The White Night of Seven Days and Nights - 4
Another day passed. Rene walked on, listening to the footsteps trailing behind her. The sharp tap of her cane, followed by the firm thud of boots. With every step she took, that presence clung to her heels.
Was she already growing used to this steady rhythm? The thought struck her as absurdly funny, drawing a soft, involuntary chuckle as she mulled it over.
The Holy Knight who had introduced himself as Vera was remarkably taciturn. One might call it knightly dignity or priestly restraint, but Rene sensed something different in his silence.
Maybe he's just bad at expressing himself, she mused.
Yesterday's conversation floated back to her. When she'd asked why he'd become a Holy Knight, his voice had brimmed with raw emotion—fervent, almost like a burning longing. What had forged him into that? What did the sword he wielded to protect, that light he served, truly mean to him? What significance could inspire such scorching passion?
Lost in these thoughts, with those footsteps echoing behind, Rene found herself blurting out, "What is the Holy Kingdom like?"
She hadn't even realized she'd spoken until the words hung in the air. A flicker of oh no crossed her mind, quickly chased by well, since I asked, I might as well hear the answer. She waited.
Vera's reply came after she'd taken about three more steps.
"…It's no different from any other place."
His voice was low and measured. Rene's steps faltered. She turned her head toward the sound, a habit when she wanted to show she was listening intently.
"…Is that so?"
"Yes. There are people, homes, and communities woven together."
"Hmm, nothing unique? Something you can only see there?"
Silence stretched after her question. Did I overstep? Is it a sore spot for him? Unease prickled at her, but then Vera spoke at last.
"…The people there are best called freaks."
"Freaks?"
"Yes. Some think in ways that stray far from the norm."
Rene tilted her head. "What kind of people?"
"…You'd be better off not knowing the details."
His tone sounded firm at first glance—almost hostile, if you only heard the words. But Rene caught no negativity in it.
He doesn't dislike them, then.
Vera would have been horrified if he'd known, but of course, she couldn't tell.
"Hmm… Now I'm even more curious."
"They're not evil-minded, but that doesn't mean you need to get close to them."
It was a sharp rebuke. Weren't they supposed to be priests, pilgrims devoting their lives to the gods? What sort of people elicited such words?
Vera meant it as a warning to keep her away from them, but the world rarely bends to good intentions.
Curiosity about these "freaks" began to stir in Rene's heart.
"Ah, anything else?"
"…Every building in the Holy Kingdom is white."
Rene stifled a giggle at that. She caught a faint edge of irritation in his voice.
Doesn't like white, huh?
Vera pressed on. "I suspect the architects who built it were… of a singular mindset."
Oof, he's heated. Rene bit back a curse of sympathy, fighting another laugh as she replied with a playful lilt, "You don't like white, do you?"
She fiddled with her hair as she spoke.
"Absolutely not. I do not dislike white."
The answer came swift and fervent.
"I don't dislike white at all. I simply believe moderation suits all things, and excess holds no appeal. White… I do not dislike it."
Stammering insistence, repeating himself for emphasis. A rustle of fabric accompanied it, leaving Rene with the impression: Vera's really no good at this.
"Just teasing."
With a small smile, she wondered why he treated her with such deference.
…Probably this Stigmata on me.
Even if he hadn't said it outright, it was obvious. Why else would a Holy Knight from the Holy Kingdom seek out someone with no ties to it, shadowing her like this? He must know about the Stigmata somehow. That certainty explained his politeness.
The realization clogged her chest. She hadn't wanted to dwell on it, but here it was again.
Viscous emotions welled up. To shake them off, she tapped her cane forward.
Tap.
Followed by the familiar thud.
*
To speak of having something stolen—even in jest—was no light matter. Especially when what was taken plunged one's entire life into ruin.
Rene woke to a gentle warmth settling over her body. Was it sunlight, or perhaps a fire nearby? She couldn't tell. Sightless, she had no way to know.
She simply assumed from the peaceful air: Nothing's wrong, so it must be the sun.
…Moments like these, when she confronted how she perceived the world through sounds and sensations alone, stirred a storm of emotions within her.
Her past clawed at her again. The light stolen in an instant. The self who could no longer take a single step without stumbling. From that moment, a life groping through endless darkness.
Matching faded memories to her surroundings just to grasp where she was—the misery of it. The terror that it might last forever, swallowing her heart.
Rene had always been afraid. Of the unseen world. Of a future chained to this existence.
So she had prayed. Not a single day without it. Not a moment unspent wishing. Every breath a plea for her light to return. For pity on her wretched self.
She believed they could grant that much. …And then, she thought her prayers had reached them.
The White Night of Seven Days and Nights. The power of the gods. Divine power.
Blind as she was, Rene felt it unmistakably. Unfamiliar sensations flooded her, yet she knew instantly what they were. It came naturally, instinctively.
Hope swelled. Ecstasy followed. At last, my prayers have touched the heavens.
Tears streaming, she'd begged on that first day of divine power: Return my light. Give back those radiant moments.
Clumsily, she'd wrung out every drop of nascent power in her plea.
Divine energy depleted, breath ragged. Her head throbbed from manifesting a power she barely understood.
Yet she couldn't stop. Visions of returning light, of running freely again—they drove her on.
She squeezed every ounce from what had descended upon her… but nothing changed.
No matter how she drained her divine power, no matter what miracles she wrought, the light never returned.
The world remained dark. She was still the blind woman who couldn't take a step without her cane.
Hope twisted into despair in an instant. Rene felt her insides torn by grief.
That was when she first understood how cruelly hope's death could humble a soul. How deeply resentment could root.
After that day, Rene stopped believing in the gods. No more prayers.
A god who made her so wretched left only bitterness in the end.
To her, the gods were demons dangling bread before the starving, cackling at her sobs.
She vowed never to seek them again, no matter what they demanded. She would never follow.
"Ah…"
A sigh slipped from her lips. The thoughts had crashed over her the moment her eyes opened, emotions flaring wildly.
Feeling them churn inside, she squeezed her eyes shut, willing them away. She'd decided to ignore it all—no room for even a shred of feeling.
Her hand fumbled for her cane. Heart unsettled, she needed fresh air.
She found it, rose, draped her shawl, and opened the door.
"…Did you cough, milady?"
The familiar voice from the past few days. The Holy Knight from the Holy Kingdom. Servant of the gods she despised.
Yet a man she couldn't bring herself to hate.
Rene turned toward the sound and greeted him. "Good morning."
"Yes. Did you rest well?"
"Yes. And you, Sir Knight?"
"Quite well."
Rene smiled faintly at his reply and asked, "Will you follow me again today?"
"…I apologize."
What for? His parrot-like apology drew a brief laugh from her before she tapped her cane.
The warm weather enveloped her. A cool breeze seemed to wash away the negativity coiled inside.
Exhaling softly, she felt a twinge of guilt at the footsteps behind her.
This Holy Knight, shadowing her for days just to escort her to the Holy Kingdom. The tactless sort who, sensing her aversion, never mentioned it again.
Pity welled up, unbidden. She nibbled her lip briefly, then steadied herself.
…I'm sorry, but.
No matter how she turned it over, she didn't want to become a servant of the gods.