To understand what was going on in the minds of our acquaintances, we must go back a little over six months, to a time when their lives were just beginning to change in ways they could not yet comprehend.
The nun entered the carriage with quiet authority. Her footsteps were steady, measured—her presence calm yet commanding. John and Liana sat on one of the benches, their eyes wide with excitement, their hands resting awkwardly on their knees as if they weren't sure what to do with themselves. Their minds were racing. They had been told they were successful, and now they were being taken to the capital—a privilege rarely, if ever, granted to boys of their age and background. It was nearly unheard of.
The carriage itself was unlike anything they had ever seen before. It wasn't merely a mode of transportation—it was more like a chamber on wheels, a small, mobile palace. It was so spacious that one could comfortably walk upright inside it, and the walls were lined with soft materials and elegant carvings. The two long benches inside, one on either side, were upholstered in rich velvet and trimmed with golden designs that shimmered subtly with the light.
Between the benches stood a polished wooden table, sturdy and refined, its surface covered with various objects arranged with careful precision. There were scrolls tied with colored ribbons, stacks of parchment, inkwells of silver and glass, and quill pens with perfectly trimmed feathers. Every corner of the carriage hinted at wealth, learning, and purpose.
John and Liana couldn't help but glance at each other, overwhelmed. This was far beyond anything they had ever imagined. For a moment, it felt like they had been lifted out of the world they knew and placed inside a dream.
The nun gave a nod to the driver, who was seated outside in the front. Without a word, he flicked the reins and the carriage began to move, smoothly at first, then gaining speed with surprising ease. A moment later, the nun raised her hands and performed a brief but deliberate gesture—clearly a spell, though they didn't recognize its nature. The air within the carriage seemed to shift slightly, as though something invisible had sealed them off from the outside.
She turned to face them and offered a wide, genuine smile. "You have impressed me greatly," she said, her voice warm and clear. She noticed their tension and added gently, "Don't be nervous. We're now heading to the capital, and when we arrive, I'll conduct a few more tests to determine exactly what your abilities are."
Both of them nodded, still too amazed to form words.
The carriage began to pick up even more speed, gliding over the road as if it weren't subject to the usual constraints of wheels and terrain. It was clearly enchanted. The landscape outside the windows blurred into streaks of green and brown and blue. As they left the highlands behind, the scenery began to open up, revealing the vast beauty of the surrounding region—rolling hills, glittering rivers, and clusters of trees turning gold under the afternoon sun.
Liana was so absorbed in the view that she didn't even realize her mouth had fallen slightly open. The richness of the world beyond their small village was breathtaking.
"The goddess created an amazing world," the nun said softly, following their gaze out the window. Her eyes lifted reverently toward the sky, where streaks of sunlight broke through the clouds like golden pathways. "We pray every day that the world we live in, the kingdom we reside in, and the good things we receive will remain that way forever."
Her voice took on a formal, almost ceremonial tone as she began to speak at length about the importance of faith. She told them how the blessings of their land, the order of the kingdom, and the abundance they enjoyed were all gifts from the divine. She warned them that not all kingdoms were so fortunate—there were places of darkness, far from the light of the goddess, where chaos and suffering reigned. How fortunate, she said, that they had been born into the Kingdom of the Sun.
John listened respectfully, though his eyes often drifted to the world beyond the carriage. Liana, however, clung to every word, fascinated by the imagery and the sense of divine purpose the nun described.
Several hours passed, though it hardly felt so. Eventually, the carriage slowed as it approached a massive structure that loomed ahead. Towering walls, made of pale stone and fortified with enormous towers, marked the entrance to what must have been an enormous city.
"That," the nun explained, gesturing toward the gates, "is the largest city in the Affluentia district. Beyond it lies a magical gate—one that will take us directly to the capital."
They passed through wide boulevards, eventually entering what the nun described as the nobles' residential area. It was a realm of splendor, with grand homes built from white stone and decorated with flowing banners and ornate sculptures.
John, though respectful of the grandeur, remained calm. He was not easily dazzled. He believed that wealth could be a distraction from what truly mattered. He had always been a thoughtful, practical young man.
But Liana was visibly amazed. Her eyes sparkled as she took in the magnificent homes, the trimmed gardens, the fine clothing worn by the people walking outside. In her mind, she was already part of this world—dressed in luxurious gowns, riding in carriages like this one, living among the elegance and comfort she had only dreamed of.
The nun, noticing Liana's expression, leaned in and said with a warm smile, "My dear, I promise you that once we reach the capital, you too will be blessed with such wealth."
