Saintess, Celestine Caelora's Perspective
The sheets were too soft.
I blinked up at the ceiling—gold-trimmed, embossed with swirling floral patterns—and for a second, I forgot where I was. Then it came back. The hotel. The battle. Alliyana.
I sat up slowly. The bed creaked with the faintest sigh beneath me.
Jake and Ysira were gone.
Of course they were. Jake probably has business with the Mercenary Guild and Ysira was either in a bookstore or interrogating some poor librarian into early retirement.
A shaft of light cut through the sheer curtains, slicing across the floor in golden angles. It had to be nearly midday.
That's right.
Alliyana had said we'd spend the whole day in Bedra. "Rest," she said, like it was something you could command. Count Bedra himself had apparently offered us rides to the capital—top-end noble carriages. The kind with iron-forged springs and velvet cushions. The kind that didn't make your spine feel like a snapped bowstring after five kilometers.
I slipped out of bed and walked barefoot across the polished wood. The room was still cool. Still quiet.
The robe hanging by the mirror was thick, plush, impossibly clean. I wrapped myself in it, standing before the full-length glass. My hair was a mess. I braided it lazily, humming under my breath.
I hated to admit it, but… I was glad.
Glad I got to stay in a place like this. Even if Alliyana paid for everything.
The Church was overflowing with gold and silver—vaults hidden beneath cathedrals, jeweled relics, entire sculptures made from melted offerings. But I was never allowed to enjoy any of it. Not truly. Especially not someone like me.
A Saintess had to be seen as simple. Humble. Above pleasure.
No jewelry. No soft beds. No velvet gowns or polished boots.
No fun.
I got dressed and stepped out of the room, weaving through the hotel's quiet corridors. The floor muffled my steps. The chandeliers above cast soft glows across polished columns and still air. The scent of lilies lingered—light, floral, expensive.
Outside, the sunlight felt good on my skin. The streets were lively again—vendors yelling over one another, carriages rattling past, a bard somewhere strumming too loudly for how early it felt.
I pulled my hood down as I walked, then up again. Old habit. Keep your face half-shaded. Don't draw attention.
But I didn't turn back.
Brewtiq wasn't far.
Thanks to Alliyana covering the hotel, I still had silver left. Enough for a drink. Maybe something sweet. Maybe…
…maybe meet boys?
I winced and shook my head. No. I wasn't allowed to do that.
Saintesses didn't fall in love. They didn't wear rings or make wishes or braid each other's hair under the stars. They remained veiled.
Still.
I did wish I could.
Dresses. Shopping. Girl talk. Accessories. Just once, I wanted to laugh over earrings that didn't match, or argue about which color suited my eyes best.
But it was okay.
Being needed was enough. Being loved by the people. Being useful. That was better.
I stepped into Brewtiq.
The smell of roasted beans hit me first—bitter, warm, nutty. There was a tinge of sugar in the air too. And chocolate.
I walked to the counter.
"One chocolate chip frappe, please."
The barista smiled and nodded, already turning to cast an ice spell under her breath and swirling it.
I glanced around. Crowded. Too crowded. Not a single seat.
Every table was occupied. Some people were laughing, others reading. A couple was clearly on a date. I sighed and turned slowly, scanning.
Then I saw it. An empty chair.
At a table already taken—by a woman. Blonde. Alone.
I hesitated, then walked over, clutching the cold drink in my hand.
"Um, excuse me," I asked. "Is this seat—?"
The woman turned her head.
My heart dropped.
It was Alliyana.
She gave the faintest nod. "It is."
I froze.
Every instinct told me to walk away. Politely. Pretend I just remembered something. Anything.
But that would make it worse.
So I sat.
The chair creaked softly beneath me. I stared down at my drink. Couldn't make eye contact. My palms were cold from the cup. My throat, dry.
I'd faced monsters before. I got this.
Alliyana broke the silence first.
"What do you think of the drink names here?"
I blinked. "…Sorry?"
She nodded slightly toward my cup, then looked down at her own.
