Chapter 2: The 'Pure' Saint.

(Sei's POV)

The aroma in the dining hall was maddening.

Not because it was foul. No, because it was good. Too good. It wrapped around us. Rich with spices I didn’t recognize. The kind of smell that made your chest ache and your stomach tremble and your thoughts drift away from prayer.

And worst of all, it wasn’t mine.

I had always been the one to cook. From the very first day. Not because I had to. It simply became my role.

Boiled grains. Light soups. Roasted roots. Balanced meals, clean and blessed by Church standards.

A Saint's touch. Graceful hands. Gentle flavor.

Because he liked it.

Not for them. Never for them.

But now, she was in the kitchen.

Purple flashes blinked like a curse from behind the stove. The madwoman moved like she was conducting an orchestra. Pans spun. Ladles floated. Meat hissed and spat in the fire like demons being baptized.

Her name was Elaister. She said it with pride, like a stage name in a twisted play none of us auditioned for.

She didn’t belong. She wasn’t one of us.

"Laaa~dies and meat-heads!" came her voice, too loud for this early in the morning. "Prepare your souls and your taste buds for the one and only… Demon Moose Deluxe! GHAHAHAHAHAHA"

She strutted out of the kitchen like a performer. Plates flew behind her, gliding unnaturally through the air. They spun and landed in front of each of us with a thud, as if summoned.

The meat was thick, glazed in something golden and sticky. The color was too rich. Like forbidden oil poured over a beast hunted in the dark.

Even I almost gasped.

Serah blinked like she’d been hit. "You… served us demon moose?"

"Yep!" Elaister beamed, hands on her hips. "Class-B variant. Tailored marinade. Aged sixteen hours in my compression field. You’re welcome. It’s edible. I think.... Of coure It's edible! I'm THE genius! Ghahahahaahha!"

Elira sniffed it. Narrowed her eyes. Prodded it like she's examining poison. "Moose meat's usually tough as leather boots. This… cuts like butter. H-How?"

“Secret tenderizing technique,” Elaister said, smug as ever. “Basic stuff.”

Basic, she said.

As if we were idiots. As if she were some kind of genius. As if this wasn’t my kitchen.

Across the table, Kestrel had already started chewing. No expression. No hesitation. Typical.

Elira took a bite, chewed, then muttered, "Tch… dammit. This is actually good."

Serah followed, grumbling with every chew, but still eating. She always ate what was in front of her, even if her pride had to be swallowed first.

And Hero, he was already halfway through his portion, a smile tugging at his lips. “You know, Elaister, you might just prove useful after all.”

Elaister saluted with her fork. “That’s the plan, Poster Boy. Ghahahaha”

They laughed, Elaister and Hero.

I smiled too. A gentle smile. A Saint’s smile. Soft. Serene. Forgiving.

But inside, my throat burned like poison.

This wasn’t right. This wasn’t her place.

My eyes drifted to the hallway. The storage room door was still closed. No footsteps. No warmth. No my Altair.

He didn’t come out anymore. Not when they were here. Not when the laughter didn’t include him.

He used to eat with me on the same table. He used to smile. He used to smile, a real smile.

Until Hiroto started calling him the mule. Until Serah stopped talking to him. Until Elira pretended he didn’t exist. Until even Kestrel gave up on including him.

But I hadn’t. I never did. Because he saw me.

I kept cooking, for him. Every morning, I brought him food. A little container. Neat. Lovingly packed. Sometimes I’d add a hint of cinnamon, just enough to make him pause mid-bite.

He once said it tasted “kind.”

He said I was kind. And he smiled. So I kept cooking. For that smile. For him. For my Altair.

I looked down at my plate. Still warm. Barely touched.

Even if I didn’t make it… if he ate it, even a little… then a part of me would touch his lips. His breath. His body.

Hehe.

"Sei," Hero’s voice cut through, flat and disinterested, "you’re not gonna waste that on the mule again, are you?" He didn’t even look up. "I gave him rations earlier. He’s fine."

Rations. The word dripped from his mouth like a bone tossed to a stray.

The current of his voice tried to pull me again, the choir, the same way it dragged the others under.

But I didn’t sink.

Not me. I was pure. My soul was protected by my purest of love, god must have seen how clear my love is and blessed me.

I rose slowly, cradling the plate in my hands. I smiled, small and polite.

“Oh dear,” I said, pressing a hand to my temple like a woman fainting in a play. “I think I need a moment. Please excuse me.”

No one looked up, but I knew he must be frowning again.

Serah gnawed her meat. Elira asked for seconds. Kestrel didn’t blink. Elaister laughing loudly.

I stepped out of the dining hall. The corridor was dimmer than it should’ve been. Still. Cold. I walked slowly, gently, like floating between chapel pews. The plate didn’t shake in my hands.

The storage room door was cracked open. I smiled again. Small. Sweet. Perfect.

Just a few more steps. I’d knock, gently. I’d offer the plate like a prayer. He’d look up, startled. He’d take it. Our fingers would brush.

