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Pristine, white wings—not larger than him, but nonetheless ethereal—wrap around the small of Flux’s back. It ushers him closer to an embrace, as the deafening calls for salvation and blessings echo below them. He watches, in no slight horror, as the owner of said wings looks down at him.
He may be the wingless one, but he’s the bird in the cage. The look in the other’s eyes tells him as much.
Then, as if the uncharacteristic adoration wasn’t enough, he lowers down to one knee, and takes Flux’s feet with reverence. He only grips harder on the marble terrace, as the believers below them cheer. A kiss to his feet, dainty. A sign of complete, undoubted subordination. A surrender of power, from the Pope to the Saint.
Pope Saparata de Theria looks up from his lashes, golden eyes shining in the sunlight. He smiles, “Now, you will never feel the need to leave, Flux.”
Flux shudders. He turns to look at the people of the empire, and they all watch him aptly. As if taunting him, the Gods of the world cast brighter sunlight, along with a slight shower of rain, followed by a rainbow. To further set him on edge, a blue window shines beside his head.
Congratulations! Congratulations! Congratulations! ₍₍⚞(⸝⸝>⸝⸝<⸝⸝)⚟⁾⁾
Important things must be said three times! You have solidified your position as a real saint!
Beings from the beginning of time celebrate and bless the people of the empire.
He grits his teeth. Everyone will remember him now. Black hair, purple eyes, mole under his left eye. No matter where he could run to hide, people will remember him as the Saint of Theria. Especially after the Pope’s show, now of all days.
Saps’s grip on his foot turns from gentle to harsh, as if sensing his thoughts of escape. He rises from his kneel, and the wings on his lower back wraps around Flux’s waist once again.
The man murmurs, as if Flux would ever doubt him, “I promise to always secure your position. No one will ever doubt your standing, saint.”
There’s a slight impromptu staring contest between them, before Flux shakes his head with a sigh. He raises a hand to his temple, massaging it gingerly. How did things get this out of hand? He was supposed to be the place holder, the fake. The Pope was supposed to throw him away after the real saint appeared. She was supposed to, in a year, this very same day!
How did he find himself in this position…?
Flux wasn’t originally from this world where magic and holy power was real. Rather, he lived a bleak life in contemporary times. He’d been studying something in business, he thinks, when he died. A college student, ran over by a car while crossing the road. Yet another death to add to statistics.
He’d only really been found so vulnerable because he was checking his phone when it happened. He was following a webnovel, you see, from middle school. It was called Singing of Birds, and it was a subpar saintess novel. It was more so about nostalgia than actual literary prowess that he still kept up with the years of updates.
It was supposed to end that day, actually. Instead, his life was the one that concluded.
Except, it didn’t. Not really. Because he still opened his eyes. Just, not in his world. Rather, in Singing of Birds.
“Holy crap…” He whispers, touching the mirror. He still looked like himself, save for his now purple eyes and healthier complexion. He pinches his cheek, harsh. Then again, on his thighs.
It’s undeniable. He’d somehow survived the car crash, and is now in some fantasy setting. The luxurious gold trims on the bed frame, large chandelier, and expansive room were telltale signs of that.
Flux has read enough webnovels in his time to know that it’s unusual for him to retain the way he looks, though. He looks around the room for a bell to ring, knowing it would most likely summon maids, when a blue pop-up screen distracts him.
Welcome, user Fluixon Aculon!
This is your afterlife experience, inside the universe of “Singing of Birds.” You have been transferred into the role, Fake Saintess, Yunha because of similarities. However, existing characters will believe that all previous actions done by this character was done by you, Fake Saint, Fluixon.
He feels his eyes twitch. Because of similarities? What the hell? He isn’t foolish enough to covet the role of being a real saintess! And he most certainly isn’t stupid enough to get jealous when the real saintess does appear!
Apologies ( ˶°ㅁ°) !!
Correction, because of higher authorities.
Beings from the beginning of time take interest in your predicament!
Okay, great. And… Beings from the beginning of time? As in, the Gods of this world? He sighs, massaging his temple. “Let me get this straight. I’m the fake saintess… Err, saint?”
Yes! ദ്ദി(ᵔᗜᵔ)
This is the best for all parties involved.
“All parties involved? I’m the only one put in a weird place!” He points out, settling on the bed again.
Apologies, the afterlife experience system cannot explain further. ˙◠˙
The system suggests taking action in order to unlock more information.
He collapses backwards again, arms spread. Useless system.
He tries to remember the important things about Yunha, the fake saintess.
If he recalls properly… Yunha was one of the minor villains in the first part of the novel. She’s the fake saintess that the Pope and Crown Prince put in place in order to solidify their standing in the empire.
The empire has two ruling powers—the monarchy and the theocracy. Most people believe in Gods, albeit in different ones. The Pope of the Theria Temple is the highest power among the theocracy, because it serves all nine deities. Every high priest of every temple reports back to the Pope.
However, since the death of the last Saint from over two decades ago, the theocracy’s power has been waning, while the aristocracy have started to push back against the power of religion. The Crown Prince, having sided with the Pope, conspired with him to make Yunha the fake Saint, in order to placate the people.
Basically, Yunha was put in the middle of the war between the monarchy and theocracy, which sided with the Crown Prince, against the aristocracy, which sided with the Empress.
“What a headache…” Flux sighs. It doesn’t help that, in the 180th founding week of the empire, the real Saint appeared, pushing Yunha into jealousy. He almost feels a bit of pity for the poor girl.
Standing up, he nods to himself. He’ll lead a quiet, uneventful life as the fake saint, and slip away when the female lead gets here. It’ll be easy.
“What do you mean?” His butler, Thomas, tilts his head. “Your holiness—the empire’s founding week is to celebrate the 179th year…”
What the hell? System!!! Why was he sent a year before the original plot started?!?!
The afterlife experience system cannot answer that right now. ^ᴗ.ᴗ^︎ Ⳋ
The system suggests taking action in order to unlock more information.
