The first rays of dawn spilled over the rooftops of Eddleguard, painting the stone streets and chimney tops in shades of soft gold. Dew clung stubbornly to window sills and flowerpots, sparkling like nature's attempt at jewelry. A faint mist drifted through the lower alleys, making the whole city look as if it had just rolled out of bed but wasn't quite ready to face the day.
The birds, of course, had no such hesitation. They launched a full-blown concert, chirping loud enough to make even the grumpiest sleeper consider throwing a shoe out the window.
One by one, the city began to stretch and yawn awake. Shopkeepers lifted their shutters, bakers dragged trays of steaming bread to their counters, and somewhere in the distance, a blacksmith's hammer started its usual rhythm—steady, confident, and slightly off-beat, as if he was still half asleep.
Children chased each other through narrow lanes, dodging wagons and angry merchants, while housewives exchanged fresh gossip faster than the pigeons could fly.
It was another bright, noisy morning in Eddleguard—or at least, it was supposed to be.
Commoners in Eddleguard often started their day by visiting the church. It was their quiet hope that the Heavens would keep them safe, bless their families, and bring prosperity to their homes. The scent of incense drifted through the cool morning air, mingling with the faint mist that still lingered between the streets. The soft toll of the church bell echoed gently across the city, signaling the start of another day under divine watch.
But today, the people of Eddleguard were met with a sight unlike any morning they had ever known. The usual flow of worshippers into and out of the church had vanished, replaced by a scene that made even the most hardened townsfolk pause mid-step.
Beside the church, a vast open space stretched out like a canvas for something monumental. Figures dressed in fine robes and stiff collars huddled over sprawling parchments, their fingers tracing lines and pointing at symbols that meant nothing to ordinary eyes. Others paced back and forth, measuring the ground with ropes and rods, muttering numbers that danced like an alien language, and scribbling notes with an intensity that seemed almost theatrical.
On one edge of the clearing, materials piled so high they looked like a small mountain range. Polished white marble caught the sunlight and scattered it in dazzling shards across the onlookers' eyes, while certain stones emitted a faint, ethereal glow, as if tiny fragments of magic had been trapped within them. Beside them, planks of pale, unfamiliar wood were stacked with precise care; their subtle, sweet fragrance lingered in the air, curling into noses and making passersby take an involuntary deep breath.
The townsfolk whispered in stunned tones, craning their necks for a better look. Their imaginations ran wild. Such wealth, such craftsmanship… it was obvious: this was no ordinary construction. Whatever was rising here, it belonged to the nobles, and it promised something monumental, impossible, and utterly breathtaking — a marvel far beyond the reach of common hands.
One by one, people started to gather. And seeing this, others began to gather as well. That is how people's mentality works: if they see a group of people interested in something, their curiosity is immediately piqued. Within no time, what started as a handful of onlookers had swelled into a massive crowd, all craning their necks to get a glimpse of the mysterious activity.
But despite their curiosity, no one dared to get close to the construction site. Not that they didn't want to, but simply because they wouldn't dare. Among the nobles and workers, a group of fully armored soldiers had appeared, standing tall and alert. Their presence was confusing — why would a construction project require soldiers? Even noble projects usually had only household guards or perhaps a few adventurers or mercenaries hired for security. Yet here they were, polished armor gleaming in the morning sun, swords and spears at the ready, exuding an authority that made anyone nearby think twice about stepping closer.
Then the crowd's attention was drawn upward, to a flag fluttering proudly in the wind. The crimson banner bore a roaring lion, its mane flowing like fire in the breeze, a symbol that made the cityfolk's hearts skip a beat.
"So it's a royal project… no wonder," someone murmured, and the words rippled through the crowd, spreading awe and whispered speculation in equal measure.
Seeing the massive crowd that had gathered, one person stepped forward. He was an elderly man, his gray hair falling in wisps around a long, flowing beard. He wore a priestly robe, simple yet dignified, that swayed slightly as he moved. Climbing onto a raised platform, he straightened his back and raised a hand to address the throng.
"Everyone, if I may have your attention."