Her fingers were delicately wrapped around a tall glass filled with a dark, chilled brew. She swirled it absently, the ice clinking against the sides before looking back up at me.
"This one's called an Americano. What do you think of the name?"
I furrowed my brows, confused. "What about it?"
"It doesn't strike you as odd?"
"No? I mean… it's just what it's called."
She tilted her head.
"It's been called that for the past two hundred years," I explained. "Most heroes just bring their knowledge from their world. Some of it spread, some fade. The name just stuck, I guess."
She stared at the drink like it held some deeper truth. Then silence again.
I sipped my frappe, pretending not to look at her.
Say something, I told myself. Make an excuse. You can leave. She won't stop you.
But before I could stand, she spoke again.
"What's wrong?"
My heart skipped.
"You've been nervous around me," she added, "since yesterday."
Her tone wasn't accusatory. Just… observant. Like someone stating the weather.
I bit my lip. The Church told us to keep our identities secret before the formal announcement—but I'd been holding this in since I saw her at the gate.
I had to know.
"Do you remember me?" I asked quietly.
She sighed. A faint smile tugged at her lips, as if she thought my question was silly.
"I wasn't close to the other kids back then," she said. "So… no. Sorry. I don't remember you."
She said it so gently.
But it hit like truth.
I looked down at the whipped cream melting on my frappe. I already knew the answer, but hearing it from her made it real.
She was the Saintess.
The one who came before me.
I swallowed. "Are you… angry? That I took your place?"
She gave another soft sigh, her smile never changing. That same quiet, calm expression that made everything I said feel smaller than it was.
"I don't care about any of that," she said. "Honestly… I forgot about it until you brought it up."
And just like that, the weight in my chest started to lift.
The shame. The guilt. The fear.
But then—Bishop Elric flashed across my mind. His eyes. His voice.
I leaned forward, lowering my voice. "What… happened to him?"
Alliyana leaned in just slightly, voice barely a whisper.
"You don't have to worry about him," she said. "Ever."
I felt a chill.
Like she'd closed a book, and no one would ever read it again.
"How are you so strong?" I whispered. "I mean… I don't sense any divinity from you. And yesterday, I overheard you weren't a mage."
She smiled again.
Then raised her fist.
"Nothing's as reliable as this."
I stared at it.
Looking closely, her hands were slender, but rugged and calloused. It didn't look like a noblewoman's hand. Her knuckles were slightly scarred, the skin toughened from repetition—like she'd spent years striking stone, not flesh.
It didn't match her voice. Her posture. Her face.
Everything about her said serenity.
But her hands told another story entirely.
She stood up, smoothing down her skirt.
"I've got somewhere to be."
"Where?" I asked, standing too quickly.
"Clothes shopping," she said. "I don't have any in Auresta. And since Count Bedra offered the carriages, I might as well take advantage of it."
I felt myself almost jumping to ask—Can I come with?—but I stopped.
That would be childish.
But she noticed anyway.
She glanced at me sideways. "Do you want to come?"
I hesitated. My cheeks flushed. "Only if you don't mind."
"I don't."
A strange warmth bloomed in my chest.
Maybe today… just a little…
I could be a girl.
It was midday. The sun hung overhead like a crown, casting sharp-edged shadows across the stone streets. Warm, but not unbearable. Still, my robes clung a little too tightly to my back, and my sandals clicked against the uneven tiles as I walked beside her.
Even with the noise of the crowd—merchants haggling, children laughing, wagon wheels creaking—the silence between us felt... awkward.
Like I didn't know how to exist next to her without measuring myself.
Up ahead, a group of men were unloading crates from a carriage—tall wooden ones bound in iron, marked with etched symbols for "glass" and "handle with care."
I looked to my left and spotted a Pharmacy across the street. Not a healing temple, not a holy site. A proper business—alchemists, foragers, and craftsmen all under one roof. Various merchant guilds working in tandem.
It had barely been over two years, but their success was already being whispered about in noble circles. Not because of miracle cures. No, their rise was thanks to something simpler.
