A Walk Before Dawn
"Shut... up. You fucking... bastard..."
She had spat in his face as she flung the insult at him.
To be made to suffer a humiliation far worse than the last at the hands of the man whose cock would soon be made whole again—no, it was far better to give her body over to the Order, which had at least grown gentle. Above all, hadn't Bishop Ervan said so himself? That he would permit it for this one day only.
Borrowing the holy sword from the hero in exchange for handing the Saintess over for a single day meant, from the very beginning, that the bargain with the hero took precedence over any purpose of restoring her stigmata. She had simply been left in the hero's keeping for one day. And so she had believed, without a shred of doubt, that she need only endure this time.
"This is a mess of your own making, Saintess. I am in a position where I must have that answer from you, whatever it takes."
Her judgment had been no misreading. It was only that the desperate card Lean had played left a wound far too fatal.
"Don't worry. I am a man who loves you—the Saintess herself. Even should you become a half-crazed bitch, I will remain at your side and love you for the rest of my life."
Lean had spoken those words as he drove the replicated holy sword into the floorboards. She had grasped their meaning exactly.
Trapped within the illusion the holy sword had woven, she watched the mist around her thin little by little—and there, dead ahead, she found the back of a man dressed in familiar garb.
"Ga...Galef...?"
"Saintess. Have you been well, all this while?"
From the moment Galef turned to face her, tears flooded up in Serina, and she had to scrub hastily at her eyes. She could hardly even tell how long it had been since she last saw the man who was as good as a father to her—and so, knowing full well it was an illusion, she had stepped toward him out of a fleeting gladness all the same.
It was a walk that ended at barely two steps.
...
When the mist cleared entirely, Galef's figure stood revealed from head to toe.
His throat had been half severed. A massive scar gaped over his heart as well. The Galef she had reunited with still wore the appearance of the very instant death had taken him.
And so Serina sat collapsed on the floor, her mouth refusing to close. The most precious person she had failed to protect was coming toward her, his face heavy with undying regret.
"Saintess Serina. Just how much longer do you intend to torment me? You already know the answer that would save everyone, so why will you not share it? Eh?! Is it because I am not your true father? Because I am not family?"
Her father began to spew forth the bitterness his spite had fed.
"How I regret it. Every last thing! Above all, the years I spent raising you as my own daughter—I could wish them all erased!"
No. It isn't real.
She screwed her eyes shut and clapped her hands over her ears. But the voices did not quiet in the slightest. If anything, they bored into her ears, sharper and clearer than before.
"It is only natural, is it not? Truthfully, even your birth is uncertain, Saintess. Is that not how orphans all are?"
No. No. No. No. No......
"To think I lived my whole life cherishing as a daughter a bitch who never even knew what she owed for a lifetime of raising. My past amounts to nothing at all. A filthy, contemptible bitch, through and through."
"...Don't."
Serina let her arms fall limp and looked up at him. Meeting that face mottled with regret, her own expression brimmed over with pain.
"Wearing Galef's body......don't you dare say such things."
She knew perfectly well it was nothing but a false illusion. But she could not deny a single word of it, heard in the voice of beloved family.
The seed of doubt had already sprouted, from the very beginning. That the villagers might resent her. That Galef might, too. Because even though everything would have been resolved if only she had given her body to the hero, she had refused, and chosen the longer road instead. Because she had prized herself alone, rather than sacrificing herself for everyone.
Was it because, though every one of those premises pointed at pure nonsense from the start, she had been hounded that far into the corner? She could half understand why Galef, eyes bloodshot, was winding his hands around her throat. Their souls left to suffer, and she had done nothing—nothing at all—for them. That much stood as undeniable truth, and so Serina wept and wept, even as the sounds of dying tore from her throat.
And Lean dug into those weaknesses of hers without end. Galef's voice became dozens, then hundreds of other voices besides. Everything that echoed until her mind spun carried resentment aimed at her, and pieces of it still circled Serina's ears even now. The dead were still blaming her.
"Kyaaaaaaagh!!!"
She felt the sheets beneath her soaking damp. A fishy reek drifted up.
