Filling and Filling Again (2)
Time flew by in a rush. As always, Sara threw herself into her daily lessons with fervor, squeezing in relief efforts whenever she could, while Lenoir investigated external matters and watched over her growth. Before they knew it, they had crested a major ridge. The temple was complete. Hiring lavish workers like architectural mages without budget constraints had sped things along remarkably.
That day, Lenoir felt a swell of emotion rising within him. It had been hundreds of years since the gods' era ended, and he truly sensed the aimless wandering of his life drawing to a close. The joy was indescribable. White was the immaculacy of fate. Every pillar, every floor tile of the temple gleamed with the finest white stone. In the grand nave stood a massive brazier. He recalled the distant past. When Immaculate Fate gathered divinity and kindled a spark in the brazier, that light would sweep away the injustices that oppressed mortals' lives. They would return to the greatest of eras. At last, it felt like the clock of his life was ticking once more.
"My lord, you're in a good mood?"
The sudden question drew Lenoir's gaze aside. Sara stood beside him, grinning cheekily up at him.
"A most unexpected query."
"Nah, it's just... you smell sweet, my lord."
Poke, poke. Sara jabbed his side with her index finger, as if she knew everything. "When you're happy, you give off this sweet scent. You were super sugary sweet when we first met."
Her brazen cheekiness left him dumbfounded, but today of all days, he welcomed it gladly.
"How could I not rejoice? All things rewind toward correctness. I have reclaimed lost hope and stand once more in my rightful place. It is your due merit."
"Huh, me?"
"Indeed, little Sara. Your very existence made this possible. Without you, I would still be naught."
Saying this would prompt her to shove her head under his hand for praise, as always. His hand rose habitually in anticipation of that familiar cause and effect.
"That's not true."
"Hm?"
"You're not 'naught' without me, my lord."
Her expression was resolute. "You'd still be you even without me. You've been my lord since I was the nobody. Just existing makes you amazing."
"I speak not of mere identification of existence, but of meaning."
"Still, you weren't naught. Come here. This won't do!"
Her utterly bewildering action caught him off guard, and Lenoir unwittingly bent at the waist as she tugged him down. Their height difference—two heads at least—left him in an awkward crouch. Sara plopped her hand atop his head.
Smooth, smooth—
"You're amazing even without me, my lord. I'd be naught without you. So don't say that."
"...Why dost thou stroke my head?"
"It's praise! You're so great, but maybe you've never gotten any, so your self-esteem's low."
"Whence comest such words?"
"From my teacher. She said people need positive affirmation to build confidence. So I'm giving it to you!"
Before long, both her hands were atop his head, rubbing furiously—not so much stroking as scrubbing off grime. Lenoir couldn't fathom what thought that single remark had sparked in her. From the start, Sara's mental world occupied a realm utterly baffling to him. But he knew this was her way of cheering him on.
Teaching was a universal law, after all, so Lenoir reflected.
"Perchance I appeared lacking in self-regard. Worry not; it is not so."
She was not yet a goddess. She lacked the eye to pierce all causality, the authority to rewrite providence. Yet her soul, forged in goodwill, shone with such purity. He knew this comfort stemmed from a heart that cherished self-affirmation.
It had been ages. Returning to the mindset befitting his station.
"Indeed, for me who attends thee to deem myself worthless would dim thy radiance. I have learned from thy teaching."
"You bet! The lord of the great goddess Sara Lorojin is obviously amazing!"
Rub rub rub! Sara's hands sped up. Her lips quirked upward in perpetual mischief. Now she was shaking his head outright; time to stop, he thought. Offering one's crown to another felt strangely novel. He allowed that much joy.
"Thy comfort suffices. Cease now."
"Aw, already?"
"By my reckoning, it has been five minutes at least."
"That long?"
Straightening without reply, he restored their height gap—too much for her to reach his head even on tiptoes. She looked wistful for some reason. Then she brought the hand that had just been rubbing his hair to her nose.
Lenoir's brow furrowed.
"...Why dost thou sniff that scent?"
"Your crown smells like flowers too, my lord."
"I bade thee cease."
"Just a bit more..."
Sara's eyes glazed over. Her breathing quickened oddly. Lenoir felt a bizarre shame unlike any in his life. That was why he seized her hand and pulled it from her nose.
"...Enough."
"Okay..."
Her lips pouted. She smacked them with evident disappointment.