Cosmetics.
Lotion, facial cleansers, soaps and shampoo. Serums that made aging noblewomen feel young again.
I bit the inside of my cheek.
I wanted to try some. Just once.
Then one of the men bumped into Alliyana.
"Careful," he barked—then froze the moment he really looked at her. His posture straightened. "Ah—my apologies, miss."
Of course.
She stood out no matter where she went.
Hair like molten gold, face calm and clean even under sunlight, posture too balanced to belong to someone ordinary.
She looked like a Saintess.
Unlike me.
Alliyana tilted her head slightly. "Do you need help unloading?"
The man blinked, caught off guard. "These crates are heavy. Full of reinforced glassware. We use body-strengthening spells just to—"
She held up a hand.
Faint scars. Hardened skin.
"I'm a soldier," she said simply.
He looked at her for a moment, then nodded.
A man on top of the wagon handed her a crate—his movements cautious, testing her.
She gripped it smoothly and walked it toward the Pharmacy entrance.
I watched her carefully.
No glow.
No pulse of mana through her limbs.
She wasn't using strengthening magic.
She just lifted it.
My brows knit. I almost said something—but I didn't. Maybe I was imagining it.
I glanced down at my hands. Pale. Smooth. No scars.
I couldn't help her. Not with strength. Not with glassware. I could heal wounds. Cast miracles. Smile on behalf of the Church.
But outside of that?
My thoughts were interrupted by a sharp voice.
"What do you think you're doing? Letting someone like her carry crates?"
A man stepped out from a nearby stall, gesturing sharply at the workers.
Well-dressed but not noble—silver-stamped rings, fine cotton, trimmed beard.
A union leader from the Trade Guild, judging by the emblem on his vest.
The workers looked down, mumbling excuses.
"She offered," one tried to explain.
The man turned toward Alliyana, his voice still firm. "Prestige or not, you should be compensated. This sort of work isn't yours to do."
Alliyana stood calmly, arms at her side. "I offered to help."
"I insist," the man said. "You're an honored guest in the Guild."
Of course she is. She had a Trade Guild Elite Member Card. It may as well be one of a kind.
She looked at me. "Do you want anything?"
I blinked. "What?"
"You've been looking at the storefront."
I felt my cheeks grow warm. "Um… I kind of wanted to try their lotion."
Her smile softened. It wasn't amused. Just kind.
She turned to the union leader. "Give her one."
He nodded quickly, and someone was dispatched into the store immediately.
I held back a smile and looked down, gripping my sleeves.
I wasn't used to being seen like that. Not since I was crowned Saintess.
But standing beside her…
I didn't feel smaller.
Just… a girl.
We continued walking toward the town square.
The noon sun had softened slightly, casting dappled light through the awnings and wooden overhangs.
Merchants shouted half-heartedly under canvas tents, the smell of grilled meat and fresh herbs drifting from food carts.
A musician played a gentle lute melody from the corner, blending seamlessly into the hum of town life.
It was peaceful.
Then Alliyana spoke.
"This world is… peaceful, isn't it?"
Her voice was calm as ever, but there was a slight shift in it. A note of reflection.
"In a world of magic," she continued, "there's barely any gender divide when it comes to physical strength. Everyone can be strong."
I glanced over at her.
She was looking straight ahead, not at me. Her posture didn't change.
I didn't know how to respond, so I didn't.
She went on.
"No beggars in the streets. No hungry children. Violent crime is minimal. And the people… they're full of life. Vital. Clean."
I blinked. "That's how it's always been."
She tilted her head slightly, listening.
"The gods guide us," I said. "They watch over humanity. Everything within Auresta is protected. It's not like the Zepharim region, or corrupted territories where monsters roam."
I glanced at her again.
"Bandits and crime aren't common here. The divine keeps order. What's so strange about that?"
Alliyana didn't answer immediately. Then, softly:
"Just an observation."
I narrowed my eyes slightly, but said nothing more.
She was strange.
But not scary.