Useless system. Useless afterlife. Why couldn’t he just be put to rest like a normal person?!
User Fluixon is extremely lucky! ( •̀ ᴖ •́ )
The system exclaims that user Fluixon has a unique soul.
Whatever. He tunes back in and looks at Thomas’s confused expression.
Deciding to play it cool, he simply nods, and hums, “I see. When is it?”
The brunette seems to be even more confused, but answers nonetheless. “It is in a month’s time, your holiness…”
“Understood. Thank you.” A full body shiver runs through the butler, and he feels a little guilty. How badly had Yunha acted, for him to be so wary already? He’s somewhat sure that, going by the timeline, she’d only come to the temple three months ago.
Just when the man was about to open his mouth, perhaps to ask about Flux’s breakfast, the doors opened.
White and gold robes. A sword hidden underneath, on the left hip. Two pairs of wings, one on the nape and one on the small of his back. Twin moles on the cheek, white hair gathered in a low ponytail. A deceivingly soft and ethereal smile.
The Pope.
“Your holiness!” Thomas quickly drops to his knees, and Flux is stunned from where he’s settled on the bed. “I pray that—”
“Please,” A raise of the hand, a charming smile, accompanied with his friendly voice. “Rise, sir Thomas. I see you’ve been caring for the Saint.”
“Oh!” Thomas scrambles to stand, slightly bowing his head. “Yes, your holiness. Saint Fluixon has been adjusting.”
“I see.” A hum. Then, the two stand for a beat. “Well, why don’t you go on ahead, sir Thomas?”
“Oh, um, right,” The brunette nods, and hurries out the door. Flux wonders if he’ll get his breakfast or if he’s down on his luck.
The afterlife experience system has a quest for user Fluixon! ‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹
The system recognizes that the user is in the presence of MALE LEAD #1: POPE SAPARATA DE THERIA. A quest has been issued!
A being from the beginning of time that enjoys aesthetics is watching you eagerly.
Oh, great. He forgot to mention. The story was a subpar saintess reverse harem webnovel. And as all reverse harems go, there were multiple male leads.
He swallows nervously, trying to wrest away the blue window—he’s pretty sure nobody but him can see it—as the pope comes closer.
With the angelic man towering over him beside the bed frame, standing right beside where he’s sitting, he simply nods. “Good day, your holiness.”
The pope watches Flux carefully, the wings on his nape curling around his chin. He remembers reading that the action is a habit, whenever the man felt frustration.
He’s even more unsettled. This is one of the men that had tortured and killed Yunha, after all. He really needs to leave the temple as soon as the female lead appears.
Deft fingers come to pinch at the ends of his somewhat curly hair, “I see that you have recovered from your fever, Saint.”
“I have,” Flux answers, averting his gaze from the other’s golden eyes. “It’s because of your help and generosity, your holiness.”
The pope hums. Warily, he eyes at the sword on his left. Saparata must have noticed.
“I have been rude.” The man smiles, taking the scabbard off of his left. He settles it on his right. “I suppose your wary attitude must be attributed to this, yes?”
Flux is surprised that the other even cared. He huffs, “Well, it is unusual for the pope to visit the saint while his sword is battle ready. Wouldn’t you agree, Saparata?”
Perhaps it’s his bias towards Saparata as the male lead that made his filter slip, but the pope freezes. Flux does as well, in turn. He recalls a line, now, talking about how the female lead was the only one that didn’t refer to the pope with a title. He must have overstepped.
“I apologize, it was a slip of the tongue—”
“I do not mind.” Saparata smiles, and the wings on his nape open up. “It’s simply been a while since I have been referred to as my name. I’ve forgotten it was even mine.”
Flux stares up at him, and he opens his mouth to answer. Rumble.
Immediately, a flush takes over his cheeks. Saparata’s wings come to cover his lips, but it’s futile. He can tell the other is holding back a laugh. “Perhaps I have bothered the Saint for too long.”
“Perhaps, indeed!” He clenches his hands on the blanket covering his legs, and looks away. “I’m hungry.”
I could tell, the man’s eyes seemed to say. He tries not to feel even more embarrassed. “Then, I will be going now. I’ll tell your butler to send your food here.”
He sighs, nodding, “Thank you, your holiness.”
“Saparata.” He corrects. The intensity in his golden eyes was unsettling.
“...I am merely the fake saint, your holiness.” He argues. The pope was already showing him far more generosity than a fake saint should receive. Saparata’s gaze hardens.
“I suppose so, Fluixon.” He hums, turning his back. The wings on his nape wrap his chin once again. He looks over his shoulder as he closes the door, “That must be the case, if you say it is.”
What did that mean…? And did the pope normally visit Yunha like this in the novel? Much less treat her so casually?
Flux had pushed aside those thoughts and is now happily eating his breakfast on the sofa and table that stood towards the center of his room. He can think about that later, when his stomach is full. He’s enjoying his meal when another window appears in between him and the plate.
The afterlife experience system has a quest for user Fluixon!!! ( ｡ •̀ ᴖ •́ ｡)
The system recognizes that the user was in the presence of MALE LEAD #1: POPE SAPARATA DE THERIA. A quest has been issued!
Beings from the beginning of time wait for your answer VERY eagerly.
He sighs, shoving another mouthful of buttery bread into his mouth. “Can’t you let me eat in peace?”
This is a matter of life and death for the afterlife experience system!!! (｡ᵕ ◞ _◟)
The system urges user Fluixon to please accept the quest.
Would you like to accept MAIN QUEST?
Beings from the beginning of time watch over you.
He places down the bread, and crosses his arms, leaning back. “What does the quest even entail?”
The afterlife experience system cannot answer that. (˶˃ᆺ˂˶)
Accept the quest!
Oh, what the hell. “Fine. Sure. Show me the darn quest.”
MAIN QUEST
Alter the story of “Singing of Birds” and save the world!Gather more believers in the Great Temple of Theria, and prevent doubt from taking root!
