The bells of the Main Cathedral were still ringing when Lucas found himself standing stiffly beside High Priestess Merilda, completely unsure if he was supposed to feel holy, honored, terrified, or all three at once. The people filling the pews stared at him, some in awe, some in suspicion, some with fear. He avoided looking at any of them for too long.
His tongue still tasted bit faintly of the Holy Water, metallic and warm, as if the liquid remembered being divine. His hands were trembling, almost imperceptibly. A Saint. They had all said it moments ago. He still didn't believe it was true.
Merilda raised her hand, and the murmurs fell into perfect silence.
"Now that the ceremony has revealed the Sun Goddess's chosen," she had declared, her voice echoing brightly across the stone walls, "Lucas Von Vaskarus, Son of William Vaskarus. shall henceforth take residence within the Main Cathedral. From this day forward, he will be instructed in the sacred doctrine, the divine gospels, and the duties of the Saint."
Lucas blinked.
Huh?!
He wasn't sure what he expected, maybe a applause, a feast, or at worst, a round of stiff bowing from nobles who would pretend to respect him. But being told, in front of a few hundred people, that he was moving out of his home and into a building that smelled permanently of incense was not on his list.
A ripple of excitement ran through the crowd. Whispers rose.
"Of course… the Saint must stay here in the Cathedral."
"He's too young to be left alone ANYWHERE."
"I likely thought the Saint would have been older."
"Is the Sun Goddess really favoring the Vaskarus family again?"
"Or is she perhaps punishing them…"
Lucas's eye twitched. Punishing? He was right here.
Merilda continued, "Pack what you need. You will begin your study at dawn tomorrow."
Study? He'd thought Saints just healed people and got worshipped by people. What do you mean, study? He opened his mouth to object, but Merilda had already turned to instruct several attending clergy. She moved fast, annoyingly fast.
A hand tapped his shoulder. It belonged to a young monk with a shaved head and permanently anxious eyebrows.
"Please follow me, Saint Lucas. I'll show you your chambers."
Lucas sighed. "Can you just call me Lucas?"
The monk looked horrified. "S-Saint Lucas, the title is mandatory. The Sun Goddess-"
"Okay, okay. Never mind."
The Saint's Chambers , Apparently Huge but Empty.
The room they brought him to was astonishingly large. Marble floors. Tall windows draped in pristine white fabric. A massive four-poster bed carved with sun motifs. A gilded desk. A wardrobe already filled with ceremonial robes.
It looked impressive.
It also felt colder than a crypt.
Lucas's old room in the Vaskarus estate was cramped and too bright because his father insisted sunlight made a better child of him, but at least it had warmth, and the occasional noise of servants yelling at each other two floors down.
Here, he could hear nothing. Not even distant footsteps. Just the echo of his own breathing.
The monk bowed so deeply his nose nearly touched the floor. "If you need anything, Saint Lucas, tug this bell rope. Someone will come immediately. Meals will be brought at precise intervals. Bathing times are posted on the door. Curfew is-"
"Curfew? But I'm eighteen."
The monk blinked. "This is the Cathedral."
Lucas stared.
The monk fled.
Lucas groaned and collapsed face-first onto the bed. The mattress was so soft he sank into it like dough.
"Great," he muttered into the sheets. "I'm a Saint with a bedtime."
The Next Morning. Dawn, Unfortunately
The gong that woke him sounded like a titan smashing cymbals above his skull.
Lucas shot up, hair sticking in every direction. "Ack! why is it so loud!?"
He stumbled out of bed, tripping on the hem of the white garment they made him wear. He pulled on the ceremonial outer robe, only to discover it had fifteen tiny buttons that seemed designed specifically to test his patience.
When he finally made it to the training hall, he found dozens of young priests and postulants already kneeling perfectly on the polished floor, reciting the first gospel in flawless harmony.
Lucas was late.
Merilda's eyes narrowed the moment he walked in.
Oh no.
"Saint Lucas," she said, her voice sharper than any sword in the empire, "we begin our lessons at dawn. Not 'whenever sunrise feels personally appropriate.'"
Lucas opened his mouth. "I-"
"You're late," she added simply.
"Yes, ma'am."
She made him sit at the front. Everyone stared at the back of his head like he was some rare animal brought in for display.
Lesson One was The Gospels of Light
Merilda passed him a massive tome. It weighed more than a small child.
