Filling and Filling Again (1)

After returning from his audience with the king, everything proceeded without a hitch. There were no more disturbances related to the cleanup of the Orin Church. Beyond that, various tax-related ventures led by the Orin Church withdrew, improving Pterin's situation beyond its previous state, and the faith gathering toward Sara stabilized even more.

"Alright~ Time for relief again today, folks!"

About two weeks had passed. After several distribution events, Sara had grown familiar enough with the local poor to gather them in a more relaxed posture than before.

"Thank you for the freshly baked bread, Goddess!"

"Pure as ever today too, Goddess!"

"You bet! You bet! Uncle, you're plumper than last week? Hit a big score or something?"

"Hahaha! Won big at gambling!"

"Then share some with those around you. Who knows, maybe when Uncle's in a pinch later, someone'll spare you a slice?"

"You expect that from folks here, Goddess?"

"People I help ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠can expect that much!"

Lenoir humbly acknowledged it. At least when dealing with the poor, Sara was more adept at touching their hearts. It was far from dignified or refined. But that's precisely why she reached them more closely. The key point to note was that they themselves had to feel she was not one of them. As a trait of humanity, they lent credibility only to words from those above them.

That was Lenoir's role.

"Since the Goddess guarantees it, become a believer and come to the temple. Thus shall measures be taken to hear your grievances and grant fitting recompense."

"Heehee, see? The holy knight says so too."

Only then did faith bloom from various spots and flow toward Sara. Purer than before, and the mechanism accepting it was even purer. The Orin on Sara's shoulder absorbed it first, sending only the clearest faith to her. The ideal refinement of faith. With the spirit handling its task fully, a sip of faith now formed cleanly in Sara's soul. A heartwarming sight.

At the same time, he felt thirst.

'So far away.'

Just when might she become a goddess? Would the potential of that soul fully awaken, allowing her to embrace the history of the mythic age left beyond providence?

As he pondered, he spotted the man who claimed a big gambling win sharing his portion of bread with those around. Goodwill proves itself through sharing. Sara had turned these people into those who could share their own. Things were improving. They would improve. Humanity could not reach paradise, but Sara's reign would draw endlessly close to it. By making them yearn for paradise, the world would become better than before. Realizing that barely quenched his thirst.

The relief distribution ended, and they were on the way back to the mansion.

"Today was fulfilling too, milord!"

"Thy skill improves day by day. 'Twas most satisfying to behold."

"You liked watching me?"

"More fulfilling than viewing any masterpiece."

"Hehehe...."

Sara melted into a gooey smile and nudged her crown toward him. At this perfectly natural gesture, he stroked her hair in approval, and he heard a wet gulp as she swallowed saliva.

"Let us mind thy decorum. Now that thou art proficient in reading and writing, thou hast finally attained culture."

"You bet. This Sara Lorojin shall labor ceaselessly to become a cultured goddess!"

"Sleep soundly. Seeing thy weary face pains me sorely."

In response, Sara wriggled, resembling spring's bouncy vitality. It was a warmth that gently filled the hole pierced in his soul. From their meeting to now, all was satisfaction. The sensation of being alive had never felt so joyful.

That day was when Sara saw the temple under construction. On pristine white marble pillars rose a massive halo-like ring, embossed with a motif of seven serpentine forms coiled within. Lenoir called it the symbol of fate. It matched the pattern on the pendant gifted to Sara. The vast circle represented the infinity of causality—cause, process, result, looping back to cause. The seven strokes atop it signified the goddess's absolute authority to contemplate and manipulate fate's flow. Through this, Lenoir described the goddess as the one who led the world toward the most ideal inevitability—a concept too vast for Sara to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠grasp.

But Sara understood that roofs would crown the pillars, and below in the open space would be spots for prayer, rest for the people, and finally seats where the hungry could have a meal. There, people would pray, find solace, and sate their hunger. Warm backs and full bellies make humans magnanimous. This place seemed poised to become a fine space. Wasn't that enough?

She thought idly. Wanting confirmation, she asked.

"Fights come from hunger, right? So once everyone's eaten, they'll be more forgiving, yeah?"

"Hunger as a cause of conflict is true. Yet for humans, hunger's scope is too broad; some will not sate it with mere bread and soup, and conflict persists."

"Hmm, still better than before, right?"

"Indeed. In my view, the Goddess's reign shall birth a world more beautiful than now."

