The Heart That Remained After Prayer
Once again, the Saintess raised the same name at the end of her prayer.
Beneath the great statue of the Goddess, her silver hair spilled down until it brushed the floor. High in the temple ceiling, dawn light filtered through stained glass and broke softly, settling in quiet upon the altar.
Prayers for the sick.
Blessings for lovers about to marry.
Songs for mothers carrying new life.
The prayers of the Saintess who served the Goddess of Love had always been turned toward someone else's life.
But today, what remained at the end of her prayer was only one person.
Hero.
The name she could not speak aloud rang quietly inside her chest.
The man who, three years ago, had stopped the end of the world and returned to Earth. The man who, until the very last moment, had smiled and told her it was all right.
But even after those words had passed, the inside of the Saintess's chest had remained empty for a long time.
For the first year, she thought he might come back.
That one day the temple doors might suddenly open, that familiar footsteps might sound, that he might speak to her with that slightly sheepish face of his, just as before.
"It's been a while, Ria."
So she waited.
She prayed, she healed, she blessed people's marriages, and she spent each day with an untroubled face.
When the second year came, the Saintess called that waiting a mission.
She told herself she had to protect well the world he had saved—that she had to remain a Saintess he would not be ashamed of when he returned.
But when the night grew deep and the temple lights went out one by one, the word mission was always too vast and cold.
There was no place within it to hide one person's desire to see him.
When the third year came, the Saintess finally admitted it.
Waiting never became familiar.
Only the method of enduring a day without him remained in her body, day by day.
The prayer that would shake again the place he had barely returned to stopped before her lips.
So from some day onward, the prayer changed direction.
Not a prayer calling him to this world, but a prayer that she might go to him.
Not a prayer of waiting, but a prayer for going to meet him.
Preparations for the ritual had already begun.
The method of opening a dimensional rift. Earth's language. Its systems and laws. Records of how severely divine power would weaken.
The priestesses carefully gathered possibilities, and the Saintess learned new knowledge every day.
The preparations were progressing.
Her heart hesitated in the same place every day.
Even kneeling before the altar, the final sentence lingered long inside her lips.
She wanted to go.
Every time she set those words into a prayer, her fingertips trembled finely.
She wanted to breathe the air of the world where he was. She wanted to walk the streets he walked. She wanted to see the moment he recognized her.
"Goddess."
The Saintess quietly bowed her head, her hands joined.
"If I… truly come to stand in his world."
The moment she finished speaking, a quiet ache rose deep in her chest.
It was tingling like sorrow, and yet warm.
She wanted to see him.
She wanted to face him again.
For a long time she had called that feeling faith. She had called it a mission, and she had called it longing.
But now she wanted to give it a more private name.
Love.
When she thought of that word, a low heat rose to her cheeks.
After the prayer ended, the Saintess was summoned by the priestesses.
Preparations for going to Earth had long been proceeding along many branches. There was no end to what the Saintess needed to learn—Earth's language, the rules of modern civilization, how to explain herself in a strange world, and how to protect herself even after her divine power weakened.
That day, the cover of the book the priestesses opened bore the seal of the Order of the Goddess of Love, embossed in gold leaf.
The Saintess's fingertips stopped on the cover.
The moment she read the title, the force in her fingertips increased.
The oldest and most private teaching of the Order of the Goddess of Love.
A lesson on how a married couple welcomes each other—how they comfort each other.
"Saintess."
The Elder Priestess smiled gently.
"If you go to Earth and meet him again, the two of you will likely face a very important choice."
"An important choice…"
"Marriage, of course."
At those words, the Saintess's spine went taut.
Marriage.
She had blessed the vows of countless couples, watched over the birth of children with prayer, and brought down the Goddess's light upon the hands of lovers entrusting their lives to each other.
The Saintess knew the structure of the human body, and the advice married couples needed. She had learned about the bodily changes to prepare for before having a child, and about the nerves a bride felt before her wedding night.
It had always been knowledge she passed on to other couples.
But today, one page of the book lingered long at her fingertips.
The Saintess followed the words.
The order in which a couple embraces each other. The tension of the wedding night. The changes that occur when a body welcomes the one it loves.
All of it was knowledge that had been on the page.
But the moment the Hero's name entered between the sentences, the Saintess's fingertips stiffened on the page.
"You need not be afraid, Saintess."
The Elder Priestess turned a page.
"The act of a couple bringing each other joy is also a very private prayer offered to the Goddess of Love."
The Young Priestess beside her let out a laugh.
"Of course, there's no need to try so hard to do it well from the start."
"Th-that kind of talk… so directly…"
The Saintess bowed her head.
Her ears burned.
The priestesses' laughter spread low. Someone rested fingertips on the page and pointed out the next line; someone else lowered their voice so the Saintess would not grow more flustered.
The Saintess covered her reddened ears with the back of her hand.
On the page was written how a couple embraces each other.
The Saintess tried to follow the sentences again.
She could read them. The structure of the body, the tension of the wedding night, the careful order of approaching each other—she had learned it all.
But the moment she recalled the Hero's hand, the sentences no longer remained as mere sentences.
The warmth that would touch the back of her hand. The eyes that had looked at her carefully. And not the name she had only repeated at the end of prayers for some time now, but the name that had quietly flowed from his lips.