"The Gospels of the Radiant Dawn," she said, "must be memorized fully by the end of your training arc."
"My what?"
"Your training arc."
"You're calling it that? Out loud?"
"It's an official ecclesiastical term."
"It is not-"
"It is now."
Lucas glared. Merilda's expression held zero sympathy.
"Begin reading."
Lucas flipped open the first page.
> 'In the beginning, there was darkness. And from the darkness, the Sun Goddess lit her flame—'
He fell asleep halfway through the third paragraph.
Merilda tapped his head with a long wooden pointer.
Thwack.
"Ow!"
"Saint Lucas. If you cannot even remain awake during the opening passages, how do you expect to wield the Sun Goddess's miracles responsibly?"
"I don't know, maybe by sleeping enough?"
Thwack.
"Focus."
Lesson Two was Sacred Postures
Lucas discovered something terrible.
There were forty-seven "official" prayer stances.
Forty-seven.
Some involved balancing on one knee, one foot, or both arms outstretched while maintaining a serene facial expression. Another required rotating exactly thirty degrees toward the "spiritual east," which apparently was different from regular east.
He tried copying Merilda's posture.
He fell over.
Twice.
The other students whispered.
"Is that really the Saint…?"
"Maybe he's new."
"He's definitely new."
"Maybe he's just dumb."
Lucas glared at them while lying on the floor.
Lesson Three was just simple Chanting right?
He thought chanting would be easy.
It was not.
The sacred verses had impossible rhythms, breaths, pauses, and intonations, all of which had to be perfect. Lucas's voice cracked on the third line. By the sixth, he sounded like a dying goat.
Merilda pinched the bridge of her nose.
"The Sun Goddess has chosen you as her Saint. The least you could do is pronounce her sacred hymns properly."
"I'm trying," Lucas complained. "My throat hurts."
"Then use it more."
"That's not how that works."
Lunch, Also Known as Temporary Salvation
Lucas collapsed onto a bench in the dining hall. The food was bland: steamed bread, boiled vegetables, and something they claimed was soup but looked suspiciously like warm water with herbs waving inside.
He missed real seasoning. He missed meat. He even missed the Vaskarus chef yelling at him for sneaking snacks before dinner.
He was halfway through shoving a dry piece of bread into his mouth when someone sat across from him. A young priest-in-training with short chestnut hair and a friendly grin.
"I'm Finn," the boy said. "You look like you're dying."
"I feel like it."
Finn laughed. "Training here is hard for everyone, but I think they're making it extra hard for you since you're… you know."
Lucas groaned. "Please don't say it."
"…the Saint."
Lucas dropped his head into his hands. "I hate it already."
Finn smiled sympathetically. "If it helps, no one expects you to be perfect right away."
"Merilda definitely does."
"Merilda expects everyone to be perfect."
Lucas sighed.
This place was going to kill him before any demon ever would.
Evening, A Glimpse of Power
After the afternoon lessons (where Lucas nearly set a tapestry on fire while practicing basic prayers), Merilda led him to a quiet courtyard.
"Sit," she instructed.
Lucas sat.
"Now breathe. Let the divinity within you settle."
He closed his eyes. The air was cool against his skin. For the first time all day, no one was speaking, chanting, correcting him, or judging his posture. The silence felt merciful.
Something warm flickered inside him, a small sun resting deep in his chest.
He inhaled.
Light pulsed faintly from his fingertips.
Merilda's voice hardened with a rare hint of approval. "Good. Your divinity responds to you naturally."
"So I'm not hopeless?"
"You are unrefined. But not hopeless."
Lucas smiled weakly. He'd take it.
Night, The First Day Ends
Back in his chambers, Lucas collapsed onto his bed, limbs sore and mind numb.
His first day as a Saint had been nothing like the stories. No miracles. No glowing auras. No crowds praising him. Just falling on his face, getting scolded, chanting until his voice cracked, and memorizing texts that made him want to cry.
But…
When he closed his eyes, he still felt that small sun glowing inside him.
Warm. Steady. Waiting.
He sighed.
"Fine," he murmured. "I'll learn your stupid doctrine. Just… don't make me wake up at dawn forever."
The Goddess did not answer.
Lucas groaned into his pillow.
His training as the new Saint has begun.
And it was going to be hell.