Penalty: Painful, Permanent Death and Destruction
You have accepted the MAIN QUEST! (ㅅ´ ˘ `)
Good luck, user Fluixon! The afterlife experience system thanks you!
“Wha—” He chokes on nothing in particular, and slams a fist down on his chest. “Wait, I didn’t— What the hell?!”
The afterlife experience system understands the weight of the task. ૮ ྀིᴗ͈ . ᴗ͈ ྀིა
Thus, a reward will be provided with every milestone. Please work hard!
Holy crap. This wasn’t just a useless system. It was a scamming one!
Flux managed to choke down the rest of his breakfast, but he’s not quite sure that it would digest properly. After all, he’s still reeling from the fact that he’ll have to stay in the very place that the character he’s currently embodying died in for a solid year.
Besides, what does the system mean by saving the world? He’d followed the plotless, bumbling storyline, and not once was there a threat that the male leads hadn’t been able to bring down for the female lead. If there were, he’d remember. It would mean that the story actually held some substance.
As it stands, the world in Singing of Birds wasn’t in danger at all. Especially not so, after the appearance of the real Saint. So, why now? Why him?
The system is suspiciously quiet.
“Fine, be like that.” He clicks his tongue, standing from the sofa. Thomas hadn’t come to take the dishes away, and he still can’t find the bell in his room.
Thinking that it wouldn’t hurt to use this as an excuse to explore the Temple, he gathers the dishes on the tray and begins wandering.
The Temple is grandiose in a tasteful way. There were light gold trims along the walls, not overpowering or too material. In lieu of decoration, there hung portraits of past saints and popes. He walks through the hall and down grand stairs, where he presumes the kitchens would be. He recalls reading that the Saint lives in the inner annex, alongside the pope and high priests.
It certainly looked the part, with pristine marble pillars and statues of deities decorating the place. He gingerly reads the plaques that name all the nine deities. The destruction, the creation, the arts, the romance, the knowledge, the passage, the mischief, the order, and the preservation.
Beings from the beginning of time are pleased with your interest.
Congratulations! Congratulations! Congratulations! (˶˃ ∇ ˂˶)
Important things must be said three times! User Fluixon has unlocked the skill, “prophecy”!
Wait, what? He was just reading the titles that the deities went by!
SKILL: PROPHECY
Beings from the beginning of time may now interact with you.WARNING! Due to lack of divine power and insufficient holy power, the number has been limited to three.
[ THE ARTS ], [ THE ROMANCE ], and [ THE KNOWLEDGE ] enter the Prophecy Room.
A being from the beginning of time that enjoys trickery is displeased with the system.
“What the hell…?” He squints at the blue screen, and feels a surge of light pass through his body. What the hell? He couldn’t emphasize the feeling enough, so he’ll say it for the third time—what the hell?
A small amount of holy power has awakened in user Fluixon! ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´-
Please continue working hard![ THE ARTS ] blesses [ SAINT FLUIXON ]
[ THE ROMANCE ] blesses [ SAINT FLUIXON ]
[ THE KNOWLEDGE ] blesses [ SAINT FLUIXON ]Beings from the beginning of time complain, asking you to gain more holy power quickly.
Wait, holy power? Yunha wasn’t supposed to have holy power at all! While it’s the bare minimum—even priests in training have at least a moderate level of it—she never had even a drop of it. It doesn’t make sense that he suddenly has it, however small the amount is.
And why were the deities referring to him as saint Fluixon? Aren’t they angry that a fake was instated in place of their true child?
“Saint Fluixon?” He hears the last voice he wanted to hear call out to him. “What are you doing here?”
The pope is wearing lighter clothing, presumably more casual. The wings on his lower back are much more noticeable without the ornate robe designed to make them blend in. He’s curious about the feel of the feathers.
“Hello, your holiness,” Flux lowers his head, and he misses the way the pope squints at him. “I was… in the process of returning my dishes to the kitchens.”
The angelic man raises his brows, “You’re on the wrong side of the annex.”
“Oh.” He says, and refuses to elaborate.
Shaking his head, the pope nods to where Flux had come from. “I’ll show you the way. I suppose it’s not unusual that you’re lost, considering you’ve yet to properly tour the temple.”
“Much appreciated,” He nods, and falls into step beside the other. Promptly, the tray is taken from his hands, and he only raises a brow.
“You’ve only just recovered from your fever,” The same deceivingly serene smile flashed. It’s the very reason Flux enjoyed Saparata as a character—because he could look so angelic while making quite brutal decisions. As Yunha, though… Perhaps he should be more wary. “Although I must say, you look much more radiant today.”
“Thanks…?” His voice trails off, confused. Saparata was looking at him calculatingly, so he can tell that the other wasn’t looking to flatter. Only poke and prod. At what, he’s unsure. “I do feel much lighter.”
“Hm,” Saparata smiles, seemingly content with what he’d concluded. “The Crown Prince’s birthday celebration is coming up.”
Flux remembers this event in the novel. The Saint would typically deliver the blessing of the gods in the form of a celebratory speech. “Will I be delivering the blessing, your holiness?”
“If the Saint can handle it.” The pope nods, as they turn the corner into another hallway. “I will be by your side, of course.”
The Saint and the Pope were the two highest figures of authority in theocracy. They are rarely seen together outside of the Temple, for this very reason. It’s customary that at least one of them remains in the Temple of Theria, to receive believers and to answer any emergency calls.
However, considering that he’s a fake saint, the pope must reason that it’s safer to come with him.
“When will this be?”
“In a week’s time.”
“I see. Then, I’ll gladly accept your holiness’ company.”
They shortly reach the kitchens, and they drop off the dishes. With his hands now free, Saparata offers an arm to escort Flux. He takes it, but only because the kitchen staff were watching with great interest in their interaction.
“It will be your first public appearance since the consecration ceremony,” Saparata pipes up, while he’s leading them out of the inner annex. There’s a large garden being tended to by priests in training, and they look at the both of them in awe. “Will you be prepared?”
