Sunlight and the Forgotten Saint
In the name of the Mother, sunlight crossed the courtyard of the Holy Light Church.
The early morning air was still cool, but the village already buzzed with warm energy.
A crowd had gathered by the well in front of the church. Men drew water, women hung laundry while chatting, and children in the middle of the yard wielded wooden sticks, playing knights and raising a racket.
"...So I told you, I'm a holy knight!"
"No way! Uncle Ellian is way stronger!"
Even among the kids, Ellian's reputation had soared.
The church doors swung open, and Ellian stepped out.
He wore simple clothes with sleeves rolled up, looking less like a priest and more like an ordinary village youth.
One child spotted him and shot up a hand.
"Uncle! Training again today?"
Ellian tilted his head with a smile.
"It's not really training... just a bit of exercise."
"Liar! You snapped that log in half last time!"
Ellian scratched his head, looking sheepish.
"That... the log was just weak."
"Blaming the log, huh."
A voice chimed in from the side.
It was Lilia.
She strode over with baskets of bread in both hands, handing one to each child.
"Here, eat breakfast before you run around. Don't come crying to me if you trip on an empty stomach."
The kids cheered and scattered.
Then Lilia tossed the last piece of bread at Ellian.
He caught it effortlessly.
"...Thank you."
"Save the thanks. Eat a proper lunch today—no running off. You skipped dinner yesterday helping out everywhere."
It was nagging, but anyone could hear the warmth beneath it.
A nearby old man, who'd been listening, chuckled.
"You two look like a married couple now."
Lilia's face flushed red in an instant.
"Wh-what are you talking about!"
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
Ellian said nothing, just took a bite of the bread. Under the sunlight, his expression was serene.
Inside the church, a few parishioners were straightening chairs. On the freshly painted walls hung crude drawings by the children: clumsily sketched suns, crooked houses, and in the center, always the same figure.
A smiling man—the one everyone knew.
Before long, the church had ceased to be just a place for prayer.
It became a spot to rest, talk, and help one another.
If someone got hurt, they came here naturally. If troubled, they'd sit a while and leave feeling lighter.
Strangely, problems always seemed to ease a little each time.
In one corner of the yard, farmers swapped harvest tales; a merchant gestured wildly, outlining plans for the next market.
Laughter never stopped.
Lilia gazed at the scene for a moment.
"...The village vibe's changed lately, huh?"
Ellian turned.
Kids darted around the church grounds.
"...Yeah."
A short reply.
His eyes lingered on the peaceful vista, as if committing every detail to memory.
The sun climbed a little higher.
Ellian set off through the village streets as usual.
The morning market was just opening. Water stains from street cleaning still gleamed on the cobblestones. Merchants unfurled awnings, prepping for the day's trade. The scent of fresh-baked bread and steaming soup began to waft through the air.
Someone spotted him first.
"Ellian! Over here!"
An auntie arranging her vegetable stall waved.
"Thanks so much for yesterday. The kids slept through the night because of you."
Ellian smiled awkwardly.
"I didn't do much. Just listened to their troubles."
"That's the hardest part."
She stated it firmly.
"Everyone's too busy to stop and hear them out."
She plucked two apples from her basket and pressed them into his hands.
"Take these. I'll be offended if you refuse."
Ellian hesitated, then bowed his head.
"Then I'll gratefully accept."
Before he could take a few steps, a voice rang from the smithy.
"Hey, back okay?"
The blacksmith set down his hammer with a grin.
"Heard you nearly got crushed holding up that warehouse door alone."
"The door was heavier than I thought."
"Not 'thought'—it's heavy, period!"
Laughter erupted around them.
The tale of him single-handedly steadying the collapsing grain warehouse door had spread through the whole village.
Ellian scratched his head, a bit embarrassed by the attention.
"Good thing no one got hurt."
"Here, take this."
The blacksmith tossed him a small metal pendant.
