A Fateful Encounter

"Holy knight?" I said. Yes, I could feel the power emanating from the sword. It gleamed with a radiant golden light.

"Yes, Bernice. You are being designated as the Holy Knight to serve both the temple and the empire," he explained. Despite my confusion, I sensed a heavy responsibility attached to his words.

"I don't want to be anything," I refused.

He chuckled, his tone turning colder. "Do you think this is a simple matter, Bernice? If it were, why would I choose you specifically to inform you of your return to the past? Do you think I wanted this? Or do you believe I control every outcome?"

"If I had the power to thwart your plans, I would never have bestowed upon you the position you now hold, but..."

He paused, but my anger had already escalated to a boiling point. I couldn't help but question the existence of a god who seemed adept at playing favorites, yet utterly failed to rescue those who needed help the most.

I was becoming increasingly angry, wondering why a god was subjecting me to this ordeal. "You know what? I couldn't care less if you're a god or not."

"I couldn't care less if you're the almighty Lunar or just an egotistical being. Right now, what I want is to reject this title. Keep your holy sword, be the master of it, and here's one last thing…"

I paused for emphasis, making sure my words cut through. "Learn to mind your own business, or I won't care who you are!"

"Bernice! Stop!" he attempted to intervene, his voice wavering.

Despite his attempts, I was resolute. "I won't stop."

This marked the extent of our conversation. The luminous surroundings began to fade, revealing the temple ceiling and the concerned priest before me. I had returned to reality.

"Lady, what happened? You were within the circle for an hour," the priest inquired.

An hour? It felt as though only ten minutes had passed.

"Bernice, what occurred?" Father's worry was evident, but I took a step forward, still feeling the residual tingling sensation—a reminder of my defiance.

I stood outside the holy water circle, drenched from head to toe, resembling the aftermath of a baptism. "I think the curse has been purged by the holy water," the priest suggested, using his cross pendant to touch my forehead.

I muttered, "I think otherwise. I've probably brought even more trouble upon myself."

"Did you say something?" the priest asked.

"Never mind. Please continue," I replied, and he resumed his chanting.

However, a sense of being watched engulfed me. I scanned my surroundings, finding no one. Was it just my imagination?

I diverted my thoughts by asking the priest, "May I ask you a question?"

"Certainly, Lady. Go ahead," he replied, offering a reassuring smile.

"I'd like to know more about the god Lunar," I said, an unexpected curiosity driving me. I wanted to know before he forced me into something I didn't desire.

"Almighty Lunar?" he added the title with a hint of reverence.

"Yes," I affirmed.

The priest's tone turned fearful. "Lady, you mustn't speak of him so casually. Almighty Lunar is known for his wrath. All who pray to him tread carefully, as his anger can bring devastation."

I chose not to probe further, and my father led me away. My body shivered, drenched from the holy water, and my father draped his overcoat over me. Despite the physical cold, an icy fear lingered within me.

As Father enfolded me, I continued to ask myself questions:

"Did I err in speaking so boldly to a god?"

"Should I have been more respectful?"

Amid my internal turmoil, I concluded:

"Why should I care about speaking my mind?"

"Where was this god when I was brutally murdered by those sword-wielding knights?"

"Or did he orchestrate my demise?"

"Bernice, what are you thinking?" Father's voice snapped me back to reality.

"Nothing, Father," I replied, attempting to mask my inner turmoil.

"How are you feeling now?" he inquired.

But how could I explain the turmoil that churned within me? Instead, I managed a smile and offered an explanation. "I'm alright, Father. Perhaps I was simply exhausted from months of sleeplessness."

Father's smile was comforting as he ruffled my hair. It was a new experience for me, feeling the warmth of his affection.

I walked forward, still damp from the holy water, wrapped in Father's coat. However, as we approached the carriage, an abrupt halt forced me to pause in my tracks. A sudden sense of dread gripped me, and my gaze fixated on an indeterminate point.

No, no, no…

I couldn't be feeling this way. I had vowed to kill him if I ever saw him again, so why was I now cowering?

Gripping Father's sleeve, I backed away, seeking refuge behind him.

"Bernice?" Father questioned.

"It hurts," I whispered.

How could I convey the agony coursing through me? How could I convey the multitude of emotions churning within my chest, each one like crashing waves, tearing through my very being, and leaving behind a trail of wounds that seemed to bleed red, as if sharp needles were piercing through my skin? How could I possibly put into words the overwhelming sensation of weakness that gripped me, all while I remained painfully aware of the vow I had once taken?

I expressed little but clung to my father's sleeve tightly, as if I were a child seeking comfort in moments of fear, even though I was far from being a child. But I am human. I still feel fear, especially of him. I don't want to lay eyes on him. I loathe him. Yet, my words remain scarce, while I tremble in fear.

"Father, it hurts! I want to get away from him," I mumbled. But I'm sure my father didn't even catch what I whispered.

"Bernice? What's the matter? Are you feeling unwell again?" he inquired. I didn't respond directly, instead, I whispered once more, "Father, I'm in pain. I want to leave."