was she supposed to do that?
Standing frozen at the foot of the building opposite the main prayer hall, Cecilia stared in utter despair as the faithful poured out in a throng with the Pope at their head.
She could already picture herself breaking into a cold sweat, unable to use Divine Power while those shining-eyed people chanted her name.
“Saintess!”
“Lady Cecilia!”
Yes, shouting just like that… wait?
Among the voices calling her, she heard one that was somehow familiar.
Between the worshippers, a familiar robe jutted out.
That towering height and awkwardly hunched back—it was unmistakably Rien.
……What are you doing here?
He was supposed to be guarding the house. Why on earth was he—
Then it happened.
“Cecilia!”
Rien, face drained of color, shoved through the crowd and shouted with desperate urgency.
“Get out of the way!”
Of what?
In that instant—
Crash!
A sharp shattering sound stabbed her ears.
Cecilia reflexively looked up.
Above her head, the stained glass, smashed to pieces, was raining down like a shower of shards.