A certain fiend constantly lurked in the back of Adlet’s mind. A fiend that walked on two legs, three wings growing from its back, with a narrow lizard’s face smiling warmly in greeting. The monster that had destroyed his village and taken his sister and best friend away from him. He couldn’t forget that creature, not even for an instant. Hatred alone reigned in Adlet’s heart. He couldn’t live until he brought the beast down, until he watched his enemy die. No corner of his heart had any room for Rolonia.
One night, having lost to Atreau, as usual, Adlet collapsed in his cave and slept like the dead. He felt something touch his back and leaped away. Rolonia was sitting beside him, holding a lamp. “Why are you in here?!” he yelped.
The girl jumped back into a corner of the cave and began trembling violently. “M-M-Master Atreau told me to treat your wounds…”
“He did?”
“I’m, um, the Saint of Spilled Blood… I can heal wounds.”
“…Please.” Adlet prostrated himself on the ground.
Rolonia prayed to the Spirit of Spilled Blood, borrowing its power. When she put her hands on him, his wounds closed before his eyes. “Human blood naturally contains the power to heal,” she explained. “By amplifying that, I can heal wounds, too.”
“The Saints’ power really is something,” remarked Adlet. Flattered, Rolonia blushed faintly. “Are you training to be a Brave?” he asked.
“Huh?”
“I guess I didn’t have to ask. That’s what every warrior wants.”
Rolonia shook her head. “Um, you might think I’m strange to say something like this, but…”
“What?”
“I’m thinking I’ll leave this mountain.”
“Did something happen with Atreau?”
“No…um, I think I will give up trying to be a Brave. I think I should also resign from Sainthood.”
Adlet was shocked. He lived for the sake of becoming a warrior. He’d thrown away everything for power. To him, letting go of that newfound strength was unthinkable.
“I-I mean,” she continued, “there’s no way I can…can become one of the Braves of the Six Flowers. And then, if I were chosen by some accident, I’d be a burden to everyone. So that’s why I think perhaps I should just resign as the Saint of Spilled Blood…”
“Why are you here? Don’t you want to get stronger?”
“I…”
“Explain.” Adlet’s anger was audible.
Hesitantly, Rolonia related her story. She’d never studied to become a Saint. She’d been a servant at the Temple of Spilled Blood—washed the acolytes’ clothes and such. About five months earlier, the previous Saint of Spilled Blood had retired, and they’d held the ceremony to select a successor. The choice hadn’t been one of the acolytes taking part in the ceremony, but rather Rolonia, who’d been hanging laundry outside.
“Is that even possible?” marveled Adlet.
“The Spirit chooses the Saint… No one knows what they’re thinking.”
Rolonia had immediately tried to resign. The previous Saint and the acolytes had all believed that to be the obvious response. But then the order came down from the Temple Elder, who governed all the Saints. Rolonia was to continue as the Saint of Spilled Blood, and furthermore, she was to study combat and train to be a Brave of the Six Flowers. She was also ordered to move to All Heavens Temple to undergo the intensive education necessary to excel as a Saint.
“The Temple Elder says that I’ll be a very powerful Saint,” said Rolonia, “but that’s never going to happen. I’ve been training for years, but I’m still so weak. I’m just a burden…”
As Adlet listened to her speak, hatred simmered in his chest. “I wish I were a girl,” he groused. “If I’d been born a girl, I could’ve become a Saint.”
“Huh?”
“If I were a Saint, I could get stronger. I could get the power to defeat that thing. But I was born a boy.” Adlet slammed his fists on the ground. “This is bullshit! Why’d someone like you get that gift? Why you and not me?” He grabbed Rolonia by the collar and shook her. “I want power. I want power! I want the power to defeat that monster! I’ll give anything for it—I just wanna be strong enough!” Every day, hacking up blood and bile had made him viscerally aware of the reality that he had no talent. Every night, he cursed his own helplessness as he fell into a dead sleep, in his head repeating, I want power, I want power. And the very thing that Adlet yearned for so badly, Rolonia was about to throw away. He deeply resented her for it. “Give it. Give your powers to me.”
“I-I…can’t do that,” she said. “Transferring it to another person is an incredibly difficult technique—”
“Shut up! Just give it to me! Give me your powers!”
“I can’t do that. The Temple Elder—even Lady Leura—couldn’t do it… Someone like me couldn’t possibly—”
“Why not?! Give it to me! Someone, give me power! I wanna be stronger!” Adlet released her, collapsed on the ground, and sobbed.
“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Sitting beside him as he wept, Rolonia began crying, too.
Inside that cave, a girl who’d inadvertently been granted power and a boy who couldn’t get it wept and wept.
Around daybreak, Adlet apologized to Rolonia. He wasn’t the only one in the world who’d had it rough—which was obvious, but he’d forgotten it for a long time. She apologized to Adlet again, too, for having spoken unkindly without consideration for his feelings. After that, the two of them became friends. The connection lasted only a brief two months. It was the kind of relationship that would fade with the passage of time. But still, she was one of the very few friends Adlet had ever made.
“…And that’s how we met,” Rolonia finished. She had abridged Adlet’s past substantially. Privately, Adlet was grateful. Remembering how he’d been back then was both embarrassing and depressing.
“So it was Mora
