Buena Village. Sunday.
The sun was already hanging high enough, its light slipping through the tightly closed curtains on the second floor. The rays fell across the mess in the room, catching the empty bottles of expensive Recilotto wine scattered around the bed.
Zenith was sprawled on the floor, though her legs still rested on the bed.
Her naked body was covered only by a light pillowcase that barely clung to one shoulder. She breathed softly, occasionally letting out a faint chuckle because she was dreaming something ridiculous.
A beam of light hit her right in the face, but she didn't react, only turned her head, brushing her cheek against the cold floor.
Silence held the room for a couple of seconds, then a floorboard near the door creaked when someone stopped at the threshold.
Knock-knock.
A quiet knock sounded at the door, so cautious it didn't break through Zenith's sleep. The pause lasted a few seconds, then the lock clicked and the door opened.
Lilia entered the room, dressed in her neat maid uniform. She stopped at the doorway and looked over the chaos left from the night before, but what unsettled her most was that Zenith lay on the floor almost motionless.
Lilia closed the door and went straight to the window.
The curtains had been pulled aside carelessly, so she adjusted them and opened the window to let in some fresh air. The sunlight sharpened and struck Zenith right in the face, forcing her to frown in irritation and shield her eyes with her hand.
She tried to push herself up, but she barely had the strength to hold herself on her elbow and fell back down.
"Lady Zenith..." Lilia said, gently touching her shoulder. "You drank too much again. I've warned you so many times."
She sighed heavily, seeing Zenith trying to focus her gaze and make out who was standing in front of her.
Lilia leaned down to help her at least sit up.
"A-a-ow... Li... lia..." Zenith rasped, trying to lift her head. With effort and a hoarse throat, she croaked, "I think this is... my end... I can't— bghu..."
She suddenly pressed her palm to her mouth as her stomach rebelled, threatening to spill whatever was left in it. She swayed and nearly collapsed again, but Lilia caught her under the arms.
"Hold on, my lady," Lilia said quietly, offering her shoulder to lift her a bit higher.
Zenith whimpered but stayed upright.
Lilia guided her to the bed and carefully sat her on the edge. The pillowcase slid off and fell to the floor, leaving Zenith completely exposed, but she didn't even look at it. She only closed her eyes, trying to endure the next wave of nausea.
"Lady Zenith, why do you never listen to me..." Lilia shook her head, disappointment slipping into her voice. "And on this day of all days, you still..."
"...Day? What day is it... today?" Zenith lifted her head as if expecting to hear a death sentence.
"Sunday, my lady," Lilia said, the words leaving her in a whisper filled with disbelief. She was already beginning to understand what would follow.
"Oh... fuck... n-no..."
Slap.
Zenith slapped her cheeks, trying to pull herself together, but the sudden movement triggered another surge of nausea. She covered her mouth with her hand and took a deep breath. Her thoughts jumped around, but one word kept repeating.
_Sunday. Sunday. Sunday._
The word sounded like a verdict to Zenith, because Sunday meant only one thing — the Divine Liturgy. And also that she was the one who had to lead it, since she was a priestess of the Creator and obliged to appear at the temple.
"Li-lia... I..." Zenith began, but the words rasped somewhere in her throat.
"No, my lady," Lilia said, slowly shaking her head. "You must go."
"N-no... I can't... I'll die..." Zenith groaned, covering her eyes with her palms so she wouldn't see Lilia's reproachful expression. "Do you want me dead?.."
"Today is far too important, my lady," Lilia said, moving a little closer. "People from the neighboring villages have already arrived. They've waited for this liturgy all week. Everyone wants to pray to the Creator."
"Let them go back... God's not home today..." Zenith muttered and tried to hide under a pillow like a child.
"You mustn't say that. Think of the High Vicar of Above," Lilia said the title with respect. "You could be removed from service."
Those words struck harder than any sunlight.
Zenith froze and slowly removed her hands from her face. She knew the rules, knew the order, knew that if she skipped the liturgy, questions would follow. Why the service hadn't been held. Why the tithes weren't collected. Why the reports hadn't been received.
She didn't want to go. And she wanted even less to lose her position in the church.
"And Rudy?.." Zenith tried to cling to anything, as if looking for an escape.
"My lady, are you serious?" Lilia raised her brows. "Your son is six years old."
"He's a smart boy..." Zenith muttered without opening her eyes.
"Please stop," Lilia said with a sigh. She moved even closer and took Zenith by the elbow. "He barely reaches the altar table. How do you expect him to conduct the liturgy?"
No matter how much Zenith complained about how awful she felt, Lilia remained firm.
She brought a basin of cold water, dampened a cloth, and touched Zenith's temples to help clear her head. Then she ran a comb through her tangled hair, trying to make it look at least somewhat presentable.
Zenith sat on the edge of the bed with her eyes squeezed shut, quietly whining like a small child being dragged to school early in the morning.
Lilia dressed her in her ceremonial robes, fastened the clasps, and smoothed the folds of the fabric without listening to her protests.
"Endure it a little more," she said, adjusting the collar. "The rest you'll get through at the temple."
***
Church.
I was standing in the decorated temple of the Creator, where the walls were painted with scenes from old legends.