"Ria."
The moment she recalled that voice, the Saintess's breath faltered finely.
Her fingers on the page curled.
"You already know a great many things, Saintess."
The Elder Priestess said gently.
"But knowing something as knowledge and choosing it yourself before the one you love are different things."
The Saintess's fingertips on the page loosened.
The priestess placed her hand over the back of the Saintess's hand.
"You need not be perfect from the start."
The warmth on the back of her hand was warm.
"If you are embarrassed, say you are embarrassed. If you are afraid, you may say you are afraid. If he truly loves you, he will listen to those words first."
Even after the priestess's hand withdrew, warmth remained on the back of the Saintess's hand.
Even after the lesson ended, those words followed her—when she walked the corridor, when she climbed the cold stone stairs, when she returned to her room and closed the door alone.
The bedroom was quiet.
The Saintess sat on the edge of the bed with only a single lamp left lit.
The white lace undergarments the priestesses had given her during the day still felt unfamiliar on her shoulders and waist. The thin straps pressed strangely against her shoulders, and the fabric—lighter than her usual saintess robes—touched her skin with an excess of intimacy.
The thin straps remained on her shoulders. Though the fabric was far lighter than her usual saintess robes, it felt heavier there.
Her fingers pressed against each other on her knees.
The priestesses' words remained continuously in her ears.
The act of a couple bringing each other joy is also a very private prayer offered to the Goddess of Love.
The sentences from the page rose again before her eyes.
Couple. Wedding night. Bodies welcoming each other.
Between those words, the Hero's face suddenly appeared.
The air beneath the lamp grew hot.
If she and the Hero became a couple…
The thought did not stop there.
The imagination of his hand taking hers. Eyes looking at her carefully. The low voice she had recalled just before at the page.
"Ria."
When that name touched her ear again, the Saintess swallowed her breath.
Her heart beat fast.
It was unfamiliar.
She had always thought longing only hurt from inside the chest. But the longing of this moment was different.
Her fingertips trembled. Strength entered the insides of her thighs. Her body curled small, as if trying to hide itself.
The Saintess's hand descended below her chest.
The heat that settled there lingered long.
"Ria."
Suddenly, the voice with which he had called her that way rose again.
Her fingertips touched the undergarment.
The body heat beyond the thin fabric was hotter than she expected.
The Saintess swallowed her breath.
Her fingertips moved briefly over the thin fabric.
Once.
And once more.
It was an awkward movement. And yet her lower abdomen tightened small, and strength entered the insides of her thighs. Her knees drew together of their own accord.
The heat beneath her fingertips reached more distinctly through the thin fabric.
"……"
Her breath broke off inside her throat.
Hero.
The moment she thought of the name, her fingertips moved once more.
This time longer.
The Saintess's shoulders trembled finely.
The unfamiliar heat that began below spread into her belly. Her face was hot, and her fingertips fumbled over the thin fabric and stopped.
The Saintess pressed her lips together and bowed her head.
The fact that she was growing wet beneath the undergarment made her face flush before her fingertips did.
The Saintess lowered her eyes.
Her fingertips carefully retraced the same place.
Once.
And longer.
Her breath grew finer, and her knees pressed more firmly together. The heart that had been beating inside her chest settled down below her lower abdomen.
The thin fabric of the undergarment was faintly wet beneath her fingertips.
Faint moisture.
The moment she noticed it, the Saintess's face flushed crimson in an instant.
She held her fingertips still and only swallowed her breath. Beneath them, she still trembled finely.
If she moved just once more, the trembling would sink deeper into her lower abdomen.
She carefully moved again.
The inside of her lower abdomen tightened again. This time deeper.
The Saintess bit her lip.
The order she had learned was in her head. But her fingertips kept trembling first, and her breath scattered faster still. The force in her fingertips was clumsy, and the movement kept breaking off.
And yet beneath that clumsy movement, the heat in her lower abdomen pooled deeper.
Her breath grew short.
The bedroom lamp swayed hazily.
The Saintess gripped the edge of the sheet with one hand.
"Hero…"
A small voice leaked out.
In that moment, force entered her fingertips.
Her breath was still trembling finely. The heat beneath her fingertips pooled long in the thin fabric.
If she continued further, she would learn how far this unfamiliar trembling reached.
The Saintess gripped the edge of the sheet and swallowed her breath finely. There was force in the hand gripping the sheet, and small moisture gathered at the corners of her eyes from shame.
Then she withdrew her hand.
She wanted to stop here for now.
If she were to learn what came next after this trembling, she wanted it to be within his hands—in the moment he called her name and told her it was all right.
The Saintess gathered her trembling hands before her chest.
The lamp had not yet gone out. The room was quiet, and beyond the window the night air of the temple stirred faintly.
With her flushed face bowed, the Saintess prayed again in a small voice.
"Please… let me go to him."
The prayer was lower than before. But harder to hide.
Her fingertips still trembled finely.
The lamp stayed lit for a long time.
The Saintess sat before it and gathered her fingertips—until the trembling in them subsided.
That night's prayer held a more private warmth than before.
The pillar of light toward Earth had not yet opened.
But that night, the Saintess knew clearly for the first time.
It was a path across worlds, to go meet him.
A path to face the name she had only raised at the end of prayer—and this time call it love.