The cathedral hall was lit by countless candles shining through the night to mourn the dead. A breeze blew in from somewhere, making the shadows dance.
Cion stood by the entrance along with the saint’s attendant, Sister Loria. I told them I needed a moment alone with Her Sagacity, and thankfully, they both obliged. Loria’s mind was clearly elsewhere to begin with, and it seemed like she hadn’t heard about what I’d done down in the cells. Cion needed a bit more of a push, but when I encouraged her to go get a bit of fresh air, she agreed, albeit reluctantly. She looked like she also had things she wanted to say to me, but, well... Right now, I just didn’t want her overhearing my conversation with the saint. If I did end up needing her help, it’d be once the talking was over.
“Well then...”
After the two of them stepped out, I carefully made sure the doors were shut tight, then headed farther in.
I found the saint in front of the altar. She knelt beside the coffin, hands clasped in prayer, with her staff lying on the ground at her side. The hall was filled with the clear air of nighttime, and curls of incense smoke rose up from the altar and drifted off into the dark.
Father Carol wasn’t here anymore. Souls were nothing but a fantasy. I knew that full well, but my gaze still followed the smoke upward as it floated away through the opened skylight. The lingering wisps of a soul.
The altar beneath the coffin was completely buried in flowers left by mourners—a testament to the love and admiration people had held for him. His achievements in life were far greater than anyone could ever know; they were as numerous as the miracles achieved by every single soul he’d saved. He’d shared his teachings freely, reaching out a hand to anyone whose heart was lost and guiding us into the light. That was the kind of man he’d been.
When I’d talked back to my teachers and insisted there was no way to be sure the Gods were real, he’d smiled softly and told me that I didn’t have to believe in them if I didn’t want to. It was the first time I’d ever heard that from anyone.
“Nothing in this world is ever absolutely certain,” he’d said. “No one can speak in absolutes—not even the Gods themselves.”
All and one. Good and evil. We could only ever observe the world from within our own perspectives, ultimately. There would always be things beyond our understanding; the only way to comprehend the incomprehensible would be to become a god. Seeking total understanding was conceited and foolish—an impulse born of madness.
“I know that I’m not capable of understanding everything, and I don’t intend to try.”
We were only human. We could never be gods. And she stood too far outside the bounds of humanity for me to understand her mind. She was just too different from me—in the way she lived her life, in the shape of her soul. I could never truly know what she was thinking. But I knew what had happened; I knew what she’d done. Even as human as I was, I could infer and investigate, and the truth would come into view.
The saint finished her prayers and stood back up, staff in hand. As she did, I spoke to her turned back, my heart filled with a feeling not unlike resignation.
“Please, answer my question, Saint Nevissa Vernalia. Why...? Why did you...”
...kill Father Carol Snowell?
The Holy Saint, defender of the weak, turned around to regard me silently. She gazed at me with lightless eyes, beneath eyelids covered by cloth, as though asking my intentions.
“I suppose I ought to compliment you,” she finally said. “You figured it out quicker than I expected.”
“It’s not as though you had any intention of hiding it to begin with, did you?”
She responded with only a light shrug of her shoulders.
“To be fair,” I continued, “I wasn’t able to find any actual evidence that you killed him...”
All I’d been able to determine was that Father Carol had been tortured and then killed. There’d been no signs of a fight and no eyewitnesses.
The assassin who called themself “the Deathwatcher” would’ve been able to pull it off, but they’d told me they only killed demons. I wasn’t about to take them at their word, but Father Carol absolutely hadn’t been a demon. In any case, the Deathwatcher was supposed to be targeting the saint. After launching their attack with the devil-touched and getting blocked by Cion, it wouldn’t make sense for them to commit a deliberately flashy murder and put everyone on high alert.
So I’d shifted my focus to a new prime suspect—to a woman Father Carol had specifically been keeping a careful eye on: Her Sagacity herself.
“Were you not concerned that I might simply deny the truth when you presented your accusation?” she asked.
“A woman who can erase memories would have no need to deny anything.”
“So you managed to figure that out as well.” The saint showed no sign of surprise and made no attempt to refute me.
“You didn’t seem to have any intention of hiding that either.”
Looking back now, I finally understood the sense of revulsion I’d felt toward the saint. She hadn’t been interacting with the children or the devil-touched as people—it had all felt like a sort of willful self-delusion. She treated them almost like pets, taking control of them and robbing them of their freedom while showering them with affection.
“For the record, I’ve never put a collar on Atalanta. He has a bell, but I always tell him that he can go live free if he ever wishes to.”
“I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she responded. “In any case, I won’t deny it. To be false to one’s own soul is a grave sin, after all. But I truly do love you all, from the bottom of my heart. I swear it in the name of the Gods—those feelings are the truth.”
With a chiming of bells, she straightened and stepped down from beside the altar. She remained the very picture of a saint, delicate and beautiful as always. But the very fact that she retained that air of grace, even after I’d laid bare her darkest secrets, spoke volumes as to the threat she posed.
“Do you imagine that the Gods will forgive any act if it’s done for the sake of love?” I asked.
“I don’t have much interest in debating the nature of justice with you, Sister. It all varies depending on where one stands. What matters is how many people we can save.”
The saint stopped moving, keeping a bit of distance between herself and me. She quietly looked up at the stained glass window adorning the cathedral—at all the wonders and blessings of the Gods, portrayed in vivid color. She continued speaking in her calm, clear tone.
“I simply see children walking a path to their own destruction, and I wish to save them from that fate. You could never ignore someone drowning right before your eyes, could you?”
Her words held no lie. This woman was genuinely trying to save those devil-touched children—to keep them from being sucked in and swept away on the tides of malice. The Gods were nothing but words in our mouths, unable to offer any real salvation. But she worked in their place to save every single child she could, with her own two hands.
“You think that by covering up people’s eyes, you can make the past disappear? You truly are conceited beyond belief.”
“Am I, now?”
I’d had Karm go to the orphanage and ask all of the children how they’d ended up there. That wasn’t a question you’d ask an orphan normally, and if you did, it wouldn’t be that odd if they couldn’t give an answer. There were plenty of children who instinctively locked away their memories of whatever horrors they’d been through. But if not a single child could remember what had happened to them, something was obviously wrong. What’s more, Karm could see through lies. None of the children had been lying to him; they genuinely couldn’t remember. They’d forgotten their own pasts—forgotten the tragedies that had befallen them. The devil-touched children who she’d sent off must have been the same.
“You steal away their memories, then slip into the empty spaces in their hearts—some caretaker you are.”
Lost and confused, not knowing left from right, you’d naturally become dependent on anyone who stood by your side and treated you kindly—just like Cion had gotten so excessively attached to me. It was like a baby chick imprinting on the first face it saw as its parent.
“But Sister Teresa and Father Carol knew about it, didn’t they? You had them pass along instructions to the knights and the other staff to keep anyone from getting suspicious about the memory loss. ‘Please don’t ask the children any questions that could dig up old wounds,’ or something like that.”
It made perfect sense why the devil-touched who’d been sent out from the port had become so calm and peaceful. She’d taken away their memories, told them that they didn’t need to recall whatever painful things they’d been through, and sold them fantasies of happy days awaiting them in a new land.
She was taking advantage of them at their weakest... It made me sick.
“There was no way the two of them would let you get away with it forever.”
Sister Teresa had gone against the saint and been forced out of the cathedral. And Father Carol had tried to stop her.
“But still, why? Why did you need to kill him?!”