Will You Remain Silent This Time Too?
There was no scent of blood in the Serapion Sanctuary. It was always filled with fragrance. Burning myrrh. Dried white flowers. The water used to scrub the marble floors. And the scent of ancient silence.
Ariane Seraphel had never liked that smell. She had simply been taught that she must. A saintess had to love fragrance. A saintess had to love silence. And a saintess had to bow her head whenever her name was called.
Ariane knelt before the altar. Her hands were neatly clasped, her eyes closed. Her lips moved to the rhythm of her prayers.
"Mercy flows to the lowest places..."
She stopped there. Ariane did not open her eyes. The prayer knew the next sentence, and so did she. Mercy flows to the lowest places, and the holy hand raises those who bleed. That was the line. A line she had memorized hundreds, no, thousands of times. Yet today, the words caught in her throat. Mercy. The word felt exceptionally heavy.
"Saintess." A low voice called from outside the door.
Ariane slowly opened her eyes. Her face was faintly reflected in the white marble floor. The face of a saintess. A pure white veil. Unwavering eyes. Those who looked upon her rarely cared whether there was an actual human being beneath it all.
"Come in."
The door opened, and a low-ranking priest entered. In his hands, he held a scroll tube stamped with a black seal. Amidst the white light of the sanctuary, that black seal was jarringly distinct.
"An official inquiry from the Demon Realm, Your Holiness."
Official. She had already heard rumors, but hearing it confirmed made her fingertips stiffen ever so slightly. The priest did not notice. Even if he had, he would have pretended otherwise. The people here were well-trained to ignore any sign of weakness in their saintess.
"From the Demon Realm..." Ariane heard her own voice. It was calm, as it always was. "Is it from the Black King Castle?"
"Yes, Saintess." The priest bowed. "We understand that identical copies are scheduled to arrive at the Council of Elders and the kingdom's diplomatic channels as well."
At those words, the air in the prayer room grew a fraction colder. This was not a document brought in secret. It was a document that could not be hidden.
Ariane accepted the scroll tube. The black seal of the Demon Realm was stamped upon it. Lucion Vergrad. Once, that name had felt like a forbidden sentence. Now, it was the name of a king.
She broke the seal. Inside were two sheets of paper. One was the official inquiry. The other was a short, separately sealed postscript.
Ariane unrolled the official inquiry first. The handwriting was cold. So cold, in fact, that it felt unlike Lucion—which, in a way, made it all the more like him.
We formally inquire of Saintess Ariane Seraphel.
In the RagmuntNon-Combatant Protection Zone, the crest of the Serapion Holy Order and the Saintess's Principle of Mercy have been invoked.
Under the guise of this protection zone, food requisition, forced labor, exclusion from protection, and the application of military law following re-interrogation are currently being enforced.
Does Saintess Ariane Seraphel recognize the summary execution of non-combatants as an act of mercy?
Ariane could not even finish reading the sentence before her eyes darted back up. Saintess's Principle of Mercy. Non-Combatant Protection Zone. Summary execution. Those three terms coexisted within the same document. And they did so alongside her own name.
Ariane pressed her finger against the paper. It was thin. Far too thin to bear the weight of human lives. There was another line below.
I am not asking to vindicate the honor of those who have already died in your name.
Do you have any intention of saving those who are scheduled to die in your name?
In that moment, Ariane caught her breath. Those scheduled to die. People who were still alive. Time that could still be turned back. And the man who was asking her this, using her own name.
Ariane looked at the second seal. The short postscript. Even without opening it, her fingertips already knew what lay inside. Yet, she broke it anyway.
Ariane Seraphel.
Once, you told me to do nothing.
Will you choose silence this time as well? Even when people are scheduled to die in your name?
The message was short. Because of that, there was nowhere to hide. Ariane closed her eyes very slowly. And she saw herself from a long, long time ago.
"Ah."
The place where they first met was not the main hall of the sanctuary. Following a border clash, the human kingdom and the Demon Realm had to mutually verify their wounded and prisoners.
Since those who held swords could not trust one another, the proceedings were held at a relief center on the outskirts of the Serapion Sanctuary.
Lucion Vergrad had come there as the third prince of the Demon Realm. Rather than an envoy with actual authority, he was more of a royal figurehead present merely for the sake of courtesy. Ariane was much the same. She had not come to speak of mercy, but to stand there as the very image of it.
"Didn't you just make a mistake?" Lucion asked.
It was an afternoon in the backyard of the Serapion Sanctuary, where white flowers bloomed in overwhelming abundance. Ariane was holding a small prayer book. She had intentionally skipped a line of the prayer.
A sentence a saintess was never supposed to get wrong. A sentence that, if missed, would prompt the priests to try and teach her all over again. A sentence that, if erred upon, would make the elders say, "It seems you require more time for meditation."
Lucion had noticed it.
Ariane closed the prayer book. "I know."
"You knew, and yet you still got it wrong?"
"I wanted to make a mistake, just once."
Lucion couldn't find the words to reply. Ariane had thought his expression was quite funny back then. A royal of the Demon Realm was looking at a saintess who had missed a single line of prayer as if the entire world were collapsing.
"Is a saintess allowed to do that?"
