The Saintess's Dream
“Hooo… it’s freezing.”
That was when it happened—huddled beneath a cliff lashed by a fierce rainstorm, shivering so hard the cold seemed to sink into my bones. A fluttering sound came from overhead, and a moment later a black cloak settled over me. The black-haired man wrapped the cloak around me with one arm and pulled me deep into his embrace.
“…What the hell? You scared me.”
“Aren’t you cold? In weather like this, you share body heat or you freeze to death.”
His low voice brushed against my ear. Normally I would have recoiled in disgust, but somehow I didn’t mind the feeling.
“I know that. So cut it out and back off a little, will you?”
My tone was snappish, but my body stayed obediently still. Without a word he only held me tighter. His arms were warm. The solid chest against my back, the scent of a man made denser by the rain, the thick forearms locked around me—it should have felt stifling, yet a strange sense of safety left me languid instead. In the end I gave in, pretending I had no choice, and leaned my back comfortably against his chest.
“Warmer than a moment ago, isn’t it?”
“…Yeah. Maybe because it’s your arms. Feels even warmer.”
Still soaked, I smiled bashfully—then, as if to hide my burning cheeks, I spun around and threw my arms tight around his solid waist. Burying my face in the broad expanse of his chest, I felt the steady thump—thump— of a heartbeat transmitted straight through. Whether it was mine or his, the sound set my whole body alight.
“S-Saintess?”
“Shut up. You’re cold too, aren’t you? Just stay still…”
I mumbled it with a face gone scarlet. Warm. Safe. I even thought I wanted to stay like this forever—
“Gyaaaaaah!”
Thud!
A sharp scream tore from my throat as I rolled off the bed and hit the floor, jolting awake. The instant my skin met the cold boards, every scrap of warmth from the dream vanished like a mirage.
“…Ah, fuck. A dream.”
I wiped away cold sweat and dragged in ragged breaths. Thank god. Truly, thank god it had only been a dream. Right. I’d lived more than twenty years as a man; thirteen years as a woman weren’t about to rewrite my sexual identity. Of course not.
But the relief lasted only a moment before a thoroughly unpleasant, horrifying truth surfaced in my mind.
A Saintess’s dreams are prophetic. Visions of a future that will one day come to pass—a power granted to the Saintess alone.
“Bullshit!”
My future was nuzzling some guy’s chest with a dopey grin on my face? Was this a joke? Don’t make me laugh!
“If some bastard ever tries that crap, I’ll just split his skull in two with a spear!”
—This is the story of the Saintess who never falls.