He’d eat. Just a bite. And then...

Then maybe… He’d smile again.

Only for me.

The plate in my hands felt warm.

Soon, I would be too.

Hehe.

He was already eating.

Sitting on a crate, using a barrel as a makeshift table. His back to me. Shoulders relaxed. Posture and content.

In his hands: her food. The demon moose. That smoky glaze.

I froze.

Altair was crying. Not from pain. Not from grief.

But from joy.

Tears slid down his cheeks. He smiled brightly

“This is so good… I haven’t had food like this since… back home,” he whispered.

Another bite. His eyes closed. His lips curved gently. Beautifully.

My hand trembled. The plate I held felt cold now. 

That smile was supposed to be mine.

I fed him. I stood beside him. I prayed for him. I kept him alive.

That moment. that joy, was mine.

“Ah,” a voice behind me whispered, just a little too pleased. “There you are.”

I turned sharply.

Elaister.

Leaning against the wall like a lazy flame. Arms crossed. That damned purple visor caught the light just enough to shine. Just enough to mock me.

“Don’t worry,” she said casually. “I already fed your boyfriend.”

“A-Altair?! H-he’s not-”

A bark of laughter. “Relax, Saint-chan. Can’t have my mule eating third-rate rations, can I?”

“…He is not a mule.”

It slipped out. Too sharp. Too fast. And too true.

Elaister tilted her head. A slight tilt, like she was inspecting a new tool. “Huh. Everyone else seems to think he is. Even he seemingly does. But you? You actually care, don't you?.”

She stepped closer. Her boots made no sound. Her presence did.

“So why are you still here? Why not leave with him, oh dear Saint?”

I bit my tongue.

Serah. Elira. Kestrel. They had fallen into Hero’s chorus..

But that wasn’t bad.

They hurt Altair.

Because of that, I shone brighter. If everything is darkness, then he’ll need a light. My light.

He only breaks because I let him. And only I get to mend him.

And to ensure our happy ending, our real, perfect “happily ever after”, I must awaken as the true Saint.

This party, with all its rot and lies, is the perfect catalyst. So I won’t leave.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Oh, but it is,” she leaned in slightly. “You keep your hands clean. Stay radiant. While he’s trampled in the mud. You shine brighter, so he never stops looking up? Is that so?”

My heart skipped.

How did she know? Was she bluffing? Guessing?

This masked freak wasn’t like the others. The others were just shadows, dancing under Hero’s blessing. Puppets, really.

God might gave the Hero the right to collect hearts to justifies the burden given to the title bearer.

But Elaister… she was something else. Something wrong.

Even sometimes I could still feel hero's current trying to sink me under him, but Elaister seemed to be perfectly fine.

She could be something that might sway Altair away from... I couldn't let that be.

“Don’t. Get in my way. With my Altair.”

That stopped her. I wasn't sure it's beacuse of my tone or my expression

Her laugh, sharp, delighted, giddy. “This is the Saint? Ghahaha… I like this version of you.”

“Elaister.”

She paused.

I stepped forward, one deliberate motion, and met the visor head-on.

I meant it.

If she steals his light… If he starts leaning on her instead of me… If she makes him smile like that again-

I’ll kill her.

My magic won’t work in a straight fight. Elira, the magic prodigy, couldn’t even scratch her beacause of that cube.

But maybe if she’s not looking… I’ll use [Holy Chain].

Through her anal opening.

Let it hook inside her intestines.

Pull everything out.

Gheheheheheheehe

She stared. Long and quiet. Then let out a low whistle.

“Haha… alright, alright,” she said, raising her hands mockingly. “I’m not trying to steal your knight in shining trauma or something. Promise.”

I didn’t believe her. But then she added:

“I just didn’t want him collapsing before carrying my stuff if I pass the test. And anyway, I told him the food was courtesy of you.”

“…You told him I made the food?” I asked.

Elaister tilted her head again, visor flickering.

“Yeah, I'm playing cupid here, c'mon. He trusts you, doesn’t he? Might’ve gotten suspicious otherwise. But really…” Her voice shifted into that mad lilt again. “I want EVERYONE to recognize and use my GREATNESS to the fullest. You eating only half of my plate is not enough to fill my EGO!”

I blinked. She was… covering for me?

“If you want help,” she added, already backing away toward the exit, “with cooking, or anything else, I’m good with dirty tricks. You’re the Saint, after all. Might as well live up to it.”

She didn’t wink, but the visor blinked.

Then she was gone.

Like smoke that left no scent.

I stood frozen.

Unmoving.

Maybe… she’s not the obstacle to eliminate.

Not like the Hero. Not like his dolls.

Maybe…

She’s an ally?

My lips curled. Small. Honest.

I stepped fully into the room.

To met my life. My prayer. My reason.

“Altair-san,” I said gently.

He turned and smiled at me.

Ah♡

(???)

“Sei, recite the closing prayer again.”