An affirmation. But that's why Sara felt puzzled. Rnier had taught that history held times far more peaceful than now. Lenoir deemed even those eras ugly. Was the mythic age truly grander? If so, why had it ended? To the question of why, Lenoir answered that they had spurned the gods' love. Wasn't that contradictory?

'An era that beautiful—why?'

How could a world that drove even great gods to oblivion be more beautiful than eras of great peace? Lately, as she learned more, Sara began spotting question marks in Lenoir's words like this. But deep contemplation didn't last.

"Let us go. The temple's construction progresses well today too."

"Ah, yes!"

It was simply because being with Lenoir was joyful. What was Lenoir? Pondering yielded countless answers. Sara's savior wafting floral scent, a demigod who had lived immensely long, a protector showing unconditional favor. Incredibly handsome; his head pats made her feel she'd float away; when he called her special, she felt no regrets even in death. Meeting Lenoir had changed Sara's world before and after. Staring at his unknowable expression, she could admire his straight lashes or nose bridge all day, leaving her dazed. When his gaze turned her way, draping her favorite gold, her heart raced. Was something wrong? Even as she thought so, she grew addicted to the ache. It even frightened her at times. By Sara's knowledge, such symptoms were shared only by the wretched junkies in her hometown alleys.

That worry swelled unspeakably.

"A reply letter hath come from thy hometown."

"Gasp! From the sisters?!"

"Aye, unfold and read it."

Glad tidings arrived. Upon receiving the letter from Lenoir, Selbes's nostalgic perfume wafted.

"Sister's scent...!"

"She possessed vast cultural knowledge. I know not why she taught thee only such, but spritzing perfume on letters is etiquette among noble ladies."

"Should I use perfume too?"

"What need? Thy natural scent already surpasses a blooming garden's fragrance."

"Eek...!"

Lenoir tilted his head, as if sensing something amiss. Utterly serene. Sara's vision spun dizzily. Her body wouldn't obey. Why this full-body itchiness? Why this frantic heartbeat? Thinking, Sara recalled an expression from Rnier.

"They call this cringy, right?"

"...?"

"Words that make your body twist are cringy. Hearing you makes me feel weird, all tingly inside...!"

Sara giggled behind the letter. Lenoir's eyes flickered momentarily.

"...'Twas not my intent. Expressions' era differs; 'tis taken thus in modern times."

"Hmm, unintentionally cringy then."

Innocent words, yet potent for it. Lenoir was at a loss. With naught more to say, and fearing these feelings wouldn't subside gazing at him, Sara fled to her room.

"Then I'll go read the letter!"

The departed Sara bounced onto her bed and unfolded it. Now she could read properly. She knew Selbes's script's elegance, and within it, discerned her emotions. Tales of the madams' thriving new tavern, absurd antics of troublesome patrons unheard since arriving. Who started dating, who learned what— all joyful matters. The madams' faces rose, stirring faint longing and pride.

"Gotta reply!"

[Reply...?]

"Yeah! I write way better now, so this time it'll be long!"

Sara sprang up, sat at her desk, and took quill in hand. Legs kicking, she clumsily wrote her current affairs. Then a thought struck.

'Selbes sis might know what's up with me?'

Going weird just seeing Lenoir worried her. Maybe unknowingly poisoned or drugged. Unlikely from him, but alleys always said, "The capital ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠air's as filthy as poison." Could be capital poisoning. Must ask for diagnosis.

The firmly pressed letter ended with a clichéd "await your next." Neatly sealed for Hilton Back Alley, done. Sara folded it delicately into the envelope and sought Lenoir.

"Milord! Send this back please!"

"Aye, let me check for grammatical errors..."

Right then.

"...No! Wait!"

"?"

"I-it's fine!"

Sara's face turned beet red. She panicked so hard she imagined hooks floating overhead.

"What ails thee?"

"Th-that's...!"

For some reason, Lenoir mustn't see the letter. Sudden shame. What excuse? Floundering awhile.

"...Secret, girls' secret talk."

She slyly averted eyes and snatched it back.

"I'll have ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Master send it."

Her face burned. Aware of his gaze, it burned more. As expected, oblivious Lenoir deemed it a pubescent girl's whim and replied.

"Aye, my sensibility falls short. Knowing conversations betwixt women exist, yet I failed to consider."

"N-no problem!"

Sara hastily hid the letter behind her. Just in case, she squinted at Lenoir.

"Milord, you didn't x-ray the letter or anything, right?"

"...Know not what monster thou seest in me, but I possess no such ability without prelude."

Only then could she exhale in relief.