Flux looks up at the sky, nose scrunching in thought. Actually, he doesn’t know much about this world’s standards, much less greetings and proper formal language. He sighs, “I will need to visit the library.”
Saparata hums, the wings on his nape puffing out. He’s pretty sure it means he’s proud, but of what, Flux is unsure. “Indeed. Before your fever, you had written a draft.”
“Really?” He looks at the pope. Just as he was about to ask for it, he’s stopped.
“It wasn’t well written.” A serene smile.
Wow. Talk about delivering a straightforward blow. “I… see…”
“It’s okay,” Saparata continues on, still smiling. He’s looking at Flux in a strange way again. “I’m sure you can do better now. I’ve seen your changes.”
He refuses to shudder. Okay. Not ominous at all.
Before he could try to reply, there’s water spraying over a large hedge, and he flinches. While the sun is out, the weather isn’t all that warm, and he’ll be cold if he were to get drenched.
Just then, the large wings that were folded over the pope’s lower back unfurl in their glory, large and pristine. The perfect picture of an angel. It’s quickly ruined by the water that it blocks from reaching Flux in full force.
“Your holiness!” The priest in training flinches, redirecting the hose of water. “I’m so sorry!”
As quickly as they had come around him, the wings fold again, and Saparata merely smiles. He doesn’t reply, only looks at Flux.
“It’s alright,” He ends up answering on their behalf. “Accidents happen all the time. Just… Maybe water the hedges from the path and not towards it, next time.”
The priest in training bows, obviously flustered, “Yes! Okay, I’ll do that! I’m so sorry, your holiness, the Saint!”
“It’s really fine!” All the bowing was making him flustered. “Um, just have someone bring the pope a towel, maybe. His wings are drenched.”
The two eye him in surprise, both at varying levels. Saparata seemed to be more amused than anything else, while the priest was turning white.
“Did I say something wrong…?” He asks, after a few more moments of silence.
The priest turns from white to red, while the pope answers, “Not at all. Please have the towel be brought to us in the pavilion by the hyacinths.”
“Yes, your holiness!” He winces at the priest’s voice crack, but the flustered guy is quickly retreating.
Flux sighs. “That priest in training seems to be… very excitable.”
“Excitable?” Saparata hums, as he leads them to the pavilion he’d mentioned. “Perhaps in your eyes.”
“Thanks, by the way,” He manages out, scratching his cheek. It’s only because of the other that he got out of the situation with only a few droplets of water. “I’m sorry your wings got wet, though.”
Saparata laughs. Honest to god laughs. The wings on his nape puff up again, and the moles on his cheeks scrunch up, his eyes turning into crescent moons. The sunlight that lands on him makes him look angelic. Flux wishes he didn’t mean death to him.
“It’s okay. You intend to help me dry it, don’t you?” The pope says, still chuckling. When he opens his eyes, there’s a dangerous glint in it that makes Flux feel like a bird being captured in a cage.
“...Well, I would be glad to help.” He nods. It’s only natural to help the person who helped you.
Saparata narrows his eyes, and subtly, the wet wing wraps around Flux’s waist. “Then no thanks are needed.”
They’re eventually seated in the pavilion surrounded by hyacinths, beautiful purple blooms seemingly endless on all ends. The marble pillars depict carvings of angel wings that support the roof, and sunlight filters easily into where a tea table stood in the center.
[ THE ARTS ] greatly enjoys the aesthetics of this area.
[ THE HYACINTH PAVILION ] has been blessed by [ THE ARTS ].
“...What are you staring off into space for, Saint?” Flux is quickly distracted from the notification window by the pope’s question.
“Nothing,” He shakes his head, sitting on the chair that Saparata pulled back for him. “I was just admiring the place.”
It’s true. Somehow, the place pleases something in him. He can appreciate the architecture, along with the hand carved pieces. Perhaps it has something to do with the deity of arts blessing him earlier.
“You’re always free to come here, now that you’ve recovered,” Saparata smiles, as he goes to his own seat. “It’s a great place to have tea and perhaps read a book or two.”
“If your holiness says so,” He nods.
The other sharpens their gaze, “The Saint is free to roam the temple as he pleases.”
“I am not the real saint,” He quickly parries. How many times must he remind him of this fact? “I’m only here until the real one appears.”
The pope leans their elbow on the glass table, weaving his fingers together. The wings on his nape are sleek and sharp, curling around his chin. A sign of displeasure. “You’re the real saint.”
Flux stares at him, trying to understand what he means. Saparata stares back, unsmiling. It’s more unsettling, because of how much the pope has been putting up his cheerful front.
The priest in training rushes into the pavilion then, a warm towel in hand, “Your holiness, here’s the towel!”
Flux breathes a sigh of relief, turning his gaze away from suffocating golden eyes, and taking the towel in hand. He smiles, “Thank you.”
The priest flushes pink once again, but the pope is direct to the point. “Much appreciated. If you could, I would like to be left alone with the Saint. We have matters to discuss.”
“Of course! I pray the nine deities continue to shine their light on both your holiness!” The priest stutters while bowing, before running away just as quickly as the first time.
Flux wishes the priest had lingered for longer. The pope is a stifling presence to be with. As it stands, he doesn’t know much about Yunha, the villainess, but he knows for a fact that she was never this casual with the male lead. There has to be an anomaly with his character. System??? Hello? Do something!
The afterlife experience system doesn’t notice anything wrong with Character Saparata de Theria (¬_¬")
The user should stop overthinking and focus on fixing the true anomaly:MAIN QUEST
Alter the story of “Singing of Birds” and save the world!Gather more believers in the Great Temple of Theria, and prevent doubt from taking root!
Penalty: Painful, Permanent Death and Destruction
He holds back a scoff as he reads the window, and he doesn’t notice the pope’s calculating eyes watching him.
“You’re the real saint,” Saparata finally repeats, as he turns in his seat to stretch out the wet wing. “Of course, at this moment. You should be more… careful with your words, Fluixon.”
