Burnt Offering Zara
I hated the fairy tale called Burnt Offering Zara. I hated stories where good people received blessings and bad people got punished. I hated the hero on the white horse. I hated the princess who was always getting kidnapped. And yet, as much as I hated fairy tales, I was utterly captivated by that childish story called Zara.
Every night, I imagined myself as the protagonist in that tale. I longed for an ideal world where the good were rewarded and the wicked punished. I wanted to ride a white horse and rescue the princess. I wanted to slay the witch and save the children. I wanted to pull the sword from the stone and vanquish the dragon.
No, that wasn't it. None of that mattered. In truth, what Zara craved was to end her own life with the words, "And they all lived happily ever after."
Zara and Dandelion made their way to the Temple of Justice and Seasons. There were many hardships along the path. Zara was unfortunate, after all. She had the bad luck to run into bandits or monsters just strolling down the road. On top of that, the hero Dandelion had lost his heroic powers and was little more than dead weight. Which meant Zara handled most of it alone.
After all those twists and turns, they finally arrived at the Temple of Justice and Seasons, a place brimming with the scent of sunflowers and sunlight. It felt like summer dwelled there alone.
"Wow……."
"First time at a temple?"
"It's the first time no one's thrown stones at me!"
"……."
"What a great place. Hehe."
In truth, Zara knew little about flowers, so she had no idea the smell was from sunflowers. What Zara knew was far more vicious: humanity's malice, frailty, jealousy, suffering, violence…… the ease with which people tormented her.
In that sense, the Temple of Justice was truly a space for the "righteous." No one here was frail. No one tormented Zara for no reason. No one lashed out with violence or harsh words over mere discomfort. It was beautiful. Temples weren't beautiful because of the gods' grandeur, but because their teachings were lived out.
"First, we'll speak to a priest about your broken precepts and ensure you can become a hero……."
"No need for that."
"……Hm?"
A young girl's voice cut between Dandelion and Zara. Both turned to the newcomer.
She was a beautiful girl. Her jet-black hair resembled the void between stars in the night sky, and the sword at her waist seemed disproportionately massive for her frame, almost precarious. It looked as if her soul was bound not to her body, but to that blade.
The girl's identity slipped not from her lips, but from Dandelion's.
"……What brings you here, Lady Shrine Maiden?"
Shrine Maiden. The beloved proxy of the God of Justice and Seasons. She had come to them.
"I received a revelation. A new hero candidate is coming to the temple, so I was told to greet them."
"A revelation…… you say?"
"Is that child the new hero candidate?"
The shrine maiden's gaze raked Zara up and down, persistent enough to feel intrusive. Yet, strangely, there was no hostility in it. Even though hating Zara on sight should have been natural.
The shrine maiden of Justice…… seemed devoid of emotion. Like someone who loved or hated no one.
Zara greeted her brightly.
"Hello! I'm Zara."
"I see. Zara."
"Can I become a hero?"
"Anyone can become a hero. If they make justice and precepts their guiding light and act without shame before themselves."
"Hehe. That's a relief."
The shrine maiden's words sounded at first like encouragement—"You can be a hero too"—but listening closely, they were closer to cold detachment: "Someone other than you can be a hero." Far too general for someone who had received a revelation naming Zara a "hero candidate."
Thus, the shrine maiden truly lived by precepts alone as her light. Even ignoring her god's revelation if it defied reason.
This was the Temple of the Goddess of Justice and Seasons. A sanctuary of humans mad for justice, prioritizing teachings over divine words. They were truly righteous.
"Let us go make your vow to the god. It won't take long."
"Yes!"
"Before we do, remember one thing. The vow ends quickly…… but must be upheld for a lifetime. Forget not that a promise's weight lies not in words, but in deeds."
Temple of Justice and Seasons. Baptismal chamber.
Zara, clad in a thin white gown so sheer it seemed transparent, stared blankly at the massive hearth.
The baptism of Justice and Seasons wasn't immersion in water. Nor affusion or aspersion on the head. Their baptism was…… the Burnt Offering, burning away one's sins in flame.
"I have to go in there……?"
The flames roiled as if ready to burst forth and devour the temple. Zara recoiled in horror. She'd endured carriage accidents, drownings, stabbings, burns of every sort—but never willingly plunged into a fire.
"It must be frightening, but it's not as hot as you think. Try reaching in with your hand first."
"Eek……."
Zara cautiously extended her hand toward the flames, ready to yank it back at the slightest heat.
But the fire emitted only a gentle warmth, not the searing agony she'd feared.
"Wow…… amazing!"
"Enter the flames, offer your vow to the god, and emerge. The price of breaking it is severe, so vow only what you can keep yourself. Harder vows grant greater power…… but what matters is the promise itself. Never forget that."
"Yes!"
"Then, I'll give you a push."
"Huh?"
Thud.
The shrine maiden shoved Zara hard into the hearth. With her hand still outstretched, Zara had no chance to resist and tumbled into the inferno.
"Kyaa?!"
Flames caught her thin gown. No pain, but the terror of burning alive conjured phantom agony. Oxygen scarce, breathing labored. Then the flickering flames slithered like serpents' tongues into her eyes, ears, mouth.
Ah.
In that instant, the scene before her shifted. To the memory of her childhood she most shamed: days of indulging in everything without consequence. Memories of sin.
Zara's face burned—not from the fire, but from shame.
Facing one's own sins is profoundly difficult. Guilt is an exhausting, horrific emotion, so the mind unconsciously distorts and edits wrongful memories. Blaming others, chalking it up to bad luck, excusing intent.
The baptism of Justice and Seasons forcibly resurrects those forgotten sins, crystal clear. Emotions and thoughts of the moment included.
It's a face-burning truth. Even without flames scorching the flesh, one burns from within. By the sins accumulated over life.
"……."
Humans are not righteous. Life piles up petty sins. They avert eyes from injustice citing fatigue. Lie to escape the moment.
One who would judge others must first know their own sins.
Someone vowing "Slay adults who abuse children" must recall how often they've ignored children's pleas. Thus discerning if they even qualify for such a vow. Burning themselves in shame.
That was the role of the Burnt Offering.
"Ehehe…… this is too embarrassing……."
Zara's most frequent sin was lying. Lies to deceive herself. To hide her innate villainy. Lies just to comfort herself.
Sometimes she'd curse aloud alone. Cry in secret when unseen. Scar her own body. Hating her wicked birth, she'd wish for death several times a day.
"……It hurts."
Her breath choked. Wrist scars throbbed. Ah, the world was such a painful place…… like burning alive.
No. Not the world. Herself.
The suffocation, the burning scars…… all self-inflicted.
"……."
And if this pain was wholly her own……
- "Zara-d dummy. Don't fear getting hurt. This kinda pain can't touch you. Wake the alpha sleeping inside ya."
No reason to be wounded, no reason to cling. Only she could save herself. Only she could inflict pain—or overcome it.
"……I vow to myself."
[I shall not abuse myself.]
In that moment, Zara set her first precept.
This was her resolve. No longer to shame her own villainy.
Only by reflecting on all her sins…… did Zara realize they all stemmed from herself.
Like all sinners.