"Really?" Liana asked, her voice filled with hope. Then, with a sudden flicker of worry, she added, "What if I don't pass the tests?"
"Don't worry, my dear. Everything will be fine," the nun said, her tone light and reassuring. Then, almost to herself, she muttered, "There's no chance on earth that they won't pass."
The carriage soon arrived at the area where the "Magic Gate" was said to reside. The landscape around them shifted to a wide open courtyard at the edge of the noble district, encircled by high white stone walls laced with golden engravings. At the center stood a massive arcane structure—a vast, glowing magic circle etched into polished marble that shimmered with multicolored light. The lines of the circle pulsed faintly, as though alive, and at each major point of the design, a large crystal was embedded into the ground. These were high-level magic stones, glowing with inner energy. Each one was nearly the size of a child, and together they radiated a quiet hum that resonated in the chest like a low musical note.
Such stones were extremely rare—far beyond the reach of ordinary folk—but here they were used freely, almost casually, in this ancient teleportation gate. The city could afford it. Wealth flowed endlessly through the veins of the noble houses, and this gate was just one example of the luxury that surrounded them.
The gate was wide open, humming with magic. The carriage didn't even pause as it approached—there was no need. With practiced ease, it crossed the threshold. The world outside the windows shifted instantly.
It felt like passing through a dream.
One moment they were surrounded by the quiet courtyards of the outer city, and the next they were somewhere completely new. The light was different—brighter, somehow cleaner, as if the very air sparkled faintly. The streets beyond the windows were broader, cleaner, and paved with polished stone that shimmered like white gold. Towers and buildings stretched high into the sky, their facades adorned with intricate golden details and inlays that caught the sun and threw shards of reflected light in all directions. Domes and rooftops gleamed. Even the shadows here seemed elegant.
Gold dominated the city—lining walls, crowning spires, and even worked into the flagstones of the open plazas. In every direction, there was grandeur. This place was not merely a city; it was a statement.
Liana sat frozen in awe. Her wide eyes moved from window to window, trying to take in every detail. The sparkle in her gaze mirrored the shimmering rooftops. She pressed one hand lightly to the windowpane, as if hoping to feel the warmth of the light-soaked city on her skin.
"This is the capital city, Hoṭara," the nun announced, her voice full of reverence. "Here is where the most important members of the noble royal families reside. And here too, the highest-ranking clergy dwell."
She pointed out the window toward a magnificent structure rising far in the distance. It was a monastery—but unlike any house of worship Liana or John had ever seen. The entire complex was constructed of gold. Its towers rose gracefully into the sky, their domes shining like suns. At the center stood a statue, colossal and impossible to ignore.
The statue depicted a beautiful woman with long, flowing golden hair. She seemed to rise from the very foundation of the monastery itself. Her robes billowed as if caught in a silent wind, her posture regal, her arms raised in benediction. But her face—her face was obscured. The statue was made of different rare and precious metals, each one more valuable than gold, each one polished to a gleaming sheen. When the sunlight struck the statue at certain angles, the reflection could blind onlookers. It was built with this in mind—no one could see the goddess's face.
"This is the great goddess Lumitham," the nun said, her eyes fixed on the statue with admiration. "She is the one who protects us. The one who gave us the lands you have seen, the beauty you have tasted, and the wealth that surrounds us."
Liana leaned forward, her heart stirred. There was something powerful and mysterious in the goddess's concealed face. The splendor, the elegance—it all made sense if such a being truly stood behind it.
John, however, watched more carefully. He, too, felt the awe—but he noticed how the nun's voice took on a rehearsed tone. It was passionate, yes, but it was the kind of passion that had been spoken many times before. Something about it was too smooth.
The nun continued. "Even the mine in your village was gifted by the goddess. It is sacred. And yet, the rulers of your village act against her will when they close it off, when they deny others the right to enter and share in its blessing."
At this, Liana's expression shifted. Her wonder turned to concern. She turned to the nun, her voice urgent but hopeful. "Then… maybe we can teach them. If they knew the goddess's will better, maybe they would change. Maybe they'd understand."
The nun let out a soft sigh. It was partly sincere, partly performative—a breath shaped by experience. "Some people," she said, almost sadly, "have no redemption."
There was silence for a moment. Liana's lips parted slightly, unsure what to say. A trace of disappointment crossed her face.
But John narrowed his eyes. Something was wrong. That answer—it was too final. Too dismissive. He thought back to what Tom used to say. The clergy always had secrets. Their smiles could hide knives.