"Melted down from scrap. Wear it like a good-luck charm."
Ellian stared at it a moment, then slipped it quietly into his pocket.
"Thank you."
Trailing him at a steady distance was Lilia, arms crossed like a watchful guardian.
Ellian glanced back.
"Lilia."
"...What."
"You could rest at the church. Why follow me?"
Her expression stiffened briefly, then she looked away.
"'Cause if you cause trouble again, I lose my hard-won job and bed."
"Ah."
Ellian smiled.
"My protector, then."
"... "
Despite the casual jab, her footsteps stayed glued to his heels.
A few kids ran up, grabbing his clothes.
"Bro! Bro! The well's safe to use again, right?"
"Yeah. Fixed the rope, so it'll hold for a bit. But no climbing on top, okay?"
The kids nodded in unison. Though they'd probably climb it again tomorrow.
Ellian pictured it and smiled faintly.
He never fought them like the old chief or barked orders. He just fixed things, listened, and joined in. That's why no one feared him.
As he took quiet pride in the village's new face,
one person crossed his mind.
Dominica.
His pace slowed just a touch.
Her silent departure lingered in his thoughts—the eyes of someone who'd realized something.
...Why was she in such a hurry?
He asked casually.
"By the way, wonder what Dominica's up to now."
Lilia's reply came quick, without hesitation.
"Who cares what she's doing?"
She didn't even turn.
"You interested?"
"Just curious."
Lilia snorted softly.
"Like I'd know what those heretic inquisitors are thinking."
She glanced up at the sky.
"Only the constellations up there would."
It was a clear sky.
Too clear, almost unnaturally so.
A few days later.
The Holy Kingdom. Central Cathedral.
The carriage hadn't even stopped before the door flew open. Dominica bounded out and climbed the cathedral steps, ignoring greetings, return reports, even ritual blessings.
She headed straight for one place.
The cathedral archives.
A vast stone chamber, lightless, where centuries of documents, scriptures, interrogation records, and theological treatises slumbered.
The archivist priest approached, startled.
"Lady Dominica, permission to—"
"Miracle records."
"...Pardon? What do you—"
She cut him off.
"All of them."
"...All of them?"
"Not a single one missing."
That day marked the start.
Dominica barely slept.
She pored over brittle parchments, checked forbidden lists, even unsealed interrogation files.
Charlatans claiming miracles. Prophets executed for false revelations. Incidents logged as mass hysteria.
Most were as expected.
Fakes or delusions. Or madness.
Or tangled in politics.
So-called miracles were mostly human fabrications.
Her expression hardened. As I thought.
Ellian too...
She was about to conclude that when
one ancient volume caught her eye.
Unlike the others, it was thick with dust, untouched.
She brushed it off.
On Miracles
Turning the page revealed faded script.
-A miracle is God's intervention beyond human understanding.
-Yet not all miracles take the same form.
Dominica's gaze traced the words slowly.
-At times, the goddess heals the sick,
-at times halts disasters,
-at times bestows holy relics to convey Her will.
Her hand paused at the next line.
And in exceedingly rare cases... the goddess makes a person the miracle itself.
Dominica's eyes narrowed.
The page turned slowly. One word leaped out.
-Saint.
-A saint is one who directly inherits the goddess's will.
-Their very existence is the teaching,
-and miracles manifest not by their doing, but through them.
Her finger halted on a passage.
-The first saint was the prophet who heard Lady Yustia's words.
-He received revelation, founded the Holy Light Church,
-and gathered people not by authority, but by love.
Love.
Her gaze stuck there. Not on the prophet in the records.
A man smiling in the garden.
-Because that's what he taught: live sharing love with others.
Ellian's voice overlapped in her mind.
Dominica stood frozen, book in hand, head spinning.
"...No way."
She reopened it, unsure what she sought to confirm. Or perhaps... hoping for something.
Three words etched into her heart.
Light.
Miracle.
And...
Saint.