Flux breathes a sigh of relief. Of course. Saparata was just warning him to be careful because they’re outside, where everyone can hear them. “Right. I’ll be more mindful next time, your holiness.”
He sets out to do the tedious task of drying the wet feathers, combing them back into place. The force of the water must have been stronger than he’d thought, because there were quite a bit of feathers that were displaced. (He doesn’t admit that he enjoys the mindless task of repositioning them back to normal.)
By the time the sun was high in the sky, the pope left, saying he had to prepare for one task or another. Flux is only glad that he’s finally alone.
He weighs his options, whether he should eat lunch or head off into the library instead. In the meantime, he enjoys the pleasant breeze that blows into the pavilion, making the hyacinths dance in the wind.
“System,” He wonders out loud, reflecting on his interactions with the pope. “Could Saparata have any way of… knowing I’m not Yunha?”
User Fluixon is overthinking too much (¬⤙¬ )
The characters will not remember anything about Fake Saintess, Yunha. Please stop thinking about unnecessary things! Instead, focus on the main quest!
Flux somehow feels dubious at the insistence of the system. Why is it so adamant on him not worrying about this? And why is it not offering any form of explanation?
“Fine,” He huffs, standing up. He supposes some reading in the library is overdue, anyways. If the system won’t answer him, then he’ll find his own answers.
As it stands, it’ll probably be best if he simply gives the pope a wide berth, until he understands the nature of the man’s actions towards him. It’s not unusual for male leads to fall for the transmigrated saintess in webnovels—but he’s no saintess, because… Well, he’s a he!
…The pope wouldn’t be bent that way, right? He’s only ever fallen in love with the saintess.
Flux shakes his head. It might be homophobic to think that way. (He can’t be speaking, after all.) Still, though. He can’t consider the possibility of the pope falling for him, because all he’s done so far is turn into Yunha.
“Oh, well…” He mutters, his hands grazing the field of hyacinths that he needs to pass before he can reach the main paths. “I should just focus on going to the library…”
Going to the library was a whole ordeal.
He isn’t familiar with the layout of the place, and had only really made it to the kitchens because the pope was with him. As it stands, he can’t wander the place intuitively, because it’s entirely too large and much too confusing. The same white walls, the same marble pillars, the same tiled floors.
Eventually, though, he ran into a gaggle of priests in training that he managed to ask for directions. While they were much too flustered at the appearance of the saint, they pointed him in the right direction, and off he went for another round of walking.
There’s just so much walking to be done in the temple, and this is just one annex! There’s still the prayer rooms, the main temple, the holy archive… His feet hurt just thinking of it.
Alas, he reaches the ceilings-tall gathering of books, and he wanders the place for a short while, picking up the ones he thinks would help him the most. There’s the history of the empire, the history of The Great Temple of Theria, and a few others.
Just a quick sweep of the library, and he managed to gather a pile of books already. Internally, he’s grateful for how much reading he’d done in his past life. Otherwise, he’d just have given up by now.
Claiming a reading nook tucked in the corner of the library, he settles on the (thankfully) plush chairs and leans back. He has a lot of reading to do. It’ll probably take him hours to just get through this pile alone! He wishes he’d brought a pen and paper to take notes with…
…Except, he doesn’t need it at all. The words on the pages feel as if they come alive, flowing directly from his palms and into his mind. The definitions and the history is catalogued efficiently, as if he’d already known this information and was simply being reminded of it. An hour in, and he’s already finished the pile of books.
Flux is, frankly, astounded.
“System…” He asks, barely a whisper. “Is this your doing…?”
[ THE KNOWLEDGE ] is glad that [ SAINT FLUIXON ] finds their blessing useful.
[ THE KNOWLEDGE ] blesses [ SAINT FLUIXON ].
As if to prove a point, Flux’s prior understanding—which was already advanced, considering this is his first time encountering such concepts—grows even deeper. As if he’d become a scholar in the topics he’d only just read about.
“Holy—” He cuts himself off, because this was a deity he’s speaking to. It’s likely not a good move to say holy shit to them. “I… Thank you, knowledge.”
[ THE KNOWLEDGE ] preens at the praise.
User Fluixon has utilized a blessing 3 times!
The user now has a moderate amount of holy power.
He tries not to think about how skewed the plot is, now that he has a moderate amount of holy power. That’s enough for a priest in training, but too much for a fake saintess. He could probably heal a few cuts or bruises now.
He massages his temple, and tries not to sigh too hard.
The time he’d spent in the library wasn’t futile, even though it led to an unfortunate upgrade in his holy powers. He now completely understands the history of the place he now lives in.
First of all, the monarch is led by the Emperor. The current one is ill, and probably only has a decade left of life. The crown prince (another male lead), Schpood, is set to inherit the throne. However, the empress has an illegitimate son that she backs. She wouldn’t be much of a problem if it weren’t for the fact that she also leads the aristocracy.
In the middle of all this, stands the Great Temple of Theria. It sides with the monarchy, but is its own ruling power. As the one that controls all temples in the empire, it holds significant power. To not be a member of any temple is to commit social suicide.
Above all this, is the Saint. Whereas the Pope handles the nitty gritty details that comes with heading a religion, the Saint is the true leader in the sense that they are also called the voice of the gods.
The Saint gains prophecies in the form of blue boxes with text (the system?) that they decipher and pronounce into the world. The Saint is also the only one capable of wielding divine power, which is the power that the gods wield themselves. While not all saints historically have divine power—in fact, the majority of them only have holy power—they’re the only mortal that can bring it into the world.
Suspiciously, Flux eyes the old system window. It said lack of divine power and insufficient holy power. Does this mean he’s going to unlock divine power, later down the line?
With how easily he’s upgrading his holy power, he’s afraid that might be the case.
If it is, then the pope would never let him go.
“What the hell…” He sighs, thumping his head against the wall of the reading nook. “I thought I was supposed to be the fake saint…”
What will happen to the heroine? What will happen to him?