His voice carried clearly across the crowd, reaching every curious onlooker. It was immediately obvious that no ordinary old man could shout so loudly — he was using a magical device to amplify his voice, a faint shimmer of enchantment visible around it. Gradually, murmurs died down, and all eyes turned toward him, hanging on his every word.
Seeing that he had everyone's attention, the old priest lifted his hands slightly and spoke with solemn authority.
"I am High Priest Robert Andrews Cromo."
He let the words sink in, letting the murmurs of the crowd grow quiet, like a tide being pulled back.
"What you see before me… you could say it is almost like a blessing."
A hush fell over the gathered crowd. Even the soldiers seemed to shift in place, leaning slightly forward as if drawn by invisible threads.
"Before I tell you what it is, let me speak of a person."
He paused, his eyes sweeping across the throng, allowing anticipation to build.
"She can be said to be the embodiment of kindness. Her heart is wider than the ocean, her spirit brighter than the sun at high noon. Her compassion touches all living things, and her courage defies even the fiercest trials."
The crowd leaned in, some gripping each other's hands, some whispering fervently to neighbors.
"A few days ago, she had her awakening ceremony… and she awakened the lights. Praise the Lord!!"
"Praise the Lord!" the crowd echoed, voices rising like waves crashing against the shore.
"You may already know her. She is none other than our little princess of Eddleguard, Miss Sapphire Rosabelle Astley. You might have heard how she treated those poor children — children who had no one to rely on but themselves. But as fate would have it, a black-hearted merchant driving recklessly gravely injured them… and then left them to die."
Anger rippled through the crowd. Hands clenched into fists, teeth chattered with fury, and a low growl of outrage passed among them. Some muttered under their breath, others struck the ground with boots, unable to contain their rage. Yet everyone knew this was truth — the harsh reality of the world they lived in.
"But then she came. She showed mercy. She did not simply provide money for their treatment… she treated the children herself."
A collective gasp ran through the crowd, eyes wide, some moist with tears. Mothers clutched their own children, whispering prayers in trembling voices.
"Do you know why?" the priest asked, raising his hands as if to bless the entire city.
"Because she said her gift was bestowed upon her by the Heavens. That gift… is meant to be shared."
He let the words hang in the air like a sacred melody.
"She was merely a child, not yet five years old, and yet she displayed such benevolence that it could humble even the oldest among us."
"Praise the Lord!" voices shouted, some breaking into tears of awe.
"Praise the Lord!" the echo rose again, louder, more fervent, the sound carrying across Eddleguard like a wave of divine joy.
The crowd's emotions swelled — a mixture of reverence, awe, and pure, unbridled admiration. Many bowed their heads instinctively, some fell to their knees, others clasped their hands to their hearts. The morning sun caught their faces, illuminating tears, smiles, and expressions of hope as if the city itself had been touched by the very light the princess had awakened.
"And then she showed her wrath."
A hush fell over the crowd, so thick it seemed to press against every chest.
"On her wishes, knights were dispatched," the priest continued, his voice trembling with barely restrained emotion. "Breaking through the building, and dragging out the culprit. Now he sits behind bars, his sentence: life imprisonment."
A low murmur of astonishment spread, faces turning pale at the justice delivered.
"And so, after the ceremony, our honourable Bishop Jereco, on orders from His Holiness the Pope, asked Miss Sapphire Rosabelle Astley to take the mantle of the Saintess."
Shock rippled through the crowd. Some fell to their knees, clasping hands in prayer, tears spilling freely. Others wept openly, pressing their hands to their faces, unable to contain their emotion.
"But it is unfortunate that she refused."
A collective gasp ran through the people. Some shook their heads in disbelief. Mothers hugged their children tightly, whispering, "Such a young child, yet so powerful…" Some faces were pale, some red with outrage at the world's cruelty, only to be softened by awe.
"But fear not, that is not the end of her tale," the priest said, lifting a trembling hand to quiet the crowd. He pointed gently toward them. "She spoke about you. She spoke of your suffering, your agony, your misery. She saw your injuries, your sickness, the pain you have endured without mercy."