"We'll have to wait and see where this goes," he thought grimly. "If anything feels off, I'll take Liana and we'll go back. We'll run if we have to."
The carriage reached the golden monastery and slowed to a halt in front of its grand staircase. The stop was so smooth it was nearly imperceptible. The magical suspension within the carriage had absorbed all motion. It was as if they hadn't moved at all.
The nun stood and opened the door. A rush of scented air entered—flowers and incense, sweet and rich. Outside, waiting patiently, was a knight clad in shimmering silver armor. His long white hair blew gently in the breeze. He looked statuesque—unyielding, formal.
The nun stepped out and offered a slight bow. The knight returned it, stiffly.
"Are the king and queen here?" she asked.
"Yes, they are," he replied. His tone was clipped, almost warning. "You'd better make this real. Otherwise, not even the abbot will be able to save you."
She frowned, not in fear, but in offense. "I know what I'm doing," she said coldly, and then continued walking forward, motioning for Liana and John to follow.
But before she moved far, she turned back with a deceptively pleasant smile.
"Oklan," she said, her tone honeyed, "leave your sword outside. Weapons are not allowed within the monastery. And if you refuse… not even the king and queen will be able to help you."
Her voice echoed faintly against the golden stone as she walked ahead, her footsteps soft but purposeful.
Oklan stood motionless. His hands clenched. His jaw tightened.
"That whore nun," he muttered under his breath.
His mind burned with memories—nights spent together in secret, whispers in the dark. She had been the only one who had ever reached his heart. It didn't matter that she was over two thousand years older. What mattered was the betrayal—the moment she turned away from him, from everything they had. He couldn't forget it. He couldn't forgive it.
Still, he obeyed. He reached down, removed his sword, and leaned it carefully against the wall beside the monastery entrance.
His eyes stayed on her back as she walked inside, Liana and John at her heels.
And then, silent and brooding, he followed.
Inside, Liana and John stepped into an enormous hall that radiated grandeur and power. The ceiling soared above them, supported by thick golden columns etched with glowing runes that pulsed gently, as though breathing. The walls were adorned with vast frescoes depicting legendary scenes of gods, warriors, and sacred lands, all painted with exquisite care. Sunlight streamed in through tall arched windows of stained glass, casting multicolored light across the marble floors. Everything shimmered with magic and wealth.
The hall was split into two distinct sides. On one side sat individuals with radiant golden hair—so lustrous it appeared as though sunlight had been woven into each strand. They sat proudly, dressed in robes and garments decorated with gold threads and gemstones. On the opposite side were those with striking white hair, like the knight who had greeted them at the monastery gates. Their expressions were sterner, their armor gleaming silver, each of them carrying an air of quiet strength and watchful discipline.
At the far end of the room, elevated slightly on a dais, sat seven figures. Two of them were adults—clearly the king and queen—and beside them were three younger individuals, most likely their children. Their golden hair didn't just shine; it sparkled, almost unnaturally, catching the light like finely ground crystal. Their very presence commanded reverence.
In the center of the hall stood a statue of the goddess Lumitham, smaller than the great one outside the city but no less divine. It was life-sized, carved from flawless white stone. The details were so precise that the goddess looked almost alive. Her face held a serene, knowing expression. Her robes flowed in stone as if wind moved through them, and in her delicate hands, she held a sword—also sculpted in stone, resting across her palms as if waiting to be claimed.
Aetheriel, the nun, walked gracefully toward the front of the hall and bowed deeply before the royal family. Her voice echoed through the chamber, calm and full of reverence. "I am honored to present my candidates to the king and queen."
She gestured behind her, and both Liana and John stepped forward and bowed, imitating her posture. Every eye in the room turned toward them. Quiet murmurs passed between the nobles as they took in the sight of these outsiders. Brown and black hair were foreign here—exotic. The golden-haired nobles and white-haired knights looked upon them as one might regard creatures from a distant land.
The crown prince's gaze lingered on Liana. There was something in her presence that captivated him. Her expression was open and warm, filled with awe but not fear. When she noticed his attention, she smiled—not with arrogance, but with sincerity and light. The prince felt an unfamiliar flutter in his chest. For a fleeting moment, he wondered what it might mean to bring someone like her into their world—to change her, perhaps.
But the king's attention was not on Liana. His sharp eyes were locked onto Aetheriel.
"I trust you understand the weight of your actions," he said coldly. His voice was regal, measured, but carried an unmistakable warning. "If you are wrong, this could endanger us all."
Aetheriel did not flinch. She simply smiled, as if she'd heard this same concern many times before. "You will see," she said confidently. Then, turning toward the candidates, she spoke again. "John first."
