Interlude: With Only Three Words

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“Lora, why did you leave us?”

“Rebellious children like you don’t deserve Florathea’s blessings!”

“Leave! Leave and don’t turn back!”

A confusing jumble of voices echoed through the empty void, voices Lora could barely recognize from her old village. Her parents, her neighbors, her friends she’d left… It’d been so long since she’d left. Were they even still alive?

She stared down at the chains restraining her arms and legs, a cruel reminder that her heart had never truly escaped that village, a place so blinded by obsession and worship.

For as long as she could remember, Lora never felt like living as “herself.”

Every day was the same routine: early morning prayers, tending the gardens and the crops, and even more prayers. Growing up, this was the norm she accepted, not only because she was forced to, but because their efforts truly bore fruit.

Back then, the goddess of spring herself would frequently descend upon Phlovery Village as a reward for all their hard work and treat the sick and injured.

The thing was, many of the injured villagers had been inflicted by others out of punishment for going out of line, for breaking the most trivial rules. Many of such injured villagers happened to be quite young as well.

Children who misbehaved—who played after midnight, ate fruit offerings, trampled on crops, picked flowers without permission, and so on—were all severely punished. Lora included.

The flower crown she’d made was just an innocent surprise birthday gift for a friend, but then the elders found out, and thus, she received ten lashes, one for each flower she’d picked.

Even though Florathea would eventually heal all her injuries, the pain never left her memory. So, since that day, she swore to never touch flowers again, no matter how beautiful they looked, no matter how wonderful they smelled…

Lora curled up in this vast, terrifying void, tears stinging her eyes.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” her mother’s voice whispered in her ear. “Everything will be okay. It’ll all be over soon.”

She’d always say that every time she got punished by the village elders, right before Florathea’s routinely arrival, so it didn’t cross her mind what she truly meant by those words.

One day, when the goddess returned and healed her injuries, the girl happened to notice her smile seemed different than before. It resembled much like hers: forced, strained, and exhausted.

So, out of curiosity, the child asked, “Are you okay?”

Florathea widened her eyes, and out of fear that Lora had spoken out of line, she immediately bowed, apologized profusely, and started walking away.

“Wait,” the goddess called out.

Lora froze, her shoulders stiffened, wondering if she had angered the goddess, but when she turned around, a friendly smile greeted her.

“There is no need to fear, dear child,” she said. “To be able to notice the troubles of the divine and speak up on it proves you possess an admirable compassion and courage in your heart. For that, you deserve some acknowledgment.”

Thus did the goddess bestow a portion of her power onto the child, blessing her with an ability to heal conveniently and receive recognition from the adults.

And yet, none of Florathea’s words and actions answered her question, though. In the end, Lora never found out what troubled the goddess.

Not to mention, even though her blessings were meant to help people, the elders forbid her to use them unless permitted, claiming that she should not abuse her divine gifts.

But what was the point of such gifts if she couldn’t even use them to begin with? Not once did they grant her permission to use them, not even when someone clearly drew blood before her eyes.

It was then she grew old enough to start questioning more and more of the elders. If they truly cared about the goddess, why was she the only one who noticed her troubles? Why did no one else talk about it? Why should she hold back her gift meant for her to use? Why were they so strict and harsh, even though one of their goddess’s core virtues was to spread kindness? Also, what was the world like outside these gates? Why shouldn’t we learn more about them? Why couldn’t she leave?

She grew old enough to realize some adults also shared similar questions, including her parents, who’d been harboring resentment like many others.

She didn’t realize it, but whenever she snuck out to heal her friends in trouble, the parents who caught her in the act pretended they’d never seen anything.

The signs of rebellion hinted here and there, scattered around like hidden explosives waiting to go off, yet the time to fight back didn’t arrive for a while, not until the War of Florathea began, when their goddess suddenly declared war against the world.

To think that the goddess herself sparked the perfect opportunity to start the civil war among the villagers, prompting Lora with the ultimate dilemma to stay and fight or escape for freedom.

With her gift, she could surely lend significant aid, but…

“You must leave this place, sweetheart,” said her father, his back facing her. “This place isn’t safe for you anymore.”

Lora gripped her fists. “But I can’t leave you two behind…”

Her mother gave her one last tight embrace and attached something to her hair. Lora reluctantly brushed her fingers over her head, making out something soft tickling her palms. It felt like... a flower.

Her mother whispered, “We’ll be okay, darling. I promised you that everything would be over, didn’t I? You’ll be okay now. Just go and run. Keep running and don’t ever look back!”

She didn’t want to. She couldn’t, and yet, her feet moved anyway.

Tears blurred her vision, smoke filled her lungs, and the shrubs scratched her legs. She had no destination in mind and carried nothing but the clothes on her back and her new hairpin, but she ran through the darkness nevertheless.

She kept running, and running, and running… and stretched her hands forward…

…Only for the chains behind her to drag her back.

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A heavy clang jolted Lora awake, followed by her cell creaking open. She wearily opened her eyes to find a pair of armored guards stepping inside and removing the chains restraining her to the wall.

“Get up,” one of them ordered. “Your trial has arrived.”

With a quiet nod, Lora slowly got up and followed the guards with her head hung low. Even when her future was on the line, all she could think at this time was…

“I hope everyone else is doing okay.”