…He needs to leave before the celebration of the founding week. There’s no other way he’ll slip out otherwise.
“You look dashing today, Saint,” Saparata smiles, handing a palm out. He’s expecting Flux to take his arm for escort. “Quite charming, as well.”
It’s been a week since he’d arrived in this world. A week since he’d decided he won’t be interacting with Saparata much. Of course, his decision sealed his fate.
To keep bumping into the pope, that is.
Over the course of the week, he’d talked with Saparata more than anyone else in the temple. Any concern he has? Saparata’s right there. He wants something? Saparata wants it too—so, your holiness the saint, won’t you just spend the afternoon with him?
And now, he’s dressed in delicate silk robes, gold adorning every part of his body—his clothing white, a stark contrast that emphasizes his dark hair and striking purple eyes. He looks at the hand offered to him, and sighs.
“You’re very dapper yourself, your holiness.” He murmurs, delicately placing his palm atop the other’s. He tries not to sneer at the gold chains that tie the rings on his fingers to the bangles on his wrist. It all feels very constricting, like he’s shackled.
Saparata hums, amusement coloring his tone. Over the course of the week, his sharp gaze and judging stare has softened into a sort of fondness that Flux cannot explain. “So all your sighing must be because you’re mooning after me, yes?”
“Wha— This is an outrageous accusation!” He splutters, as Saps pulls him closer so that their arms would link together. The pope’s large wings have already taken its place around Flux’s waist. “I’m doing no such mooning!”
Saparata’s moles crinkle in the way that they always do, whenever he finds something truly amusing. “Is that so? Then, am I not good looking enough for the saint?”
“The pope’s worldly appearance matters not to me.”
“What a roundabout way to say you find me handsome!”
“I did not say that, and the pope would benefit from listening more carefully to other people. You listen to our temple’s believers like this?”
“My, my! No need to turn feisty, dearest saint,” The pope chuckles, just as they arrive in front of the carriage. His wings retract, folding once again at his back. “I only act this way in front of you, of course.”
He’s offering his hand again, so that Flux could step up with no worries. He does his best to not blush—especially because he knows that it’d be stark along the whites of his outfit.
He steps up into the carriage as the pope says, “I see no reason to put my guard up, when it’s only Fluixon that I’m with.”
Flux fights the flutter in his heart. These words aren’t meant for him, after all. They’re for the heroine. The pope must just be feeling confused.
(He doesn’t feel quite brave enough to examine the fact that Saparata said Fluixon and not the saint.)
The carriage ride to the imperial palace is quiet, compared to the walk. It might have stemmed from Flux’s somber attitude. He doesn’t understand why he’s so torn about Saparata’s open attitude. (Why it’s so hard for him to not fall for it, for him.)
“What’s wrong?” Saparata finally asks, because he noticed. He always notices. “You’ve been quiet since we entered the carriage.”
Flux looks up from his lap, and he looks at the pope. Really looks at him. His carefully braided hair, the adornments on the wings by his nape, the black robes he’s wearing. Belatedly, he realizes that they’re wearing matching clothes—where he’s wearing white, Saparata was wearing black.
He looks away, and takes note of the closed windows.
“I’m… conflicted, is all,” He admits, after a deep breath. “I’m unsure if I am deserving of the pope’s trust.”
After the day at the pavilion, Flux has avoided mentioning that he’s the fake saint. However, he hints at it from time to time, and Saparata always notices. He’s always upset, whenever it’s brought up.
“You are Fluixon,” The pope answers tersely, no smile on his face. He’s begun to be less pretentious around Flux, the past few days. “And I am Saparata.”
“...Yes?” He answers, unsure where the pope is leading the conversation to.
The white haired man shakes his head, “No, you don’t understand. When we’re together, you’re merely Fluixon and I am merely Saparata. Not the saint and the pope. Fluixon is worthy of Saparata’s trust.”
He’s quiet for a while, remembering his plans for escape. He knows he won’t give it up, won’t change his mind. The story will fix itself after the heroine appears in a year. But Saparata’s blatant trust is a knife on his back. Why is he open to Fluixon? What about him is so different from Yunha?
“Actually,” Saparata cuts his thoughts short, reaching forward to take Flux’s hands in his. He smiles, “Flux is deserving of Saps’s trust.”
The look in his eyes seems to be telling Flux that he should answer. Should call their names, as intimately as Saps had.
“Okay,” He swallows, but he doesn’t hold the other’s hands back. It only makes the white haired man cling onto his hands harder. “Saps.”
They arrive at the imperial palace quickly, and before the knights open the door, Saps leans down to reach for a black chiffon veil.
“Let me do the honors?” Saps asks, a habit he developed after the sword incident.
Regardless of his answer though, it’s customary for saints to appear with a veil covering their face, even if only for formalities. “Of course.”
Daintily, Saps places the veil over his head, and even Flux can appreciate the hand-made veil that lines its sides. It keeps the veil weighted enough that it wouldn’t fly off of his face, even with movement.
When Saps is satisfied with its position, he knocks on the window, and the doors open. Of course, he steps down first, before offering a hand for Flux.
As he’s climbing down, he can’t help but notice the ruffled feathers of Saps’s wings by his waist. When he’s standing properly, he reaches over, realigning them. This one, in turn, is a habit he has developed himself, after the water incident.
Saps happily lets him fuss over the feathers, his wings pliant for Flux to stretch out and fold back again.
When Flux nods to himself, Saps offers his arm once again, “Ready for the banquet?”
It’s because of the veil that he doesn’t notice the eyes that follow them into the palace walls.
“And may the glory of the kingdom forever live on through his highness, the Crown Prince, Schpood,” Flux recites smoothly, having memorized the speech he prepared a week ago. He’s kneeling down by the feet of said prince, hands woven together in prayer. The light from the chandelier reflects off of the gold adorning him from head to toe. “For you will lead the Westhelm empire into a new age of prosperity. And by the power vested in me, as the Saint of the Great Temple of Theria, I implore the gods for their guidance.”