Not like she was when we were children—this cold, unreadable girl who never cried and never flinched. The silence around her then felt suffocating. Now, it felt... quiet. Like something still and alive at once. Maybe she was always this way.
We entered the square. Bright banners stretched between rooftops, advertising today's performances and wares.
A group of children chased each other near the central fountain. Someone was carving roasted vegetables on skewers and dipping them into spiced honey.
Then I heard it.
"Do it right, will ya?"
I looked to the side.
Two men were fumbling with a large wooden sign in front of an inn. One stood halfway up a ladder, arms shaking, trying to balance one end while the other scrambled to support the opposite side.
It clearly wasn't going well.
"Need help?" Alliyana asked casually.
Both men looked down. One of them jumped slightly when they saw her.
"No, no—we've got it," the other said quickly, suddenly nervous. "The sign's just heavier than we expected. New wood, bigger letters. Our ladders… well, they're not tall enough to get it leveled properly."
Alliyana looked up at the sign, then at the men.
"I'll hold it," she said.
They blinked. "Hold it?"
"I'll keep it steady while you hammer it in."
"Uh… how?" one asked, squinting at her. "We'd need to get you a ladder and—"
But she was already walking forward.
And then—walking up.
Stairs. Made of nothing. Hexagonal and translucent, forming under her boots one by one as she ascended, calmly, smoothly, like she was climbing a floating spiral.
The crowd noticed.
Of course they did.
She stood out. She shimmered like a living miracle—gold hair catching the light, feet balancing on invisible steps.
Then she reached the top and held out her hand.
"Pass it up."
The men looked at each other. Then up at her.
She took the sign in one hand. One hand. Lifted it, adjusted it, and carefully placed it over the mounting hooks of the old frame.
The sign creaked slightly but settled in place.
Alliyana looked down.
"Well?" she said.
Snapped out of their trance, the men scrambled up their ladders and began hammering, muttering thanks between strokes.
I watched. And watched.
And felt that familiar pang again.
The way she moved.
The way people looked at her.
Like she belonged in paintings. In temples. Not in streets or crowds or dusty inns. And the worst part was—she didn't even try.
She never asked for attention. She just… was.
And somehow, I still ended up in her place.
Did I steal it from her?
That thought sat in my chest like a stone.
She jumped down lightly, landing in front of me.
I flinched.
"Sorry," she said. "Didn't mean to make you wait."
I shook my head quickly, flustered. "No—it's fine. You're the one taking me out for shopping."
She gave a faint smile.
And just like that, I was walking beside her again.
Still wondering which one of us was out of place.
We kept walking.
The streets thinned as we left the square—less noise, fewer wagons.
The late afternoon sun stretched the shadows of the buildings across the road like long fingers. Somewhere in the distance, bells rang out the hour.
This time, it was me who broke the silence.
"Why do you go out of your way to help people?" I asked. "Even with things that don't matter. Like lifting signs or crates. You don't have to."
Alliyana didn't stop walking.
"I don't need a reason," she said. "If I'm able, I will."
She said it so plainly.
There was a quiet pause between us. Just the sound of our footsteps against cobblestone.
"You're… a good person," I said quietly. "I mean it. The way you act—like it's your responsibility to help others. Maybe… maybe the role of Saintess suited you more than me."
She chuckled.
Soft. Almost amused.
I turned toward her, confused. "Did I say something funny?"
She looked ahead. "You think too highly of me."
"I don't think so."
"Don't mistake it for goodness," she said. "I don't help because I feel obligated to. I help because I can. My kindness doesn't come from duty. It comes from abundance."
I didn't respond.
I just looked at her. Then forward.
I thought about the times I healed people.
The prayers I whispered. The lives I saved. The way people clung to me with hope in their eyes. Was I doing it out of goodness?
Of course.
Out of obligation, yes.
That made it better, didn't it?
At least I wasn't selfish.
At least I wasn't—
Then Alliyana's voice broke through my thoughts.
"We're here."
I looked up.
Emmons Atelier.
I blinked.
