The Sin Eater Chronicles

Shortly after resuming her seat on the dais, Aiyara saw a small group clad in flowing robes approaching from the courtyard's perimeter. Their vestments were a stark contrast to Masan's bright festival attire: plain colors, embroidered only with religious symbols. They carried themselves with a studied solemnity that set them apart from the more relaxed throng of revelers. Immediately, whispers flitted through the crowd, and a few men and women politely stepped aside to let these robed figures pass.

At the group's forefront stood Bishop Thalmar—a tall, slender man with a sharp jaw and eyes that glimmered with austere conviction. Adorned with the heavy chain of his office, he advanced with measured steps, head bowed a fraction in outward humility. Beside him walked Father Caldris, a man of middling height but broad shoulders, and Father Serroth, an older priest with gray hair that fell to his collar. Their expressions were grave, as though weighed down by the significance of their mission here. But it was the figure trailing behind them that caught Aiyara's full attention.

A young woman, perhaps not much older than Aiyara herself, stood clutching a long staff of polished wood. At the top, the wood seamlessly morphed into a lotus flower fashioned from radiant metal. The design looked almost impossible—no visible join, as if the metal had literally grown out of the wood. The staff's symbolism struck Aiyara as layered: a blooming lotus often signified purity or transcendence, but she also caught a faint glint of power in the metal petals, suggesting some deeper magic.

This must be Sister Elysia, the newly anointed Saint of Humility. Rumors about her had traveled swiftly through Masan: that she possessed a gentle heart, that she had been elevated to sainthood unexpectedly, and that the Church hoped to use her presence as a means of repairing old wounds with Masan's monarchy. After all, Aiyara's great-grandmother had excommunicated the Church a generation ago, accusing it of meddling in state affairs and ignoring the sovereignty of the realm. Now, the Church was attempting a return, and Elysia was their symbol of renewed goodwill.

As they drew near, Aiyara stood from her seat, determined to greet them respectfully. She extended a hand. "Welcome, Bishop Thalmar. We are honored to host the Church at our festival. Please convey my regards to your entire order." Her words were diplomatic, carefully neutral.

Thalmar's face broke into a thin smile. "Princess Aiyara. We are grateful for your gracious invitation," he replied with a formal bow. "May the blessings of the divine guide your upcoming year."

Father Caldris and Father Serroth likewise bowed deeply, each murmuring short acknowledgments. Then, with a slight gesture, Thalmar beckoned the young saint forward. Elysia stepped up, eyes lowered at first. As she reached Aiyara's dais, she attempted to curtsy awkwardly, juggling her staff to keep it upright. "Your Highness," she said softly. "It is an honor…" Her voice trailed off, and Aiyara sensed a genuine shyness emanating from the girl.

Before Elysia could continue, Father Caldris interjected, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. "The saint wishes to extend the Church's hopes for reconciliation," he said in her stead. "She prays that this festival, marking your passage into adulthood, may also mark a new era of cooperation. We are certain you will see the advantages of the Church's presence in Masan once more."

Father Serroth, the older priest, stepped forward, almost blocking Elysia with his broad frame. "Indeed, Princess. Should you ascend the throne soon, we stand ready to offer spiritual guidance, and thus serve the realm once more."

Elysia opened her mouth, possibly to speak for herself, but Thalmar's glance silenced her. Aiyara noticed how the young saint's fingers tightened around her staff, her gaze flicking briefly to Aiyara with an imploring look—she seemed to want to speak a different truth than what the priests were reciting. But none of them gave her the space or time to do so.

Aiyara's stomach twisted. She recalled the stories of how the Church had once tried to impose its doctrine too forcefully upon Masan's social and political structures. The monarchy had not taken kindly to external meddling, especially as it threatened the matriarchal traditions and independence of the realm. Now, here they were again, led by these priests who seemed to use Elysia as little more than a symbol—a puppet to recite their official lines. Compassion welled up within Aiyara for the girl.

For a moment, the princess hesitated, not wishing to be rude but also deeply uncomfortable with how the priests were maneuvering Elysia. "Father Caldris, Father Serroth, Bishop Thalmar," she said, inclining her head politely. "Saint Elysia, you have my thanks for attending. I trust you will find Masan as welcoming as it strives to be. This is a festive occasion, after all."

Bishop Thalmar nodded with a practiced air. "Yes, indeed. We look forward to speaking with you at greater length regarding the Church's reestablishment. Perhaps tomorrow, if your schedule permits?"

