That evening, I placed Sylvia's letter in a drawer, read a few books, and rested for the day.
Suddenly, I heard a woman's scream in the darkness.
"Save them! Save my other children!"
The voice was haunting, filled with urgency.
"In light, there is darkness; and in darkness, there is light. They can never survive without the other…"
She uttered these words, then—
ACCKKK!!
I jumped out of bed, panting and covered in sweat. Who was that woman? She felt familiar, yet unfamiliar at the same time. And what did she mean by "save who"?
I glanced at the window and I saw that it was still dark.
"It's the middle of the night..."
After the strange dream, sleep was impossible. I couldn't shake the feeling of unease, so I decided to take a walk around the church to clear my mind.
Holding a lamp, I walked aimlessly, lost in thought about the dream. Time seemed to slip away, and I found myself far from the main cathedral. I had wandered into an old, abandoned temple.
As I was about to turn back, when I heard a sound groaning .
"Who goes there?"
"Show yourself, or I'll force you to come out!"
Silence followed for a few minutes. My heart pounded, but curiosity drove me forward. I approached the corner of the temple, where a large tree and thick bushes concealed the space behind it.
I took a step closer, preparing my hand to cast a spell if necessary. But when I peered around the corner, I froze.
A man, with long black hair and red eyes, lay on the ground in agony. His body was covered in blood, a stab wound deep in his abdomen.
"Goodness, this man is going to die any minute!"
His eyes flickered open and met mine, barely able to focus. His breathing was shallow, as though he was on the edge of unconsciousness.
I rushed over to him, checking his injuries. I tore a piece of my dress to try to staunch the bleeding.
"Don't touch me!"
he grunted, his voice strained.
"Relax, I'm just trying to help. At this rate, you'll die if no one does anything."
He glared at me, hesitant, but eventually gave a resigned sigh, as though giving me permission to continue.
I moved to heal his wounds using magic, but before I could begin, he grabbed my wrist.
"I'd rather die than have you use light magic on me. That bastard Julius..."
Julius? Was he talking about the pope? Did this man hate him, too?
Confusion filled my mind, but before I could ask further, the man passed out.
"Is he dead?"
I checked for a pulse and thankfully, he was still alive. I performed first aid as best I could using my clothes, though his injuries were far beyond what simple bandages could fix.
He was definitely suspicious. His words, combined with the appearance of his injuries, made me suspect he might be a black magician. But when I looked at him again my heart softened.
Why does he look so similar to Sylvia?
I thought for a moment.
Screw this- Why would a black mage come to the capital and enter the main church, where a light barrier is set to weaken any black mage? Does he have a death wish?
I dragged him into the abandoned temple and placed him in a nearby room. Then, I opened a portal to my own room, gathering supplies and medicine as he requested I not use healing magic on him.
I managed to stabilize him, bringing him out of immediate danger. With a barrier in place, I was sure he wouldn't escape. His injuries were severe enough that he would be confined to that bed for days maybe weeks.
I returned to my room, changed into new clothes, and rested.
The morning came, and two deaconesses arrived to help me get ready.
"It's Sunday today, right?"
"Yes, Your Holiness."
What timing. No lessons or training today, just mass at 8 a.m.
I had breakfast, then headed down to the hall. As I entered, I saw Julius Eris, the pope, standing at the altar, speaking with confidence.
He was delivering his usual speech. But instead of discussing the goddess, he was ranting about witches, warlocks, and others, insisting that these people, born with demonic power, must be eradicated at all costs.
But it wasn't just his voice that bothered me. It was his eyes blood-red, just like—
I shook the thought from my mind, and my thoughts moved to how was that man doing.
Unlike the pope, who had white hair, this man had black hair, much like Sylvia's. His face was handsome, though his expression was haunting.
I found myself distracted during the mass, lost in thoughts of the mysterious man. I barely noticed the pope glaring at me from the altar.
I quickly bowed my head in apology, silently praying for forgiveness from the goddess for losing focus during this sacred time.
I do believe in Goddess Leticia, but that doesn't mean I trust the people who claim to serve her.