He tilts his head up, facing the ceiling. He wonders if the gods would answer to such formalities. He remembers cases where saints publicly received godly blessings, especially during birthday banquets. He drones on, despite his wandering thoughts, “And through my power as the voice of the gods, I give you the nine blessings of the deities of Theria, who will watch over you for the years to come.”
He waits for a moment. The gods do not answer in any tangible way—which is fine, because it’d mean his cover wouldn’t be blown—so he lowers his chin, and raises his hands.
Schpood seems entirely bored of the affair, as he places his right hand on Flux’s waiting ones. Perhaps it’s because he’s aware of his status as a Fake Saint, as well.
Regardless, he pulls the hand under his veil and places his lips upon it, sealing the blessing ceremony. As Schpood pulls his hand back, he speaks, “And so it shall be.”
Beings from the beginning of time are charmed by [ SAINT FLUIXON ]’s sincerity.
A blessing will descend shortly.
Just as the window appears, a bright flash of light envelops Schpood, and even the prince himself seems to be awed. A unique warmth envelops the banquet hall, one that he could pinpoint as the warmth that could be felt inside the temple.
Flux stands up abruptly, murmurs erupting around him. He can feel their eyes watching his every move, suddenly aware of their acute attention. He doesn’t know what to do—if he should own up to the miracle or flee.
Saps is quickly on him, a wing wrapped around his waist. He’s bowing, now, as he asks, “How do you feel, Crown Prince Schpood?”
The prince is awoken out of the surprise he found himself in, laughing out loud. “I feel much stronger! This must be the blessing of the destruction!”
As he says so, he turns around, red cape flaring out dramatically behind him. He takes a hand to his seat beside his father’s throne, and squeezes.
“Ahaha! Saint Fluixon, you are a miracle worker!” He exclaims. It must be so, because the seat crumbles under his strength. The smile on the prince is crazed, as he bows, “I thank you greatly. I will be visiting the Great Temple of Theria to offer my prayers soon. Now, on with the banquet!”
Flux is glad that the prince had a penchant for theatrics, because attention is quickly taken off of him. His earlier rigidity is quickly replaced, and he slumps beside Saps.
“That was… something,” He murmurs, as the other leads them to the corner of the hall. He notes Saps’s silence. “I mean, what are the chances, right? Haha, the gods must have liked my speech…”
Saps looks down at him, and he feels the wing wrap around him ever so slightly tighter. He holds his breath. Those golden eyes truly are dangerous.
Then, his eyes squint with the smile he directs at him, “I suppose so, Flux. I’m glad though. This solidifies your position as the saint.”
Flux shudders. He truly, really needs to leave, before Saps gets too close. Before he gets too reliant on the other’s smiles.
Today’s the day. It’s finally been two weeks since the tortuous birthday banquet, and the official start of the foundation week of the empire. So, he’ll repeat it again—today’s the day he escapes.
Flux has already made his peace with the fact that he’ll watch over Saps from afar. He’s accepted that, for the safety and comfort of not only the heroine, but (more importantly) Saps himself, he will have to stay away. After all, ever since the debacle at the palace, his holy power has jumped from moderate to high.
His existence is an anomaly that would twist the plot too much. And as much as he swore up and down about how there’s no literary substance to be found behind the original story, he cannot deny that Saps was happy there. Even if he ended up in the heroine’s harem.
“Focus,” He slaps his cheeks, pocketing a pouch of gold coins. He meticulously sold off a few of his items over the few weeks, and it should be enough for him to survive for a few months, before he needs to find a job.
He’ll travel to an obscure small village to the west of the empire, where the main plot didn’t touch, and he’ll live out his life there. If he lays low long enough, the people would forget there even was a saint named Fluixon. After all, all he’d ever done as a saint was bless the prince.
He looks in the mirror, nodding to himself. He’d talked with Thomas over the past few weeks, and they’d become close enough for the butler to cover for him while he makes his escape. And once the situation at the temple settles, the butler would quit and follow him.
“Right,” He murmurs to himself, tying his cloak against his throat. “I won’t be alone, anyway.”
He glances at the clock. One more minute, and then he will make his move. His route to the outer temple is impeccable, after all.
Flux makes it to the outer temple easily, because he is nothing if not clever. He keeps his head down, lowers the hood of a priest in training’s cloak over his purple eyes, and steers clear of people who might recognize him. However, the main threat is over—people in the outer temple hadn’t seen him, unlike those near the annex he lived in.
He’s about to slip away from the temple and begin his life anew when a knight from the inner temple runs to the workers lounging by the gate. “Do any of you know where the pope is?!”
He pauses. Why are they searching for the pope?
“No…” One cleaning lady answers, and she’s eating a baked potato. She must be on her break. “Why?”
The knight is huffing, hands on his knees, “We need him to heal someone! None of the priests can do it, even the high priest! And he’s about to die!”
“Oh my…!” Another lady gasps. “A servant of the inner temple?!”
“Yes!” The knight urges, looking around. “The saint’s butler—”
Flux freezes from where he’s hiding in the shadows. Thomas? Dying?
Faintly, he wonders if this was the system trying to prevent him from leaving.
The afterlife experience system would do no such thing! ( •̀ ᴖ •́ )
The system works with the gods! No harm is to be done to anyone!!!
He releases a breath in relief. Still, he catches the words from the knight— “Anyway, I have to run! The butler might die in this case!”
His momentary relief is cut short.
He doesn’t think he’d be able to handle it, if his only other friend dies. He won’t last long in a desolate village without the brunette, anyway.
Flux doesn’t think any longer, and instead takes off running.
“Where is he?!” He can hardly recognize his voice—jagged from worry and breathy from the running—as he bursts into the annex.
The priests part for Flux, and in the center of them lay Thomas. He’s pale from bloodloss, and his eyes are closed. It’s almost like he has died.
