The Saint Wants to Rest - vanish into fiction

A woman stood there. She had dazzling silver hair and eyes as deep as the universe itself. She looked exactly like the giant stone statue that had been erected in the center of the Temple of Regnasia.

She was the Goddess, Regnasia.

Ian stepped back without realizing it. He had been devoted to Regnasia’s name for five years, and because of that, he had also come to hate her.

“…Why are you here?”

“Did you not call for me? By breaking your shackles yourself.”

The Goddess smiled gently and approached Ian. As her hand brushed his cheek, a warm heat seeped into him.

“You must have many things you wish to ask.”

“…I will ask just one thing.”

Ian spoke with a trembling voice. He knew the being before him was a god, but his long-suppressed anger surpassed his fear.

“Why did you set such a restriction? That filthy condition that I can only use my power through contact, through feeling pleasure. Do you have any idea how miserably I and so many other Saints have lived because of you?”

It was a lump of resentment that had been knotted in Ian’s soul for years. The times of humiliation where he was treated as a tool and forced to endure unwanted touches. The misery of having to live treated not as a Saintess or a Saint, but merely as a “holy prostitute.”

However, the Goddess’s response was unexpected. A deep sadness welled up in her universe-like eyes.

“Those were not shackles that I placed.”

“…What?”

“They are shackles created by human fear.”

The Goddess waved her hand in the air. At that, the past of Regnasia unfolded like a panorama.

The first Saint wielded infinite power without any shackles. However, while people worshiped that overwhelming power, they also feared it. There was a fear that a Saint could kill even a King and overturn a country if they so desired. Thus, they demoted the Saint from a messenger of God to a “weapon” that needed to be controlled.

The religious order was established, and the doctrines were twisted. Those in power cleverly disguised the condition of “physical contact” as a divine revelation and inserted it to suppress the Saint’s power. It was the ugly desire of humans to make it so a Saint could only use power by being subordinate to someone else, ensuring they could not stand on their own.

“I have never once intended to bind you. I only wished for you to live while loving and caring for one another.”

Transparent tears flowed from the Goddess’s eyes.

“I am sorry. Because my power was lacking, I realized the pain you were suffering far too late.”

Ian stared blankly at the Goddess. His heart grew heavy at the fact that the object of his long-standing resentment was not actually the one at fault, but rather someone who had cherished him.

“But you broke those false laws yourself. By your own will, and by your own love.”

The Goddess placed her hand on Ian’s head. A warm light enveloped his soul.

“You are free now. You no longer need to be bound by anyone or any condition. Now, shine your light whenever you want, in whatever way you want.”

Her blessing rang out clearly, like the sound of shackles falling away.

“So rest now, my lovely child. I shall share your burden from now on.”

The Goddess’s form gradually scattered into light and disappeared. Ian withdrew his outstretched hand and, for the first time, wore a comfortable smile.

“…Thank you.”

A brilliant light filled his vision.

***

“Ugh…”

As he lifted his heavy eyelids, the first thing he saw was an unfamiliar ceiling. He could hear the characteristic smell of a hospital and the rhythmic sound of machines running.

Ian blinked and focused his eyes. His entire body felt as heavy as water-soaked cotton. He felt so lethargic that it was difficult to even wiggle a finger. Out of habit, he tried to check the divine power inside his body, but he felt nothing, as if looking into an empty well.

“…Water.”

As soon as his cracked voice leaked out, someone jumped up from the chair next to the bed.

“Ian!”

Sparse stubble and hollow eyes. It was Choi Jae-heon, looking like someone who had stayed up for several nights. Where did his usual neat appearance go? He stood with his mouth agape, seemingly unable to believe that Ian had opened his eyes.

“…Hyung? What’s wrong with your face? Are you a mountain bandit?”

“Ian! Are you conscious? Do you recognize me? Try moving your fingers!”

Choi Jae-heon hovered around Ian and repeatedly pressed the emergency call button. At that commotion, Vermouth, who had been taking a short nap with his head buried in a corner of the blanket on the other side of the bed, sprang up like a coil.

“Lord Ian!”

Vermouth’s condition was no better than Choi Jae-heon’s. His blonde hair, which was always perfectly styled, was a mess, and his eyes were full of redness. As the two men rushed toward his face at the same time, Ian pulled his head back in disgust.