A hush so heavy it pressed down on everyone's hearts fell across the square. Mothers clutched their children closer. Old men bowed their heads, some weeping silently, some openly.
"She said it is not fair."
The words struck like a hammer. Sobs began to ripple through the crowd, some holding hands for comfort, some staring at the ground, trembling.
"Thus she declared," the priest's voice broke, tears rolling unheeded down his cheeks, "Healing shall not be something you cannot afford. It is something you deserve."
A ripple of uncontrollable emotion surged through the crowd. People dropped to their knees, some wailing, some clutching loved ones, some sobbing for friends and family they had lost to sickness and injury. Children clutched at their parents' robes, eyes wide, faces wet with tears they did not understand, yet felt deeply. Even the soldiers, standing in disciplined ranks, shifted uncomfortably, wiping eyes and lowering their heads. Engineers, nobles, and passersby alike could not hold back. The city square became a sea of grief, of relief, of awe, all at once.
"So she will heal you… for absolutely nothing."
The priest's voice cracked under the weight of his emotion. "His Majesty was ashamed… of this little girl! So he begged her to do the construction. And here we have the Healing Hall."
He paused, gasping, sobs rattling his chest. His arms trembled as he continued. "From now on, you will no longer have to suffer. No longer endure the pain of seeing your loved ones die before your eyes. She has poured down her light… that light will heal you, save you, cure you."
The crowd wept openly, some collapsing to the ground, others holding each other, some staring at the heavens as if trying to embrace the miracle itself. Mothers rocked their babies while crying, elders clutched walking sticks with shaking hands, young men and women buried faces in each other's shoulders. The smell of incense, the faint sparkle of morning light, the glint of magical construction materials nearby — all seemed charged with a holy, healing power.
"So spread this news," the priest sobbed, raising his trembling voice as his tears fell freely. "Tell your neighbors, your friends, your family. Healing is not a luxury. It is what you deserve!"
The crowd's cries swelled into a deafening chorus. Sobs, wails, and gasps mixed with murmurs of gratitude. Knees hit the ground. Hands clutched at chests. Faces streamed with tears. Memories of loved ones lost, pain endured, and hopeless nights all came crashing back, only to be softened by the hope this little girl had poured upon them.
Then, with his voice broken, raw with emotion, the priest lifted his hands once more and cried:
"Praise the Lord!"
"Praise the Lord!!!"
"Praise the Lord!"
The echoes rolled across Eddleguard, a wave of awe, sorrow, and joy crashing over every soul present. Even the soldiers and engineers could not contain themselves; many dropped to their knees, heads bowed, silent tears tracing lines down their dust-streaked faces. The city itself seemed to tremble with emotion, as if even the stones understood the miracle unfolding before them.
As the cries and praises gradually softened, the crowd remained kneeling, their hearts full of hope and wonder. The morning sun glinted off the shimmering stones and polished marble of the Healing Hall, as if blessing the city itself. Even the soldiers and engineers, hardened by duty and discipline, lowered their heads, humbled by the sheer magnitude of the princess's compassion.
Eddleguard had witnessed a moment that would be remembered for generations — a child, no older than five, had declared that the suffering of the people was unacceptable, and she would act to heal it herself. A light had descended, both literal and divine, spreading warmth and salvation across the city.
Whispers of awe floated through the streets: parents spoke to their children of kindness beyond imagining; the elderly clasped hands with strangers, tears flowing freely; the sick and wounded dared to dream of a future where they could be made whole.
High Priest Robert Andrews Cromo stepped back from the platform, his robe damp with tears, and bowed his head once more. The murmurs of praise echoed across the square, mingling with the soft rustle of the morning wind.
And in that moment, one truth became clear to all who had gathered: the light of Sapphire Rosabelle Astley had come to Eddleguard, and no heart in the city would remain untouched.
The chapter closed on the city bathed in golden morning light, its streets filled with awe, hope, and a collective sense of destiny — for the Healing Hall would soon rise, and with it, a new era for the people of Eddleguard.