Scene: Grand Ceremonial Hall – Late Morning
Light streamed from the high windows, casting slender beams across the polished marble floor. The divine glow caught the folds of the Luminarchs' robes as they moved near the altar, speaking in hushed voices beneath the towering sigil of the Church.
The Grand Luminarch stood ahead, unmoving.
Behind him, one of the councilmen spoke, voice low with awe.
"Did you see that? It felt like a miracle. Like the heavens opened for her."
Another nodded slowly, eyes still fixed on the glass ceiling. "Even now… I feel it. That warmth. That weight. Her power—it surpassed anything the previous Saintess ever displayed."
A third leaned forward, fingers clasped tight, voice pressing with urgency. "Then why wait? We should name her the Saintess now. The people already believe it."
The Grand Luminarch didn't turn. Didn't speak.
Another voice broke in, sharper this time. "Your Holiness… we understand your concern for her freedom. But if she truly is the envoy of the gods, then why hesitate? Isn't it her mission to serve the Church? To guide the people?"
The tension grew. More nods. More agreement.
"Then let us call for a new assembly. Let it be decided formally. She should not walk the line between titles. She's the one. We all saw it."
Silence followed.
Then the Grand Luminarch turned. Slowly. His eyes cut through the gathering like a blade drawn.
"The assembly you ask for…" His voice rang cold, final. "It has already passed. What is done is done."
The words echoed through the vaulted chamber.
"I will not repeat myself."
They fell quiet.
"You all agreed," he said, calm but iron-steeped. "She may be summoned when needed—and allowed to go freely. That was our pact."
He took a step forward. His voice lowered.
"And I told you before. I will not repeat the mistake I made with the last Saintess."
His gaze turned bitter.
"I will not bind her to duty with chains made of praise."
A long pause.
One of the younger Luminarchs lowered his head. "Forgive us, Your Holiness. When you first brought her… many of us doubted. We thought it was politics. Posturing. But now… after what we witnessed…"
He looked up, jaw tight with guilt. "No one can deny it. That light—that presence—she's more than an envoy."
The Grand Luminarch's lips thinned.
"So now you believe? Because it was loud enough? Because the sky tore open?"
He looked at them one by one.
"You doubted me when I named her. Now you kneel because she glows brighter than your expectations?"
Another Luminarch stepped back, visibly shaken.
"What if someone stronger comes next year?" the Grand Luminarch continued. "Will you shift your loyalty again? Will you strip her of the title just as quickly?"
No one answered.
He raised his chin. "My decision is final. This Church does not name Saintesses by spectacle."
A breath passed.
"I sit in the highest seat here," he said. "You do not tell me what to do."
The tension broke like cracking stone. The room hushed completely.
Then slowly, one by one, the Luminarchs bowed their heads.
"...Forgive us, Your Holiness."
He didn't respond.
He only turned away again—his back straight, hands behind him.
But they didn't see the slight tremble in his clasped fingers.