In an open field beside the pace, a table of judges sat, ready to evaluate the contestants in the Harvest Festival. There were four competitions: dance, fighting, painting, and cooking.

  1A harvest festival is a celebration held around the time of the main harvest of a particur region. People come together to give thanks for a successful harvest season. These festivals often include food, music, games, rituals, and sometimes competitions — it's a cultural event rooted in gratitude for food and nature's bounty.

  The wind carried the warm scent of ripe apples and roasted squash, mingling with the ughter of children and the low murmur of the crowd.

  At the center of the field stood a polished wooden ptform, framed by garnds of autumn leaves and woven grain.

  Cécile stood near Brother Seidel, her presence stiffly tolerated by Sister Weizmann, who looked as if she’d swallowed something bitter.

  “Sister Weizmann, why even come if you can't stand being near me?”

  “I volunteered to judge, not to keep company with hypocrites,” Sister Weizmann snapped, her arms folded tightly. “And it’s Meirav, as I’ve told you. Use my given name outside the church. But I suppose someone like you, clinging to Sister Cécile instead of Lachman, never understood the difference between a surname and a given name.”

  “Come on, I told you — English isn’t my first nguage,” Cécile muttered, her voice edged with irritation. “You act like I’m doing it to insult you.”

  Meirav rolled her eyes. “Ignorance isn’t innocence, Cécile. You just like pying the part of the misunderstood martyr2A martyr is someone who suffers or is killed because of their beliefs, often religious or political. They are typically seen as a symbol of dedication to their cause, enduring hardship or death rather than renouncing their principles..”

  "English isn’t your first nguage either.”

  “So? At least I read English books and practice. Yesterday, you said something embarrassing and didn’t even realize it. You made up a whole new word.”

  The king rose slowly, drawing the attention of all assembled. His posture radiated power as he surveyed the crowd with a self-satisfied smile.

  "My esteemed guests," he began, his voice deep and commanding, "today is not just about the harvest. It is about the wealth we have earned—the wealth that sustains our noble houses and ensures the continued prosperity of our great kingdom. These competitions, like all things, are a reflection of the superior bloodlines we honor here today."

  He chuckled loudly, spping his round stomach as the nobles below him joined in the ughter, their faces eager to please. The commoners, however, remained silent, their faces tense with discomfort.

  "And now," the king continued, raising his hand dramatically, "I give you—Pope Frazier of the Cathedral of the 18th Order. May his wisdom shine as brightly as the harvest we reap today."

  The pope climbed up the steps to the ptform with deliberate grace, his long robes trailing behind him like a river of white and gold.

  The pope reached the center of the ptform and bowed deeply to the king, who gave a slight nod in return.

  The pope straightened, his face serene as he surveyed the gathered crowd, his presence commanding immediate respect.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Pope Frazier began, his voice calm and authoritative, “for the opportunity to stand before you today, at this moment of celebration. A harvest is not merely the reaping of crops, but the reaping of what we sow in our hearts. It is through gratitude that we find true abundance.”

  He paused, allowing his words to settle before continuing.

  “As we witness the fruits of our bor and devotion, let us not forget the importance of unity, humility, and the values that bind us as a kingdom.” He gnced around, his gaze lingering on the nobles who fidgeted with obvious discomfort at the pope’s emphasis on humility.

  "And I’d like to—"

  Before he could finish, a figure approached the ptform, her presence immediately causing a stir among the gathered crowd. The whispers rose, but it was her radiant smile and graceful step that held everyone’s attention.

  Saintess Vretiel — her name itself spoke volumes. "I'm sorry, Father — I thought it was my cue to come on the podium."

  Her voice, soft and apologetic, carried over the murmurs. She took a step forward, bowing her head respectfully to Pope Frazier, though it was clear that her gaze was already focused on the crowd and the occasion ahead. The pope gave her a brief, understanding smile, before stepping aside.

  "My husband, Marquis3A Marquis is a noble rank, typically ranking just below a Duke. They govern a border territory or region and are often responsible for its defense and administration. Kafniof, couldn't make it today—his duties kept him away, as always," Saintess Vretiel continued, her voice steady and inviting. "But he asked me to convey his warmest regards and to extend an invitation to all of you to join us for the after-party4An after-party typically referred to a social gathering held after a formal event, like a ball or dinner. at our estate."

  The mention of the after-party caused a ripple of interest through the crowd.

  "I also would like to take a moment to remind everyone," Saintess Vretiel continued, taking a deep breath before saying, "Even though some of us may be fortunate enough to be blessed by this harvest and patrons, most of us—our poor—are struggling to even get a single bite of a turnip or salted pickled cabbage. We must remember that true wealth lies not in what we have, but in how we share it."

  Brother Seidel stared at the saintess's neck for a long moment; she is wearing the Seal of the Aether. Its red color glittered in the sun, the sigil glimmering like fresh blood against her porcein skin—it pulsed like a heartbeat, but slowly.

  He leaned over to Sister Cécile and whispered, "That woman is wearing it."

  Cécile's eyes narrowed and her hands clenched as she whispered back, "Why the hell would a saintess wear a demonic symbol like that?"

  "I don't know — the rumors were probably right about her being stupid," he whispered back

  Giselle stared at the sky as she y in the garden. It didn’t feel like heaven. These flowers didn’t sing — these roses didn’t hold the sweet fragrance that the ones in her memories did. These daisies... wait— She had read in a book that these were considered weeds in the church’s library.

  She didn’t want to pull them out of the ground; it would be too cruel. They were just doing what they had been made to do, weren’t they? Surviving, adapting, taking what they could.

  "Sister Burki, can I grow flowers in my room? I have a window that lets in just the right amount of light, and I think it might be nice." She poked one of the flowers.

  "Flowers, like all living things, need space to breathe and grow. Your window may provide light, but it is not the same as the wide, open air they need to truly live. Think of it like keeping someone against their will in a small room—no matter how much light or space you give them, they will still be trapped," Sister Burki said, smiling down at Giselle, who was still lying on the grass.

  Giselle tilted her head, narrowing her eyes at Sister Burki with a small, curious smile. "Aren't you vegetarian? You ate a daisy sad yesterday," she said, pointing at the flowers around her with a teasing tone.

  Sister Burki chuckled softly, her smile gentle and wise. "Yes, I did, but the difference is that I understand the purpose of those daisies in my garden. They’re cultivated for nourishment, for the earth. They serve their purpose in their own time. But you’re right to point out the contradiction."

  "That's like raising cows to be sughtered, isn’t it?" Giselle mused, propping herself up on her elbows to look more closely at the daisies. "You let them live, but only for a certain time before they’re taken for their own purpose. It feels… wrong sometimes, doesn’t it?"

  Sister Burki stopped smiling, her expression turning thoughtful. She knelt down beside Giselle, brushing a few stray strands of hair from her face as she studied the flowers.

  "Life is filled with contradictions, Giselle," Sister Burki said quietly. "Sometimes, the things we cultivate or care for are not truly free."

  "Then why can't I own a daisy if it's just going to be eaten by you, pulled from the roots, and turned into a sad?"

  "Because... because... because..." Sister Burki was too stunned to speak, trying to gather her thoughts. Finally, she said, "Because, my dear, the difference lies in intention."