He stepped forward silently as she instructed, the sound of his boots echoing slightly against the stone floor. "Stand before the statue of the goddess and extend your hands."
John nodded, steady and composed. As he approached the statue, his mind was sharp with memory. He remembered his father's words—an old story whispered around the fire. A man once stood before a goddess's statue like this and lost himself, his mind swept away by divine magic. The man had become a puppet, his soul bound in loyalty to those who had manipulated him.
But his father had also told him of a safeguard-a pendant bearing a purple crystal. It was said to block such magic from invading one's mind. John wore that very pendant now, a simple necklace his father had given him years ago. At the time, he hadn't thought much of it. Now, it felt like a shield between him and whatever was about to happen.
He walked with calm resolve, standing directly in front of the statue of Lumitham. Her stone eyes gazed down at him, emotionless yet somehow aware. He extended his hands.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then the air shifted.
A faint hum began to rise in the room. The statue's eyes lit up with a golden glow, pulsing softly at first, then brighter. The stone sword in her hands shimmered, its form changing, solidifying into a real blade with a silver scabbard and an ornate hilt encrusted with gems.
Gasps echoed across the hall.
The king sat up, his interest suddenly intensified. All around, nobles leaned forward, whispering in shock and awe.
The statue moved.
It stepped down from its pedestal with divine grace, its stone robes flowing like cloth. The entire room held its breath as the goddess walked toward John and raised the sword toward him with both hands. Her face remained serene, unblinking.
John accepted the sword with reverence—and the moment his fingers wrapped around the hilt, his vision turned black.
He was no longer in the hall.
He stood in a vast void, endless and dark. Before him loomed a colossal sword, taller than the mountains, glowing with immense power. It floated silently in the air. Around it, voices whispered—strange, ancient, echoing in every direction. The language was unintelligible, but the tone was pleading, urging, commanding.
But they couldn't reach him.
A violet energy barrier pulsed between him and the sword—soft, transparent, but unbreakable. The whispers distorted, garbled, like sound underwater. He understood: this was the protection of his pendant. Without it, the voices would have pierced his mind, forced themselves in, consumed his will.
He stood still, refusing to kneel or resist—just listening, trying to understand.
Then the whispers faded. The sword vanished into the dark.
A burning sensation spread across his arms. When he opened his eyes, he was back in the hall. The goddess now knelt before him, her stone head bowed in an unmistakable gesture of submission and reverence. On each of John's arms, a tattoo had appeared—a glowing sword, faint but unmistakable, etched into his skin like a brand from the divine.
The hall erupted into murmurs and gasps. The golden nobles looked at one another in stunned silence.
The king rose from his throne, eyes wide with recognition.
He knew the prophecy.
A chosen one, a hero, would come. The goddess would descend, offer her sword, and mark him with her blessing. And now, she had.
This meant only one thing: the disaster spoken of in legend was no longer far away. It was coming—and only through divine guidance could they begin to understand what form that disaster would take.
They would need a saintess
"Now the girl," the king ordered in a commanding tone, his eyes narrowing slightly as they turned toward the nun. She gave a graceful nod and motioned with her hand for Liana to approach the statue.
John, still standing beside her, moved quickly, reaching for the pendant around his neck. "Take this," he whispered urgently, pressing it toward her hand. His voice was low, almost desperate, filled with the worry born from what he had just experienced. He knew now how dangerous the ceremony could be, how thin the line was between divine blessing and complete loss of self.
But Liana shook her head gently, her expression calm. She didn't understand what had happened to John—not fully. From the outside, it had looked like a miracle, a moment of divinity, not something to fear. There had been no pain, no horror. Only light and glory. Whatever John had seen, she thought, she wanted to see it for herself, without protection, without doubt.
She stepped forward.
The hall fell into complete silence.
The goddess's statue remained in its supplicant pose, kneeling before John's place only moments ago. But as Liana approached, the stone eyes slowly opened. A golden light flickered within them, soft at first, then stronger.
Then the statue moved.
Fluid and graceful, the goddess rose from her kneeling position. Her form seemed lighter than stone, almost flesh and spirit in the same moment. She stepped forward—not with the solemn grace she had shown John, but with something warmer, almost intimate. Then, without warning, the statue embraced Liana.
The room gasped.
John tensed. His hands clenched into fists. Something about this felt wrong.
But Liana's world was no longer here.
Her vision shifted. Reality melted away like mist, and she found herself in a space of pure light—neither warm nor cold, but infinite. The air smelled faintly of flowers and something sacred, like the echo of incense in a forgotten temple.