* * *
A white temple now loomed in Cremvelheim's capital. It called itself the Goddess Church, and since word had spread quietly among many, the news wasn't all that shocking. It had swallowed up the Orin Church's territory in a bold new form. They revered a real girl as the goddess's reincarnation and offered faith to her—but to the masses, such details hardly mattered. As with all worldly affairs, a religion's worth lay not in its origins, but in its promises.
The Goddess Church was refreshingly clear on that front. Services every week on the last day of the morning, followed by bread and soup for those who prayed at the temple. The starving loved it; the well-fed couldn't care less. Thus, it began modestly. A spot for the hungry to grab a meal. In the capital, the Goddess Church's temple served exactly that role.
The shift came three days after the first service post-construction.
"Heard about Balt? The gambler who's been hitting Goddess Church gatherings since before the temple."
"That deadbeat? What about him?"
"Word is he hit a massive jackpot last night. Then paid for everyone's drinks with a tenth of his winnings."
"That cheapskate? No way..."
"Swear it's true. And get this—he said it was payback for the goddess stacking his deck!"
"What, she's the goddess of gambling now?"
"Goddess of probability! Heard secondhand she used to rule the underworld with three-card monte back in the day."
"Huh?"
Rumors blend fact and fiction, ballooning wildly. Humans edit truth to fit their desires, weaving fables. The tale of gambler Balt, ever-present at Sara's gatherings, striking it rich after acts of sharing, tickled ears. And it wasn't just talk—others from the church had seen life changes lately. Faith, and divinity. When a cult wrought near-miraculous deeds, it earned belief. The kingdom's official sanction sealed it. A formal church's baseline was divinity manifesting phenomena.
"Does luck really come?"
"Not luck—goddess of fate."
"Ooh... Just pray at the gathering? Give a tenth of winnings to others?"
"Yep, and she'll boost your odds."
Humans never change. Lenoir knew this well and let rumors fester, watching the flock grow. In truth, Sara's divinity couldn't yet produce phenomena. It stemmed from faith's abstract quirks—confirmation bias. Success? Divine aid. Failure? One's own impiety. Faith exploits such psychological cracks.
"...Shall we try?"
"I'm in. Winston's got a big game next week."
Thus, the church spread by word of mouth. From barely 500 at gatherings, to 300 at the first service, then exactly triple at the second.
"900 people. The bread..."
"1,000 loaves prepared. Give the surplus to today's most devout."
"Understood, house of our benefactor."
Rnier, who had started as etiquette tutor only to end up temple steward, bowed deeply and directed the workers.
The service began.
"Alright! Good morning, everyone! You all hangin' in there this week?!"
Sara bounded onto the dais, beaming and greeting the congregation. One might wonder how to tame that energy, but he'd realized such efforts were futile. Why bother now? She could sway with sheer voice alone. These lower-class folk preferred her lively vibe anyway. Over time, her tongue had gained polish from lessons.
"Pray hard, good stuff happens, you feel great, right? No fancy rituals—just 'Goddess! Stack my deck once!' And she'll hear ya out!"
"Hahaha!!!"
"Then let's pray! Hands together, everyone!"
Silence blanketed the hall. Sara closed her eyes. She didn't pray. As one claiming goddesshood, she couldn't bow to another. She simply raised her hands skyward and murmured.
"Comin' through! I hear ya! I know who's daydreamin' too!"
That cheer felt too culty; time to curb it, Lenoir thought with a budding headache. Faith flooded the space, converging on Sara, refined through the Orin speck on her shoulder into pure power. In that instant of utmost purity—
Pop!
"Huh?"
A golden light, rice-grain sized, bloomed above Sara's upraised arms. She blinked. In the odd atmosphere, worshippers cracked eyes open—and gaped.
"G-Gasp! The goddess performs a miracle!"
"It's real! She made light!"
"Woooah! Goddess!!!"
"Fresh-baked bread!"
"Soup!"
"The immaculate goddess births immaculate light!!!"
The nave erupted in frenzy. Lenoir was stunned too.
Divinity...!
Gathered faith had crystallized into divinity. The first handful settled at her soul's vessel base. His eyes widened. A shiver of triumph raced his spine. As euphoria crested—
"My lord! Your hand's glowing!!!"
Thud!
"Whoa! Awesome! Everyone! I'm shining!"
"Waaaaaah!!!"
His elation chilled instantly. Lenoir rubbed his eyes.
Ah.
Dignity, please. Just a little.