Aiyara offered a careful smile, tempered by the wariness coiling in her chest. "We shall see about the schedule," she said. "For now, please enjoy the festivities, the music, and the feast. Masan's gates are open to you."

"Of course, Princess." Thalmar's eyes flicked briefly, assessing Aiyara's reaction. He bowed again, deeper this time, then gestured for the priests to follow him away from the dais. As they departed, Elysia risked a final glance over her shoulder, her wide brown eyes a mixture of curiosity and silent apology, as though she was sorry she couldn't represent herself better. Aiyara felt a pang of pity for her—caught between the formidable structure of the Church and the complexities of Masan's political climate, Elysia was likely overwhelmed.

Once they were out of earshot, Kida exhaled audibly. "That was uncomfortable," she muttered, arms crossed. "They talk about wanting to rebuild bridges, but it feels more like they want to plant their own flags."

Aiyara nodded. "I know. And the saint—she seems so young, so… overshadowed. I imagine she has a kind heart, but those priests barely let her speak."

Kida shrugged. "They call her the Saint of Humility. Maybe they believe her humility means doing exactly as they say."

The remark stung Aiyara. She had always believed humility could be a virtue of genuine compassion and willingness to serve. But in the Church's hands, it might be twisted into a tool for subservience or control. The notion made her uneasy. If they're attempting to re-enter Masan, I'll have to tread carefully, she thought. Especially if they push an agenda that conflicts with our traditions.

Her train of thought was interrupted by the sound of laughter from behind. Lord Davren, a merchant lord from the Northern Consortium, approached with a short bow, wearing a smug grin. "Your Highness, I see the Church is eager to court favor once more. Typical. They must sense the winds of change blowing through Masan." He spoke with a lightly mocking tone. "I do hope they don't prove too meddlesome."

Aiyara regarded him coolly. "I trust the Church is well aware of the boundaries set by my lineage. We'll see if they can navigate those boundaries effectively."

Davren gave a knowing nod. "Quite so. At any rate, if the Church fails to gain traction, you can rely on the Northern Consortium for more practical matters, as I've mentioned before." He paused, his gaze flicking across the courtyard. "But I won't monopolize your time, Princess. Many others are waiting to greet you." He stepped back with a flourish. Aiyara watched him go, unsettled by his easy confidence. She was certain that Lord Davren saw profit in everything, including the Church's attempts at reentry.

Just then, Kida nudged her gently. "Look over there," she whispered, gesturing toward the courtyard's perimeter. Aiyara followed her gaze and spotted Sister Elysia standing awkwardly near a fountain, separated from the priests. She seemed lost, uncertain whether to sit or stand, as though she'd been momentarily abandoned while Thalmar and the others engaged in conversation with a group of foreign dignitaries. Elysia's staff, with its peculiar lotus bloom, glinted in the torchlight like a beacon of unspoken potential.

"Why is she alone?" Aiyara murmured. "It seems they're not too concerned about her wandering off."

Kida pursed her lips. "Perhaps they trust she won't speak out of line. Or they believe she has nowhere else to go."

Aiyara felt an urge to approach the young saint, perhaps to offer a gesture of kindness or at least glean some sense of her true thoughts. But before she could do more than take a step in that direction, new arrivals swept into the courtyard—dignitaries from distant realms, each wanting a moment with the princess, each eager to secure some advantage from this night. Already, a cluster of them was forming, drifting closer to the dais with expectant glances.

"Duty calls," Kida said softly, noticing the shift in the crowd. Aiyara sighed, giving one last glance toward Elysia, who now stared at the fountain's water as if searching for answers. I'll find her later, Aiyara resolved. Perhaps then, we can speak privately.

Turning back to face the approaching dignitaries, she mustered her composure once again. The short but disquieting meeting with the Church's delegation lingered in her mind. A quiet thread of indignation prickled at her over how Elysia was treated. If I were queen right now, she thought, I might step in and demand the priests allow her to speak for herself. That sense of wanting to defend the defenseless welled up, fueling her pride. She recognized the emotion as partly righteous anger, partly the arrogant notion that she alone understood the correct path forward. That flicker of pride again sparked deep inside, as though each instance of perceived injustice stoked a hidden flame within her.

But the crowd beckoned, and Aiyara, with Kida at her side, prepared to fulfill her royal obligations. Diplomacy waited for no one—especially not a princess on the verge of inheriting a kingdom.