Serina had to admit it. She had been driven utterly into a corner. If the Order did not deal with the hero, she would lose her mind then and there.
"Saintess."
"Er...van......"
That was why the sound of Ervan's voice felt so desperately welcome. The instant he stepped into the room, every phantom voice vanished without a trace. And a familiar warmth spread slowly through her entire body.
Serina lifted her head and shifted sluggishly to the side. In the mirror she brushed past, her reflection was a wreck, tears and snot streaking down her face. Was shattered the word for it? If the wound below had not fully healed, she thought she might have torn off her clothes that very moment and shown the priest what lay inside—for a face wholly devoured by fear could never lay bare the heart within, scoured down to nothing but wounds.
"My, my. It seems you have returned from quite an ordeal."
"Why...would you...do that...? Why on earth..."
"I never dreamed you would incur the hero's grudge, Saintess. Had I known beforehand, I would have sealed his holy power—temporarily, at the very least—so that he could do you no harm."
"Even...though you...knew...everything..."
"Hmm. I hardly took you for someone who would wish to remain beside the man who did such a cruel thing."
Serina's whole body flinched hard. She cursed her own foolishness. She had no idea what it was she had done. More than anyone, she had wanted the Order's help—yet seized by rage, she had nearly ruined it all.
"I, too, failed to warn you in advance, so I will overlook what happened yesterday. However, if you do not wish for a life of scheming against the hero, then I would ask that you return to your original self. Keep only to that, and I shall protect you thoroughly."
Serina gave a quiet nod, and Ervan, arriving at the bedside, extended a hand to her.
"First, you must wash. I will assist you."
She took his hand and tried to rise—but in an instant the strength drained from her legs, and her body pitched forward. Ervan, bending down at just that moment, caught her fast so she would not fall.
"Saintess. Is it difficult for you to walk?"
"......Yes."
Whether from fear or not, no strength would come into her legs at all. Held against Ervan, Serina was taken to the washroom.
Through it all—undressing her, washing her, drying her—Ervan showed not a trace of personal desire. He was the same man as ever. And that was what made her uneasy. Because the stigmata reflected in the mirror had grown dimmer still.
Soon, her hair dried to a sleek finish, she sat perched on the edge of the bed, awkwardly shielding her chest with a towel. Whether Ervan had seen to it in advance or not, the bedsheets were spotless again before she knew it.
"Saintess. Are you tired?"
"...No."
"Then might you care to join me for a short walk?"
Serina's eyes widened slowly.
"A-A walk...you say?"
"Yes. You have been so cooperative with your training these past days, and yesterday you had a rough time of it. I am sure you would like some fresh air as well, Saintess, so we shall go out together and return before breakfast."
She thought she had no idea what her face was doing.
"Then I shall take that as consent. Prepare yourself to go out."
She handed the towel to Ervan and accepted the white robe and veil he had brought along. The moment she reached for her undergarments first, her wrist was caught, and she looked up at him in bewilderment.
"Why are you..."
"You need only wear this."
"...Pardon?"
Serina looked down at the robe. It resembled the vestments any priest might wear, but the fabric was far, far thinner.
"It is still the small hours of dawn. No one will be stirring, so you may set your mind at ease."
Slowly, she slid her arms into the robe. As she drew the ankle-length garment closed about her, Ervan bound the cords at the front, snug and firm. Last of all she donned the veil, and, propelled by Ervan's hand between her shoulder blades, drifted until she stood before the mirror.
"Ah......"
Every inch of her showed through it. If one came near enough and looked with care, even the closed seam of her sex below, and the peaks of her breasts above, would surely have been visible. And so the flesh of her, from the swell of her chest down to her thighs, lay bare exactly as it was.
"Shall we be going, then?"
Ervan snatched her hand and turned her to face him.
...
"Saintess? If you dawdle, you will be the only one who suffers for it."
Serina looked at the thing being offered to her.
A snow-white collar of leather. And the leash joined to it lay coiled in Ervan's hand.
Serina swallowed, again and again.
The situation had changed.