Lily, “the Saint of Holy Light”
I met the man I call Teacher before I even turned seven.
I don’t remember much from before that.
Only that I’d been abandoned in a dark alley, lying there helpless—cold, hungry, and completely alone.
That’s all that remains clear in my memory.
And then, he came along and spoke to me as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Hey, you got a name?”
“… I… I don’t know…”
“I see. Then from today, you’re Lily. Come with me. I’ll at least feed you.”
At the time, I didn’t really understand what was happening, but I nodded and said “okay.”
Looking back now, it was a strange voice. Cold, yet gentle. Distant, yet somehow comforting—the kind of voice that made you feel safe all the way down to your heart.
From that day on, I began living at an orphanage on the edge of town.
It wasn’t a grand building. The roof leaked when it rained, the walls were cracked, and in winter, the wind slipped in through every gap.
At first, it was just me. But little by little, more children came… and before long, the place had become lively and full of life.
Teacher… wasn’t exactly what you’d call kind.
“Do your own stuff yourself.”
“Don’t leave food on your plate.”
“If you get hurt, treat it yourself.”
“Don’t cling to me.”
That sort of thing was what he usually said.
But whenever someone was truly in trouble, he always helped.
If we couldn’t do something, he taught us until we could.
And he never made us do things beyond what we were capable of.
On winter nights, when the blanket I’d been given was too thin to sleep under, he’d quietly drape his coat over me without saying a word.
When I fell sick with a fever, he’d buy medicine and leave it by my bed, acting like it was nothing.
Teacher always tried to hide his kindness.
The memory that shines brightest for me is my birthday—no, rather, the day a full year had passed since we first met.
I don’t know if he’d remembered or if it was a coincidence, but that day, he spread sweet jam on a piece of bread for me.
“Here. Eat. That stuff was expensive, so make sure you taste it properly.”
I can still recall that flavor vividly—sweet, warm, and filling my chest with a gentle glow.
The days I spent at that orphanage were treasures beyond compare.
Back then, I didn’t know why Teacher had picked me up, or why he took care of me at all.
I just knew that being near him made me feel safe, like I could keep on living.
That day, the air felt a little different from morning.
Teacher woke up earlier than usual and called me over.
He sat me down in a chair and, with unfamiliar hands, began to comb my hair, gently untangling the knots.
He’d never done that before.
“… Does it hurt?”
“N–No, it’s okay.”
The quiet concern in his voice tickled my heart.
When he finished, he handed me new clothes and shoes.
The white dress was a little too big, its sleeves covering my hands.
The shoes were brand new and smelled of leather.
“Try them on… Hah, well, even a scarecrow looks decent in nice clothes.”
He muttered something I didn’t understand—as usual—but I thought I saw the corners of his mouth soften for just a second.
That alone made my chest warm.
After that, we rode a carriage out of town.
Teacher didn’t say much on the way, but from time to time, he’d point out the window and say,
“See that? That’s a wheat field.”
“That over there’s a river.”
His face was gentler than usual, and instead of looking outside, I found myself watching him.
Eventually, the carriage stopped before a large white building.
Tall spires, a grand bell tower—it looked just like the castle in a picture book.
A sister in a habit stood waiting by the gate.
She bowed to Teacher and began to speak with him.
I couldn’t hear what they said, but he looked very serious the whole time.
When he came back, he placed a hand on my shoulder.
“… You’ll become something better here. From today, this is your place.”
Hearing those words, I understood.
This was goodbye.
But I knew crying would be wrong.
He wasn’t abandoning me.
He was sending me off to grow.
“Do your best.”
That was all he said before giving me a gentle push forward.
I hesitantly stepped through the gate.
When I turned back, his figure was already distant.
In my hand, I held a small leather pouch.
Strangely enough, I didn’t cry.
Instead, I felt a tiny flame burning in my chest.
—I’ll become someone Teacher can be proud of.
From that day, I began life in the church.
At first, I knew nothing—how to pray, how to behave during worship, even how to hold my hands properly.
But I never gave up.
—This was the place Teacher believed in and sent me to.
So I had to be able to stand tall here and say, “I’ve grown.”
Each morning, I rose with the sound of the bell, prayed, took lessons, and served.
At night, I stayed up reading and studied herbs and healing techniques.
I failed many times—once, I even made someone’s wound worse trying to heal it.
But the sisters and seniors patiently took my hands and taught me how to do things right.
And eventually, I learned to use miracles.
At first, I could only close small cuts.
But slowly, my divine power—what they called holy power—grew stronger,
until I could even cure diseases.
The sisters were astonished. Healing illness was a rare gift.
Then one day, when an epidemic spread through a nearby village,
they sent me to help because I had that power.
It was my first mission as a healer.
Standing before terrified villagers, I prayed with all my heart.
In that instant, light poured down upon me like a waterfall from the heavens,
spreading from the village to the nearby town, and eventually across the whole land.
When I opened my eyes, the people who had been suffering were smiling again.
—Ah, this is what I was meant to do.
I truly believed that from the bottom of my heart.
And quietly, I whispered within:
Teacher, I did it.
This is what you meant when you said I’d become something better, isn’t it?
After that, I was summoned to the Holy Capital and recognized as a Saint.
I traveled to many lands and helped countless people.
Sometimes I was targeted by bandits, sometimes attacked by monsters.
There were plagues that swept entire nations, and even dragons leading hordes of beasts.
But every time, I faced it all and overcame it.
Before I knew it, people were calling me “The Saint of Holy Light.”
My divine power kept growing stronger—so much that they called me the most powerful saint in history.
Though, perhaps because of that same divine power, my body stopped aging.
That part… I admit, is a little disappointing.
Years passed, and one day, under the Pope’s command, I was sent to my Teacher again.
The reason was simple.
He’d been officially recognized as a Saint himself, and now the whole world knew of him.
The Holy Nation decided he needed protection.
But for me, that reason didn’t matter.
What mattered was that I could finally return to the person who once sent me off with faith in his eyes.
I was so happy I kept looking up at the sky from the carriage window the whole way there.
(Teacher… please wait for me…)
And when I finally stepped through the orphanage gate—I saw him by the window, looking exactly as he had all those years ago, unchanged.
Maybe because he’s an elf.
The small flame I’d kept buried in my chest flared brightly all at once.
Ah… I’ve finally come home.
“… Huh?”
“I made it in time, Teacher…!”
I erased the intruder in the room and threw myself into his arms.
The warmth I felt in that moment… I can never truly convey it to him.
I understand now—that’s what it means to be a saint.
But even so—
This feeling will never fade.
It will burn within me, forever.
What do you think about this chapter?
