Episode 57
Cecilia’s hand trembled faintly.
She had already been told, in simple terms, that the power dwelling within her had weakened her body. But hearing outright that it was shortening her lifespan made her heart pound with anxiety all the same.
Because of a power she herself did not understand.
Cecilia raised a hand and pressed it lightly against her chest. Her expression hardened.
“Can something like that really be called a gift from the gods?”
The words came out sharper than she intended.
She knew she should be careful with her speech, standing in Morvena’s temple before one of her servants—but that awareness felt distant and hazy.
Silence settled between them.
Cecilia stared at the teacup she had set down and swallowed a sigh. She lightly pressed her throbbing forehead, then spoke again in a calmer voice.
“I apologize. That was excessive.”
“…The gods do not grant only blessings.”
The old man withdrew the hand that had been resting on Cecilia’s head.
“Curses, too, fall under the gods’ dominion.”
At his words, the borderlands came unbidden to her mind—
The undeniable trace of a god, rooted in the northern lands.
While Cecilia remained silent, lost in thought, the old man continued slowly.
“A gift can become a curse. The relationship between gods and humans is one-sided. It’s only natural to feel wronged.”
She had expected a rebuke—how dare he speak such blasphemy?
Yet his voice was dry, gentle even.
Little by little, Cecilia’s heart grew calm.
If she tried to look at it positively, perhaps she could.
At least now I know what’s making my body sick.
As a child, swallowing countless medicines without even knowing the cause, she had wished—desperately—just to know the name of her illness.
Not only Cecilia, but her entire family had clasped her small hands night after night, praying earnestly.
Even Pierre Gwen, immature as he had been.
The image of her brother, crying with his nose running, begging for his little sister to be healed; her sister, clinging to their mother in the dead of night, swallowing her tears so Cecilia wouldn’t see; and her parents, who worried over her right up until her marriage—all passed before her eyes.
How would they react if they heard this? Would they say it was a relief that it wasn’t a disease?
Her mother might cling to a new god. She had always needed something to lean on.
“You may resent it if you wish. I doubt the gods have the leisure to listen to such small whispers anyway.”
The corners of the old man’s eyes crinkled softly.
Bright sunlight poured in through the large window behind him.
The storm subsided. Her mind, now calm like the sea under the rising sun, gave birth to a new question.
“You called it a gift. But I’ve never met a god. I never exchanged anything in return. Then… is this a curse?”
The old man pondered her words for a moment, then began to tell a story that seemed utterly unrelated.
“There is a tale in Lotreven. It is said that Morvena appears as a child, an old person, a woman, or a middle-aged man, asking for help—and bestows a blessing upon those who aid her.”
The tapestry hanging in the sanctuary—was that what it depicted?
Cecilia’s puzzled expression slowly gave way to rapt attention as she listened.
“They say she grants even the smallest wish, and fulfills even the greatest desire. Of course, one must bear responsibility equal to what they ask for—but that is not something the god will manage for you. Hence the lesson: when a chance to make a wish comes, one should not be greedy.”
His calm voice left behind an eerie chill, like watching a candle on the verge of going out.
“But remember this—there was an act that came first, and so an answer was given. Think carefully. At some moment, Morvena’s gaze must have fallen upon you.”
The old man’s eyes glinted strangely.
“And after that, there must have been something you gained.”
Cecilia’s pale green eyes wandered aimlessly over the tabletop.
Mercy and help. What she wished for. The responsibility she bore. What she gained. Thoughts scattered chaotically through her mind.
Something she obtained because she wished for it. No matter how far back she traced her memories, nothing fitting came to mind.
What she wanted most was her health. Yet it never came true—if anything, her condition worsened until she visited the temple.
But if this was the responsibility she had to bear?
Cecilia frowned as she forced herself back into memories so old she could barely recall them.
“I’ll help you a little. Close your eyes. Like that. Listen to my voice and think.”
The old man’s hand once again rested on her head.
Unlike when she received treatment, a different energy swept away the fog in her mind.
What had she wished for, to deserve such an immense responsibility? What had she longed for most back then? And who was it that had asked her for help…?
‘Little one.’
A lonely, shadowed voice suddenly reached her ears.
Gray memories rewound rapidly, and one scene abruptly filled her mind.
The sea of Eldoba. A deserted shore. An old woman she met on a beach where only the waves emptily brushed the sand.
‘Could you help me?’
The voice grew unnervingly clear.
Even though most of her childhood memories had nearly vanished after she became gravely ill, that moment stood out vividly—
As vivid as a landscape painted by an artist.
The young Cecilia hesitated. Never follow strangers, clashed fiercely with you must help those in need. The inner struggle was so intense it eclipsed even her sadness.
In the end, the scales tipped toward helping the old woman.
There was no maid following her, and she had just parted ways with her friend after a big fight.
There was no one else to carry the bundle the old woman asked her to help with.
It was large and heavy for a child, but Cecilia hauled it along, grunting with effort.
There was even a touch of pride—surely she was stronger than an old woman.
The elderly woman walking slowly beside her chuckled softly.
‘Such a kind child.’
‘My parents said we should help the weak.’
Answering earnestly, Cecilia glanced at the woman.
At that moment, sunlight rose behind Cecilia, stinging her eyes.
Squinting against the glare, she opened her eyes again when a shadow gently covered her face.
‘As thanks for helping me, I’ll grant you one wish.’
‘Anything?’
‘Anything.’
‘But my mother says there are wishes that can’t come true.’
The old woman looked far too frail to grant a wish. Doubt crept into Cecilia’s eyes.
‘Words have power. And who knows? Perhaps I can help you with what I have.’
The woman shaded Cecilia’s face with her hand and smiled.
Strangely, her lips looked smooth—too youthful for her age. Yet Cecilia had no time to feel uneasy about it.
The word wish captivated the young girl, and she thought carefully.
Then she made her decision.
‘Then… I want to make up with Matilda.’
Only after speaking did Cecilia realize the woman wouldn’t know who Matilda was.
She hurriedly continued.
‘Ah—Matilda is my friend. We fought earlier, and I don’t understand how she feels…’
‘Then you want to know your friend’s heart?’
Hearing the gentle voice, that seemed right.
Cecilia nodded vigorously.
She wondered where to begin.
From the perspective of someone who had lived far longer than she had, sorting out right and wrong and choosing the right words to apologize should be easy.
‘Very well. Your wish will be granted.’
This abrupt departure was not an ending Cecilia had imagined.
Prepared to talk at length, she stared blankly at the woman’s retreating back.
Though she had asked for help carrying her things, the woman walked perfectly well on her own now—faster, even, than when they had walked together.
It was bewildering, but after unburdening even a small piece of her worries, her heart felt lighter.
Cecilia pouted, then turned toward home.
That was where the memory ended.
As Cecilia surfaced from the past, a strange light flickered in her eyes.