This wasn't just any clothing boutique. This was the Emmons Atelier. Tailors of high nobility. Custom gowns that cost more than most merchants made in a year. Dresses stitched with threads imported from the southern coasts of Zepharim or the eastern forest of Vaelsylvia.
And she said it like she'd just picked the first boutique that caught her eye.
I wasn't even surprised anymore.
We entered.
The air inside was cool and lightly perfumed. Not the sharp sweetness of scented oils—but something softer. Clean linen. Pressed velvet. Tailored luxury.
The walls were lined with dresses of every cut and shade, mannequins posed in half-turns with gowns that shimmered as they caught the light. The clerks greeted us with practiced smiles and respectful bows, eyes lingering just long enough to recognize Alliyana.
The next hour was a blur.
Silk gloves.
Layered skirts.
Shoes with golden buckles.
I tried on dresses I never thought I'd wear—colors I was told didn't suit Saintesses, fabrics too extravagant for someone "of pious restraint."
I spun in front of mirrors. Laughed quietly at myself. Let the fabric drape over my arms, not as a costume, but something mine.
Eventually, I approached the counter to settle the purchases, but the clerk shook her head gently and gestured toward the seats.
Alliyana was already waiting. Calm. Composed. As always.
I approached with my bags and sat beside her.
"Did you have fun?" she asked, sipping a glass of water.
I blushed. "How long were you waiting?"
She tilted her head. "Not too long."
I glanced at the clerk behind her.
The way she pursed her lips and looked away told a different story.
I looked down, smiling to myself.
The sun had started to dip below the buildings by the time we stepped out. Golden light painted the streets, and long shadows danced beneath our feet.
I carried my bags with a kind of giddy reverence. It felt silly—but I didn't care.
Then I noticed her looking at me.
Not with that distant, unreadable calm she always wore.
But warm. Genuine.
It only lasted a second before she looked ahead again.
Still, it made my cheeks warm.
"Thank you," I murmured.
She nodded, saying nothing.
We walked in silence.
But this time, it wasn't awkward.
We returned just as the sky began to turn lavender.
The hotel's soft lighting welcomed us like a hearth, warm and quiet against the bustle outside. I stepped through the entrance without pause and went straight back up to the sub-penthouse.
Ysira was stretched across one of the velvet couches, her long legs tangled awkwardly in a throw blanket. A book hovered inches above her face, held aloft by a lazily cast levitation spell. Across from her, Jake lay sprawled on the second couch, one arm folded behind his head, staring blankly at the ceiling like it held some answer he hadn't found yet.
He heard the door click and turned his head just enough to see me.
"Where've you been?" he asked, voice flat.
I didn't say a word.
I just raised the shopping bags in both hands and flashed him a cocky grin.
He stared for a second. Then turned his head back to the ceiling.
Didn't say anything else. Didn't need to.
And weirdly, that didn't ruin my mood.
"What did you two do all day?"
Ysira raised the book an inch higher.
That was all.
Jake exhaled slowly. "I was with Ethan and Alexa. Coordinating with the Trade Guild. We're leaving first thing tomorrow morning."
I kicked off my sandals and dropped onto the last open seat.
"With them?"
"With the wagons," Jake said. "The ones Count Bedra offered."
Jake gave a tired nod. "High-end ones. Padded wheels. Insulated cabins. Real suspension."
I frowned. "And we're complaining about this… why?"
"Because," he said, "the Count's not just being generous. He's getting something out of it."
Ysira lowered her book slightly, just enough to glance over the top.
Jake sat up finally, rubbing his eyes. "Disappearing caravans on the road between Bedra and Auresta. They've hired mercs already—but the Trade Guild sees us as extra muscle. Free muscle.
"Not complaining."
The room settled into a quiet hum after that. The clink of glass as Ysira reached for water. The soft rustle of Jake shifting under the cushions. Outside, the sky deepened into indigo.
And inside? I leaned back, eyes half-lidded, surrounded by books, sighs, and tired friends.
For once, I was a normal girl.
And it felt nice.