So many people had gathered that it felt as if the whole region had come at once. There were locals, and those who'd arrived from villages without their own temple.
Zenith had appeared at the entrance only recently.
Lilia supported her by the arm, almost imperceptibly guiding her forward so she wouldn't stumble.
Under her hood Zenith tried to hide her condition, but even from here it was clear she struggled to stand straight. Still, she climbed the platform by the altar and began reading the liturgy.
"Good people!.."
I rolled my eyes, because I'd heard these speeches every Sunday.
I wanted to be anywhere but here. Every time I looked at Sylphie and thought how lucky she was. She was an elf, and her family worshipped other gods, so no one forced her to come to the Creator's temple.
People in the village treated them with caution and hostility, for all sorts of reasons—but most often it looked like the usual distrust of anything different.
Sometimes I thought that if Laws weren't such an intimidating guy, things would be worse. He controlled his aura so well he could fell a tree with a single strike, and that alone was enough that no one argued with him. Without him, their family might've already been driven out or suffered something worse.
These thoughts always troubled me. I'd grown up in Japan, where everything was different, and now I stood among people who lived as if time didn't move forward. And that made me uneasy.
"...And then the Creator sai—urgh..." Zenith forced out, barely managing to cover her mouth with her hand.
The crowd immediately stirred. A few people exchanged glances, and whispers ran through the rows.
"...she's drunk again..." a man whispered to my left, trying to keep his wife from hearing.
"...it's like this almost every week," the woman in front of him replied.
"...what kind of priestess did they send us? Where is the church looking?" another voice muttered.
"...don't you know?" someone said in a half-whisper, loud enough for the nearest to hear. "They're all like that there. I've heard worse... like the orgies in—"
"Shut it and pray!" the village chief growled from near the altar.
The noise slowly died down, but didn't disappear completely. People whispered, discussed, traded stories—it seemed rumors were far more interesting to them.
Honestly, I understood them. In the beginning, without the internet, I was climbing the walls from boredom. Without entertainment or news, life dragged on slowly, and any rumor became the highlight of the week.
"And so I place this chalice upon the altar," Zenith said, trying to keep her voice steady even though her tongue was slightly tangled. She lifted the chalice filled with wine and stepped closer to the edge. "May the Creator accept us all, wash away our sins, and take us under His wing."
With those words she carefully took a small sip.
"Ah~" slipped out of her, too sweetly, almost indecent.
Several men in the front rows immediately lifted their heads, some with their jaws noticeably dropping. Their wives understood everything instantly, and a wave of quiet disapproving snorts and elbow jabs rolled through the hall.
Zenith, unaware of the reaction, handed the chalice to the acolyte standing by the altar, and he hurried to carry it further according to the ritual.
"And don't forget the tithes!" Zenith said in a more serious tone, as if that was the only thing she cared about. "Bring them right here!"
She pointed to the wooden box at the foot of the altar, where people usually left coins, grain, or whatever else they could offer. The crowd stirred, and several people immediately stood to get in line.
That concluded the liturgy.
People began to leave, exchanging glances and muttering among themselves, while Zenith dropped onto the nearest chair as if all her strength had been drained at once.
***
Finishing the liturgy, Zenith flapped her hands in front of her face, trying to catch her breath and cool her skin, which was burning from heat and the shame she'd just endured.
She sat on a chair to the side of the altar, inhaling heavily as if she had just run a marathon.
Lilia stood beside her. She held her hands neatly in front of her and looked at her mistress with such calm, impenetrable eyes that it was clear: her emotions had run out half an hour ago.
"Well? How was it? I did great, right!" Zenith lifted her chin and smiled so brightly she seemed to shine more than the stained glass.
"..."
Lilia stayed silent. She didn't even blink.
Zenith frowned and turned toward her, trying to catch her gaze.
"Well... maybe above average then?.." Zenith attempted to soften the situation.
"..."
"Why aren't you saying anything?" her voice grew thinner and more petulant.
"My lady, I still don't understand how you haven't been expelled from the church," Lilia said, shaking her head. "One day their patience will run out."
"Bah! Don't start..." Zenith waved her hand as if shooing off a bothersome fly. She reached for the chalice and poured herself the remaining wine, acting with the confidence of someone who hadn't just ruined half the service.
Her gaze drifted toward the tithe box. A wide grin spread across her face.
"And this too..." Lilia's frown deepened, already understanding what Zenith intended. "Stealing..."
"Hey! It's not stealing! Why would you call it that!" Zenith protested, clutching the chalice to her chest. "It's all in the reports..."
"In the reports you personally write," Lilia clarified.
"Oh, shut up..." Zenith muttered. "It's not like others don't do the same..."
Lilia closed her eyes for a couple of seconds, gathering patience. When she looked at Zenith again, her expression had softened.
"My lady… please, let's go home. You need to rest," she said in a calm tone.
Zenith set the chalice down, sighed heavily, and reluctantly nodded. Apparently even she understood arguing further was pointless.
Lilia took her by the elbow, and together they headed for the temple's exit. From outside came noise: people were leaving, discussing the liturgy, whispering and glancing around, but without real interest—the Sunday spectacle was over.
Zenith could barely stand, but walked with the same air as if everything had gone perfectly.
Buena Village slowly returned to its usual routine.