“Wahhh, nooo! You’re just too strong, Lady Mora!” Liennril, Saint of Fire, hurled flames at her mentor.
But with a mere wave of her hands, Mora dispersed the flames and deflected them back toward Liennril. “Is that your full power? Pray to the Spirit of Fire and strengthen yourself!” Mora was about to say Next! when she remembered that she only had three students, and Nashetania of Blades, Willone of Salt, and Liennril of Fire had been defeated. “You all lack discipline. All of you, come at me at once!”
The three struggled to their feet and attacked her. Their training continued until each of them was incapable of moving another muscle.
That evening, after training was over, Mora walked down the hallway of the coliseum that would host the Tournament Before the Divine. The three girls were headed out of the coliseum to the healer’s room.
Nashetania’s potential is frightening. She will likely surpass me within three years. Willone still has room for growth, too—but Liennril may have hit a plateau. Should I order her to retire and educate a new Saint of Fire, or would it be better to wait until Liennril matures a bit? How can I raise talented warriors and nurture their growth to the point where they are strong enough to defeat the Evil God? These were among the many ruminations swirling in Mora’s mind as she walked.
But as she vacated the coliseum and continued through the lavish halls of Piena’s royal palace, gradually, thoughts of battle faded from her mind, and she forgot about the looming confrontation with the Evil God.
“I’m home, Shenira. Have you been a good girl today?” Mora opened the door to the guest room in the corner of the palace, and a tottering girl leaped into her arms. In that moment, Mora changed from a warrior burdened with protecting the world to a simple mother. “What kind of games did you play today, Shenira?”
“I played snakes and ladders with Daddy,” her daughter replied.
“Snakes and ladders, hmm? I’d love to play that with you, too. Oh, you cute little thing.” Mora picked up her beloved only child. She’s gotten rather heavy. The mother’s face relaxed into a smile. “Up we go!” she cried, raising the girl high into the air.
“You’re a pampered child indeed, Shenira,” came a voice, and as Mora played with her daughter, an older man with strands of white in his hair appeared out of the guest room. “Good grief, Mora, you become an entirely different person when she’s around.” Ganna Chester was Mora’s husband and twenty years her elder.
Saints were not required to be single. Nearly half of the seventy-eight had families, and many of the Saint candidates had lovers or husbands. Mora had married Ganna before inheriting the power of the Saint of Mountains.
“Shenira, your mother is tired. Come.” Ganna picked up the child.
“I don’t mind at all, not something like this. Come, Shenira, play with Mother,” Mora said, stealing her daughter back from Ganna’s arms.
As the little girl enjoyed her elevator ride, Ganna watched and shrugged. “Good grief. It’s your fault that Shenira is growing up spoiled.”
“What are you talking about? What’s wrong with a bit of coddling? Come, Shenira, time for the swing!” Mora leaned over and swung her gently from side to side. She felt bad for her husband, but at that moment, she wanted to be with her daughter. Only Shenira could make her forget the weight of her role as Temple Elder.
Mora and Ganna had been married for over ten years. They had thought perhaps they couldn’t have children, but just as they were about to give up trying, they had been blessed with a treasure. Shenira had grown soundly, with no illnesses or issues. Mora’s daughter was well. Those without children would surely be incapable of imagining how much encouragement and resolve that fact gave the Saint.
Ganna was a good husband. He had no special abilities, and his knowledge and courage were average. But he was faithful and tenderly affectionate. He, instead of Mora, managed the household, occasionally assisting Mora in her role as Temple Elder. Without him, she most likely could not have withstood such exhausting work.
“Mommy, swing me more! Swing me more!”
Mora swung her daughter high, and Shenira shrieked her delight. The looming battle with the Evil God had completely vanished from Mora’s mind.
Only one thing was irreplaceable to the Saint of Mountains, and it was not status or power: It was her beloved daughter and husband. They were all that was important to her.
That day had been three years earlier, when the world had yet been at peace.
Adlet Mayer stood in front of the tiny shrine that controlled the Phantasmal Barrier, speechless. Like him, the others were all silent. They stared at the girl, Rolonia Manchetta, before them.
“Um, why are there seven of us?” Rolonia didn’t know what was going on, and it showed clearly on her face.
“It can’t be. I didn’t expect this,” muttered Fremy.
“This is impossible. What is the meaning of this? Why is there yet another?” Mora put her head in her hands.
“U-um…another what?” Rolonia regarded Mora and Adlet timidly. Finally, she noticed Adlet was wounded. “Addy, how did you get those injuries? Was there a fight? Hold on, I’ll heal you up.” Rolonia tried to put her hands on the young man, but he stopped her. This wasn’t the time.
Adlet scanned the group. Some were shocked silent, while others regarded Rolonia in exasperation—no two reactions were the same. No expression betrayed one as the seventh, however. “So, everyone, what do you think?” he asked.
Fremy sounded upset. “What do I think? We’re back where we started, that’s what.”
Mora spoke next. “Yet another delay? When will we ever be able to leave this forest?”
Rolonia, unable to grasp what was going on, was simply bewildered. Her head swiveled between Adlet and Mora, then suddenly bowed. “U-um…I-I’m sorry!”
“Rolonia, what are you apologizing for?” asked Mora.
“Um…I think I’ve
