Scene: Temple Pathway – Dusk
The sun drifted lower, laying long shadows across the stone colonnades. Warm amber light stretched across the corridor walls, gilding each pillar and bathing the walkway in gold. The temple grounds were quieter now. The crowds had thinned. The banners fluttered lazily in the breeze, leftover echoes of the celebration long since faded.
And down that quiet path walked Serenya.
Alone.
Each step clicked against the polished stone. Measured. Composed. But her eyes...
They burned.
The cheers still rang in her ears, even if the courtyard had long gone silent. The words... the crowd...
"Long live the Saintess!"
Her jaw tightened.
Serenya stopped, one hand gently resting on the marble balustrade. Her gaze flicked toward the gates where the envoy had stood—where she had descended the steps like a divine heir returned.
Her fingers clenched.
Then, low and bitter—to no one but herself:
"It doesn't matter to me? That's what they said. That it shouldn't matter."
Her voice cracked. The silence seemed to press closer.
She began to walk again. Faster. Heels striking stone with a sharper rhythm. Her breaths came quicker, not from exertion, but something tightening deep in her chest.
Fury.
It burned at the edges of her vision.
Serenya (thoughts): I was trained for this. Raised for it. For years, I walked these halls under scrutiny. Posture. Speech. Dress. The prayers had to be perfect. The blessings memorized. I was the symbol. Their example.
They paraded me through droughts and plagues. Sent me to distant provinces. Dozens of rituals. Hundreds of audiences. My body, my name, my grace—used for their image of order.
And now? They don't even offer a greeting? Not a word of welcome?
Her vision flicked to the ceremonial banners still fluttering near the gate.
No. It's not the temple. It's her.
The image of the girl—Jinn—flashed uninvited in her mind. Calm. Quiet. Robes too fine for a commoner. Words too simple for a saintess.
They cheered for her. Wept for her. And the High Luminarch...
Her hand trembled as it gripped the edge of her sleeve.
He stood beside her.
The betrayal stung deeper than she'd expected.
She stopped walking again.
"That girl should not exist."
The words came out in a whisper. But they echoed in the empty corridor.
They raised her up like a divine gift. A commoner with no history, no house, no sanctified training. She speaks plain words, and they treat her like the heavens opened.
And me? After everything?
Her fists shook.
"Unacceptable... this is UNACCEPTABLE."
Her voice snapped out like a blade drawn from its sheath.
The corridor went silent again.
But inside, Serenya's thoughts raced.
She wears silk without shame. She holds their attention without earning it. And they don't just respect her... they believe in her.
Her lips parted slightly as another thought settled.
Even the High Luminarch. Especially him.
A beat passed.
Then she laughed. Soft. Bitter. Nothing joyful about it.
She stood beneath the colonnade as the sun dipped further behind the tower peaks. Shadows swallowed the edges of the stone, but the red in her eyes caught the light—sharp, burning.
And her shadow, stretched long against the marble, seemed to move before she did.
She didn't cry.
She didn't break.
But the weight on her chest now had a name.
Jinnaviera.
She whispered it once.
Like a curse.