Standing before her was a woman so beautiful, words struggled to describe her. Her features were flawless, her presence overwhelming, like sunlight you couldn't look at directly. Her long hair shimmered like rivers of pure gold, cascading down her shoulders and over her back. She wore flowing white robes that glowed faintly, yet they revealed a powerful, divine form beneath—tall, poised, and radiant with inner strength.
"Who are you?" Liana asked, her voice small, full of awe and uncertainty.
The woman smiled, her face radiant with warmth. "Hello, my beautiful girl," she said in a voice that rang like bells, both gentle and impossibly commanding. "You may call me Lumitham."
Liana's eyes widened. Her breath caught. "Are you… The great goddess?" she asked, wonder and fear mixing in her voice like wind and water.
"I am," the goddess answered. "That is what humans call me. But you… You are different. You may use my name. My real name."
Without hesitation, Lumitham drew her close again in another embrace. A profound warmth flooded through Liana's body. It wasn't just physical warmth—it was a sense of being known, of being accepted completely, of being chosen.
"We don't have long to speak like this," Lumitham said gently, her voice now lower, more serious. "But one day, once you have trained and become my messenger in the world, we will speak freely, whenever you desire."
"I would be happy to," Liana said without hesitation, her eyes full of devotion. "I will serve you with everything I have."
The goddess smiled again, her golden eyes full of unspoken promise. "I will fulfill your wishes, my beloved child. But for now, return to them. Tell them that when your training is complete, in a few years, you will receive your first prophecy."
Liana nodded. "I will."
Then Lumitham's tone became playful, almost teasing. "One more thing… don't be alarmed. I'm going to change your appearance a little."
Before Liana could respond, the goddess leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. In the world outside, those watching saw this kiss, though they did not see the goddess—only the statue moving, lips touching Liana's skin.
The transformation began instantly.
Her short black hair shimmered and grew, spilling down past her back, then past her knees, until it reached her ankles. Its color faded from black to a light, warm brown, and the very tips shimmered gold, catching the light like threads of sun. Her figure, too, changed—her frame became more elegant, more refined. Her body developed into the shape of a young woman with striking curves, though still modest in comparison to the divine figure that had embraced her. Her skin glowed faintly with purity, and her chest became smooth and white as porcelain, untouched and divine.
John's heart sank.
He watched the changes unfold with a sense of growing dread. Something about her smile—the way her eyes didn't seem to see him anymore—felt unnatural. Not dangerous, not evil. But not her, either. Her face held the same kindness, but now there was something else behind it. Something unfamiliar. Like she had already become someone new.
She descended the steps of the platform with grace, her every movement now touched with something ethereal. She stood beside John, her golden-tipped hair brushing the polished marble as she moved. The king and queen stood, visibly stunned. Whispers broke out in every corner of the room. Nobles and clergy alike stared, jaws slightly open.
This was more than they had dared hope.
Not only had the hero of prophecy appeared, but alongside him, the chosen saint, the one destined to be the goddess's voice.
The king and queen bowed deeply, reverently. So did the nobles. The weight of divine presence pressed on all of them.
"The word of the goddess?" the king asked, still kneeling.
Liana stepped forward.
She stood tall and radiant, and when she opened her mouth, her voice was no longer just her own. It was soft and calm, yet carried across the great hall like a song through stone. Her words were filled with reverence and conviction.
She spoke of the goddess's love, of her plans, of the prophecy yet to come. She explained, simply and clearly, what Lumitham had told her. Her words mesmerized the room—not because of her beauty, but because of the weight of truth that clung to each sentence. The audience could feel it, like an invisible force vibrating in their bones. It was not performance. It was divinity.
Only John remained unmoved.
He watched her speak, saw the looks on the faces of those around him, and felt a chill creeping through his chest. Liana's new beauty did not sway him. Her words did not comfort him. He had seen what happened before the transformation, and he had felt what she hadn't. The attempt to take over his mind. The whispers.
He didn't know what Lumitham's true intentions were.
But he knew one thing: he would stay by her side, watch over her, and protect her—even if, one day, he had to protect her from the goddess herself.
For now, he would wait. And see what the child of the day would bring.
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Velupt woke up from his daydreams. He remembered that over the past six months, he had tried to talk to Saint Liana about many things and had attempted to get her interested in him. But she had only one person in mind—and it wasn't even John the Hero. It was a boy from her home village named Tom.
So Velvet decided that he had to meet this Tom and see what was so special about him—what made the most impressive woman he had ever seen fall in love with him.