The Peaceful Days of the First Archpriestess
The gears of fate had slipped out of joint, and yet they continued to turn. Perhaps the possibility of repair remained, but even the gods had not predicted this—and if they had thrown up their hands in despair, what hope did mortals have?
The archpriestess, Rey, watched three figures sparring in the courtyard. One was the boy named Hiro, marked by his black hair and black eyes as having been summoned from another world by the Spirit King. She watched him dance with his wooden sword. Certainly, his otherworldly origins had gifted him with marvelous knowledge, but who could ever have imagined that he would grow so strong?
“He’s gotten used to his new strength, it seems.”
For a time, she had feared what might become of him, but his powers appeared to have stabilized. After his abduction, she had been sleepless with worry—it was enough of a relief simply to have found him safe. Hiro bore no blame for what had happened. It was she and her allies who had let the zlosta outwit them, allowing him to be saddled with a dreadful burden. The Lord’s power was immense. Eventually, its curse would begin to eat into Hiro’s very flesh. She needed to find a solution before that happened.
“Still,” she sighed, “what strength it is. One is reminded anew how mighty the Lords truly are.”
Hiro’s partner was a golden-haired, golden-eyed youth: Artheus, the king of this nation and the wielder of four of the Spirit King’s five Spiritblades. Only a handful of individuals in all of Aletia could rival him on the field, and even fewer of his fellow humans. Yet while they were merely sparring, Hiro was matching him blow for blow. Only a few short months ago, it would have been impossible to imagine he would develop such skill. He had possessed valuable otherworldly wisdom, but in all other respects, he had been unremarkable at best. Yet now...
“So this is where you’ve been, my lady.”
A voice interrupted Rey’s thoughts. It belonged to a knight-priestess, one who had served Rey since the day the Spirit King had chosen her as his archpriestess. Born between the álfar and the beastfolk, she possessed pointed ears covered in white fur. Meteia’s beastfolk blood ran particularly thick. She had physical capabilities ordinary folk could only dream of, and few could best her in combat.
“How is he?” Rey asked.
Meteia brought a hand to her chin, thinking, then raised her hands and smiled reassuringly. “You have little to fear, my lady. Sometimes his strength still gets the better of him, but he will master it soon enough.”
“I’m glad to hear it. But if you notice anything amiss, you must tell me at once, even if you think it is beneath my notice.”
“Of course, my lady. I will watch him like a hawk.”
Rey listened, but she did not reply. She took a seat beneath a tree and watched Artheus and Hiro in silence.
“By your leave,” Meteia said, sitting down next to her.
The hint of nervousness in her servant’s eyes reminded Rey of a long-lost memory. A mischievous smile spread across her face. “Meteia,” she said, patting her lap, “would you like to rest your head like you used to?”
“Bwah?!”
Rey burst into giggles. Struggling to make friends on account of her beast-like features, Meteia had been given to tears during their adolescence in Baum, and Rey had often comforted her by letting her lay her head on her knees.
“I-I’m flattered, my lady, I really am, but...urk...” Meteia’s eyes darted from the sparring pair to Rey’s lap and back again. “A-Another time, perhaps. When no one else is around.”
Rey giggled. “All right. I can see you’re embarrassed.”
“Forgive me, my lady. I cannot allow Hiro to see me in a compromised state!” Her eyes made it clear that it had been a painful decision.
“Rey!” came Hiro’s voice. “There you are!”
As he and Artheus approached, Meteia moved to stand in their way. “Hiro! You will pay for this!”
“Me? What did I do?”
“Enough! Silence! You know very well what you did!”
Meteia pounced on him with a wolflike snarl. The first archpriestess looked on, smiling fondly.
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