“Yes, Father.”

I stand on the stool. Back straight. Hands together over my chest. The sun cuts through the chapel window, gold and sharp. Dust drifts like stars.

My voice doesn’t shake anymore.

“O light divine, mercy wide, lead the weary to your side-”

Father raises his hand. I stop.

He smiles.

That’s good. I like it when he smiles. It makes the chapel feel less like a coffin.

“Again,” he says. “No pause between lines. Seamless. Divine doesn’t like gaps.”

“Yes, Father.”

Behind him, Mother stirs tea at the altar. Her sleeves don’t touch the floor. Her feet don’t creak the wood. She’s perfect.

She always is.

“Never let chaos into your voice,” Father says. “The gods won’t hear through noise.”

So I smooth it out. Every word. Every breath. I keep my smile soft. Posture still. Eyes lowered just enough.

Saints aren’t born. They’re shaped.

Afterward, I clean the prayer hall. Wipe the rails. Sort the herbs. Burn the dried ones, grind the rest. Mother hums while I work. A slow, soft hymn.

“I saw a bird today,” I say. “It only had one leg.”

“Did it fly?”

“It did.”

“Then it worked harder than the others.”

“I wanted to help it.”

“You can help others when you're strong.”

I nod. I want to be strong. Like her. Like him.

Evening smells like stew and old wood. I sit by the fire, making shapes in the soot while Father reads scripture aloud.

“We do not eat with the village,” he reminds me.

“We serve. We do not mingle.”

That’s fine. They’re not like us anyway.

I am warm. I am full. I am safe.

CRASH.

A scream outside.

Then another.

Wood splits. Something falls.

Mother drops the bowl. Porcelain shatters.

Father grabs his staff. “Sei. Go. Now.”

“What’s-?”

“GO!”

He pushes us, me and mama, down the hallway. Toward the hidden room.

But the door doesn’t close.

A shadow forces it open.

Metal. Footsteps. Laughter.

Their clothes don’t match. Their teeth are yellow. Their eyes glitter like knives. One wears a village watchman’s belt.

Wolves in human skin.

“Take the girl alive!” someone yells.

Father doesn’t run.

He swings his staff. Once. Twice.

It cracks. So does his skull.

He falls.

Mother screams. She runs out after him. Why? WHY? WHYWHYWHWYWHWY-

She clutches his body. Her hands glow.

“[Heal]- [Heal]- [Heal]- [Heal]- [Heal] he’ll get up, he’ll get up-[Heal]-it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay-”

They laugh.

One draws a blade.

It doesn’t stop at her neck.

It splits her voice.

Blood sprays the altar steps. The prayer rug soaks it up.

My knees give out.

My throat closes.

I can’t scream.

I can’t even blink.

They tear through drawers. Smash jars. Spill the herbs like weeds.

Someone grabs my wrist.

Another grabs my ankle.

I kick. I squirm. I’m small. I’m nothing.

The rug scratches my cheek. My skirt rides up.

I feel hands.

No.

No.

Why?

Why?

Why do they spare me?

Why do I live?

I don’t want to. I don’t want to. Let me go. Let me go LETMEGOLETMEGO-

CRACK.

Something breaks.

Not me.

One of them falls.

Another sound, thud, bone? Skull?

A shadow looms behind them.

Not a sword.

A hoe.

A farming hoe.

Swing.

Scream.

He’s screaming.

They’re screaming.

I’m not.

A boy. Dirt-covered. Wild-eyed.

Stupid.

So, so stupid.

He has no armor. No spells. No backup.

Just a hoe.

“LET HER GO!!”

He charges.

They beat him. Again. Again. Againagainagainagainagainagainagainagain-

His body jerks. Blood spits. His arm folds the wrong way.

How… Beautiful.

But he keeps standing.

And smiling.

He’s still smiling.

Still fighting.

For me?

Was it for me?

It must be.

He wanted to die with me.

That’s it, right?

He could’ve run.

But he didn’t.

Because he saw me. Because I matter. Because I’m worth dying for.

Because I’m-

“RRAAAAAGH!!”

A crowd roars outside. Pitchforks. Torches. Real ones.

The wolves flee.

But I don’t watch them go. Because he’s still here. Because he’s laughing.

Low. Broken. Wet.

He turns to me. His eye is swollen shut.

“I got ‘em,” he says.

I stare.

He grins.

“I told you I’d protect people one day, didn’t I?”

No. You never told me that.

We’ve never spoken before.

But now we have.

You came for me. You chose me. You have to be mine.

After that, I didn’t have a home.

The chapel burned.

The altar cracked.

The gods didn’t answer.

The orphanage took me in. The nuns were kind. They gave me food. Clothes.

But I didn’t care.

Every day I walked out.

Back to the fields.

He didn’t notice me at first.

But I helped. I brought water. Pulled weeds. Cooked.

He said I was weird.

He didn’t remember.

But I did.

He saved me.

So, I’ll stay with him.

Forever.

つづく