"Of course not," Ariane replied, letting out a tiny laugh. "That's why I did it."
In that moment, Lucion looked at her with strange eyes. It was a gaze that saw a human being, not a saintess. Ariane had found that gaze terrifying. And she had loved it.
For the first time, she looked down at her own hands. Hands that were always clad in gloves. Hands referred to as sacrosanct. Hands that no one was ever supposed to hold.
After a brief hesitation, Ariane brushed the back of Lucion's hand with her fingertips. Lucion froze. Ariane froze as well. Both of them looked like people who had committed a crime. Ariane was the first to move.
"I thought demons would have colder hands," she said, pretending to be unfazed. Her heart, however, was anything but calm. It was a lie.
Only after a long silence did Lucion reply. "A saintess's hand is warmer than I expected, too."
Ariane had almost laughed at those words. A saintess's hand. She hated that phrase. So, she asked.
"If I weren't a saintess..." Lucion looked at her. "...how would you have looked at me then?"
Lucion could not answer. Ariane did not expect one, either. The question had not been directed at Lucion. It was a question she had posed to herself. If I am not a saintess, then what am I?
That day, Ariane had missed a single line of prayer. She had brushed against a taboo with her fingertips. And for the first time, she wished for her own name to be called before the title of saintess. Ariane. Just Ariane. That one short name was far more dangerous than any holy title.
The Ariane of the present opened her eyes. The document was still in her hands.
I told you to do nothing. Those were the words she had spoken to Lucion. At the same time, they were words she had spoken to herself. Do not love. Do not run away. Do not choose. Just remain a saintess. That was how she had survived. Or so she had believed.
A commotion arose outside the door. "Saintess."
Archbishop Raoden Berks entered. White ceremonial robes. Straight shoulders. A coldly composed face. Even before the Saintess, he did not bow deeply. He carried himself like a man who had no need to.
Behind him followed Political Elder Orbanen Kalt. Orbanen was older than Raoden and possessed a far softer countenance. Because of that, he appeared all the more calculating.
"Have you seen the document?" Raoden asked.
"I have," Ariane replied. Her formal tone was serene. It was not a gesture of politeness, but a suit of armor.
"There is no need for you to be shaken," Raoden said. "The Demon King is merely attempting to use your name to sow discord within the human realm."
Ariane looked down at the document. "Has Ragmunt actually been occupied?"
Raoden's lips parted slightly, then closed. Orbanen answered in his stead. "It is true that the Northern Border Army is currently conducting operations along the southern border of the Demon Realm."
Operations. A convenient word. Whenever humans set out to kill, they always sought out convenient words first.
Ariane asked again, "Was my name used there?"
Raoden answered, "The Saintess's Principle of Mercy is a doctrine of the entire Order. It is possible that the Northern Border Army referenced its spirit."
"Did they reference it, or did they receive permission?"
Silence descended upon the room. Orbanen's eyelids trembled minutely. Raoden's expression hardened.
"Saintess," he said in a low, warning tone. "Your voice must not be raised over the suffering of demons."
Ariane absorbed his words. The suffering of demons. The voice of the Saintess. It was always like this. Whenever someone sought to silence her, they always invoked a grander concept. God. The Order. Humanity. The Saintess. This time, it was the demons.
Ariane did not fold the paper. "This inquiry was not sent to me alone."
Orbanen spoke quietly. "A copy has also arrived at the Council of Elders. It appears notice of its arrival has been sent to the kingdom's diplomatic channels as well."
Raoden glared at him. Orbanen did not avert his gaze. "If we remain silent, it may be interpreted as tacit approval."
Those words were entirely accurate. Because of that, Raoden looked even more displeased. "Does the Saintess intend to defend the Demon Realm?"
Ariane said nothing for a long moment. In the past, she would have chosen silence. That silence would have looked like prayer. Everyone would have been reassured. The Saintess remains unshaken today as well. The Saintess protects herself today as well.
Yet the document in her hands still felt warm. Lucion's postscript caught in the back of her throat. Will you choose silence this time as well?
Ariane slowly raised her head. "Please convene the Council of Elders."
Raoden's eyes narrowed. "Saintess."
"Within the day," Ariane said. Her voice was not loud, but it no longer flowed like a recited prayer.
Raoden took a step closer. "You are attempting to open a very dangerous door, Saintess."
Ariane looked at him. A dangerous door. The phrase was laughable. Her life had been a door from the very beginning. A door that someone else opened and closed. A door that someone else guarded. A door that someone locked from the inside and labeled sacred.
"I am not trying to defend the Demon Realm," Ariane said. "Nor am I trying to praise the Demon King."
Orbanen held his breath. Raoden forced his stiffened fingers to relax.
Ariane held up the document. The black seal. The Saintess's name. Ragmunt. Those scheduled to die.
"I am going to reclaim my name," she said. "To see exactly who is trying to kill people in my name."
The sanctuary fell silent. Within that silence, Ariane drew her first real breath. Her fear had not vanished. There was no way it would. But just because she was afraid did not mean she could hide behind her prayers once more.
"Please convene the Council of Elders," Ariane repeated. Today was the day she would shatter the silence she had harbored for so long.