Vol 1 Chapter 8: Those Who Believe in Light and Love from afar

Cathedral of Light – Arclight Capital

The footsteps of Archpriestess Capitalia echoed softly in the morning light. Her white robes hung like a divine mist. The sounds of prayers and sacred chants drifted quietly, but were instantly silenced as the congregation recognised their supreme presence.

“Your Holiness, Archpriestess!”

“Light accompanies your steps!”

The congregation, both young and old, bowed deeply. Some shed tears just to witness her presence. The young priests stood still, reverent. They saw no human being… they saw a symbol of faith.

But Capitalia only responded with a serene smile and a loving nod. She walked slowly down the central corridor until her eyes fell on the main pulpit. There… stood a girl.

Saintess Lucia.
Long hair shimmering between silver and gold, shining golden eyes, and a white dress with gold stripes that radiated an aura of purity. The light from the stained glass windows seemed to choose her to shine brighter than the others.

“…because true light is not born of strength, but of love that never tires of waiting,” she said, her clear voice echoing in the room.

Instantly, her sermon concluded.

“Khithmah,” she whispered softly.

“Khithmah!” the congregation answered in unison and with faith.

They loved her.
Not because she was a Saintess… but because they saw her as the light that replaced the hero.
Lucia descended from the pulpit and approached the High Priest. They greeted her with a gesture of spiritual respect before entering the inner chamber—a sacred space where only two people in the church were allowed to enter: the High Priest and the Saintess.

—

An Intimate Dialogue in the Room of Light

Symbols of Light adorned the walls: the symbol of the holy sun, a painting of Lune raising a sword in victory, and murals of saints who once battled darkness.

Lucia stared at the mural for a long moment, then turned away.

“How… is the Prince?”

“He… hasn’t woken up yet, has he?”

The High Priest of Capitalia didn’t answer directly. Her eyes were fixed on the stone floor, which reflected the soft light.

“The kingdom only issued a general announcement. Nothing more. I myself have already met with the High Mage… but Elaria turned me away with gentle words that felt like a magical barrier.”

Lucia clenched her fingers. The light around her trembled faintly.

“They… hid it from us.”

“Yet Prince Lune is the light of the church. Without him, this world—our world—is on the brink of spiritual darkness.”

She stepped forward, standing directly beneath the window depicting Lune slicing through the darkness. Her eyes shone with determination.

“The shadow worshippers… will not remain silent. They will move. Even now… they are spreading throughout the villages.”

“If we don’t act… they will spread doubt.”

The High Priestess nodded. Her eyes were less sharp than usual. There was doubt, but also hope.

“What do you plan to do, Lucia?”

Lucia bowed. Not in meek submission—but in a fervent prayer.

“Let me go. Let me descend to the outskirts and remote places of worship. I will bring light to them… until Prince Lune awakens again.”

“I can’t sit and wait. If he’s asleep, then I’ll be the second light… even if my light isn’t as bright as his.”

Silence.
Then the High Priestess said softly:

“You know, Lucia… sometimes people think you love Lune.”

Lucia turned her head. Not angry. Not surprised.

“I love him. But not as a man. Not as a king.”

“I love him like the first sun that wipes the snow from the birthplace of mankind. And that’s why… I can’t stand by while that light fades.”

The High Priestess was silent for a long moment.

“Very well. Bring your team. But you must be careful. The Church won’t start a war… but it won’t stand idly by if faith is attacked.”

Lucia bowed again. But this time, it was a sign of readiness to accept the mission.

—

The Vermi Family Residence — Night

Elsewhere, at the end of a quiet night…

Count Vermi’s footsteps echoed through the marble hallways of the old aristocratic mansion. At every turn, servants bowed respectfully, and guards saluted with discipline.

But the seemingly calm face was merely a mask.

“How should I put this…?”

His heart was gripped by worry. He had just emerged from a political meeting room and official palace news that had frozen his hopes. Now… he had to face something even more difficult: a young woman in love.

At the end of the hallway in the east wing of the mansion stood a door.

It was unlike any other aristocratic door. It wasn’t grand. It wasn’t heavy. On the contrary, it was decorated with colourful paper, cute pictures of rabbits and cats drawn in pastel crayons, and a small sign attached with ribbon:

“Princess Cinderella’s Room. Please knock gently!”

Count Vermi stopped in front of the door. He raised his hand and knocked gently.

“Cinderella? "Your father is here…"

A sweet voice from inside answered:

"Come in, Father…"

He opened the door. And it was like entering a different world: the room was filled with warm blankets, the light of a star-shaped table lamp, and the calming scent of dried flowers.

In the centre, on a soft, light-purple bed, lay a girl.

—

Cinderella – A Fragile Girl with Deep Love

Her long black hair lay weakly on the pillow. Her black eyes were soft, full of light, even though her body had not yet fully recovered. Beside her lay the remaining bottle of medicine—the medicine Lune had given her.

Count Vermi stepped closer and sat on the edge of the bed. He gently stroked her head.

"How are you feeling today, dear?"

Cinderella smiled a little. A gentle smile that always made anyone want to protect her.

"It's better, Father… I even dreamed of waking up, walking out, and… meeting Brother Lune to thank him."

"Brother Lune saved me, Father. He… is like light."

Count Vermi lowered his head. Cinderella's smile was like the afternoon sun touching a crumbling wall—beautiful, but painful.

“Cinderella…” he murmured.

He tried to look away from reality. But his heart knew: he couldn't delay any longer.

“What do you think of Prince Lune?”

Cinderella turned slowly, her eyes glistening with memories.

“He was a good man, Father. Very good. Back at the academy… he always helped everyone, no matter who they were. Even me, who was imperfect…”

She gripped her blanket tightly.

“He greeted everyone warmly, even when I hid in shame. But Brother Lune… never made me feel small.”

“He was the only one who made me feel… I deserved to live, too.”

Count Vermi pursed his lips.

“Do… you love him, Cinderella?”

The girl fell silent.
Then… a slow smile appeared on her lips.

“It's hard not to love Brother Lune, Father. He's like the first morning sun after a long winter. He makes me feel warm… and safe.”

Count Vermi's hands trembled slightly. He knew his feelings weren't anger—they were deeper than that. Like something that's cracked, but mustn't be broken.

"My dear... there's something I must tell you..."

He took his daughter's hand and bowed deeply.

"Prince Lune... is ill."

"Very ill. And no one is allowed to visit him..."

Cinderella froze.
The colour drained from her face. Her eyes widened. It was as if the world around her had just disappeared.

"No..." she whispered.
"I... must see Brother Lune..."

She tried to get up. Her body was weak. But love moved her more than any other force.

"I must help him! When I was sick, he helped me... Now... It's my turn—"

Her body collapsed. She fell off the side of the bed. But before she hit the floor...
Count Vermi caught her.

With the large arms that had embraced the country, he could only hold her small, fragile, love-broken daughter.

“Cinderella… please, don’t push yourself…”

“Lune is safe. She’s being looked after. She’ll come back… I’m sure. But you… You must live too.”

Cinderella didn’t answer. She just cried.
Her tears wet her father’s shoulder.

“Lune… Lune… Lune…”

Those tears… were like a mournful song sung by a heart too full to speak.

—

Mini Epilogue

Count Vermi closed his eyes, patting his daughter’s back.

“If Lune doesn’t wake up… perhaps my daughter’s love will die with her.”

But he couldn’t let that happen.

That night, for the first time… Count Vermi felt himself not a nobleman, not a leader, not a politician.
Just a father.

Carrying the hopes of his daughter, too tender for this world.