It’s autopilot that makes him throw his body onto the ground, cradling his butler’s head on his lap. Thomas was snarky and rude in a subtle way, but he was also funny. Loyal, even to a fault. He chokes back tears and pours out his holy power.
Realistically, he knows he’s never done this before. Hiding his holy power means not using it at all. Still, a part of him hopes that it would be enough. That it would bring the other man back from the brink of death.
“Come on!” He cries out, the bright light unbearable. The priests surround him, but he doesn’t mind them. Instead, he calls out to the system, to the gods, “Do something!”
Does User Fluixon want to heal Character Thomas?
It will have a price to pay.
“I don’t care about the price!” He grits out, still pouring holy power into the man’s body. His limbs have begun to feel heavy.
Understood ദ്ദി ´⌣` )
User Fluixon’s holy power has been revoked.
As quickly as the light emitted from his hands, it retreated. For a horrifying, still moment, Flux watches as Thomas coughs up blood because there’s no more holy power keeping him alive.
He’s about to scream at the system when,
You sacrificed your holy power for divine power!
You can now heal Character Thomas.
Divine power. Power that can only be brought through real saints. Power that, once he uses, will be recognized immediately from its sheer force and ability. Power that will shackle him here in the temple.
Power that will prevent him from escaping, and force him to change the plot beyond recognition.
He doesn’t have to think twice, though. He uses the divine power he’d newly unlocked in order to save Thomas.
Faintly, he remembers Thomas gasping. He recalls the searing feeling of a knife carving at his throat. He pictures the image of a man in white robes, with white wings and white hair.
He smiles and closes his eyes.
Saints go through a sort of rite of passage when they are crowned as the saint. A test given by the gods.
Any saint worthy of their title can be distinguished from those who did not serve the holy mission—that is, by the mark of Theria being present on their skin. Only saints who have put their prides aside and delivered a miracle that the gods appreciate and acknowledge can they get this mark.
The mark itself is innocuous and even innocent. A crescent moon, facing upwards in a U shape. It appears as a scar on the skin, visible on the throat.
When Flux awoke, he had the mark of Theria proudly pressed against his Adam’s apple.
The smug smile Saps directs towards him is enough to make him regret ever waking up.
“Ugh,” He groans, and Saps only smiles wider. He’s seated beside Flux’s bed, massaging the saint’s hands gently. “I know what you’re gonna say. Don’t say it.”
“You’re—”
“Don’t.”
“—The real Saint, Flux.” Saps continues, anyway. He pouts.
After glaring at the man’s moles, he sighs heavily, “How could you tell?”
“You were glowing.” Saps hums, placing the hand down in favor of pushing Flux’s bangs away from his forehead. “The day that I visited you, when you recovered from your fever. You were glowing as if the gods themselves wanted me to treasure you.”
Flux pointedly looks away, but he doesn’t turn his face. The pope is looking much too adoringly at his face. “And so I did. Treasure you, that is. Now, look where that led me. The real saint, just like me and Prince Schpood had wished for.”
“You knew I wasn’t the real saint,” He argues, because he likes to argue. It felt safe, comforting. Familiar. More familiar, anyway, than the soft caress of the pope’s hands on his cheek.
Saps hums, placing a kiss on his mole, and then again, down on his throat. Against the mark of Theria. He tries not to shudder. “I knew that you were my saint.”
Saps’s eyes aren’t suffocating when he looks at them. Not anymore. They didn’t look to possess Flux, as much as he does desire.
“That’s what you say in hindsight.”
“My saint must love to argue,” Saps shakes his head, taking the hands on his face away. Flux tries not to feel the loss. “Alas, we must grace the people with our presence, as it is the foundation week of the empire.”
So, that’s how Flux got here. Through sheer dumb luck, and the power of the system.
He looks up at Saps, the glint in his eye. Possessive, but gentle. His desire less so about keeping Flux here, but rather keeping himself near Flux.
He supposes he could amend his previous statement. He isn’t trapped in a cage.
“Would you like to know a secret?” Saps smiles, the wings around his nape coming to cover both their faces. Flux tries not to splutter at how other people might view this as them kissing.
He pointedly ignores his own pink cheeks and asks, “What is it?”
Saps smiles, leaning towards his ears, “An Avian’s lower wings are not to be touched by anyone but their mate. Won’t you take responsibility, Flux?”
It takes everything in the saint of Theria to not combust on the spot.
The people of the empire screech and holler and yell. The system windows, covered by Saps’s wings, are pinging loud notifications. Probably something about completing his quest. He doesn’t pay them any mind.
Instead, he defiantly looks up at Saps, “Of course I’ll take responsibility. Even though you scammed me into this.”
Before the pope could protest or poke fun at him, he surges forward for a kiss.
Perhaps the wings covering their faces are a blessing. It turns this moment into something of their own, alone.
And in a not so distant future, Flux happily sways to the sound of the piano, the soft hustle and bustle of the other people in the banquet becoming their lyrics. Flux giggles, as Saps does his best to cover them with his wings. It doesn’t cover them entirely—it’s hard to do so, when they’re placed so low on his back—but it gives them enough privacy.
“It’s okay, Saps,” He laughs. “I don’t mind it. Let them stare if they want to.”
“I don’t want them to stare at you though.” Saps pouts, because his possessiveness had mellowed out enough to turn him almost cute.
Flux shakes his head, “If they’re looking at me, then they will see how happy I am with you, beloved.”
The comment leaves the pope slightly pink, and he’s proud of himself for the effect of his own words.
“You’ve become much smoother, Flux,” Saps sighs, but there’s a smitten smile on his lips. “I remember you turning pink every time I even tried to bring up your admiration for me…”
“Th— that’s not fair!” He whispers, turning pink. He remembers the night they were heading towards the palace like it was yesterday. “I wasn’t aware of your affections then…!”
“D’aww,” The white haired man teases, because he’s a little shit. “Poor baby.”
It’s Flux’s turn to pout, “Shut up…”
Of course, he learned well during that fateful foundation week. Before Saps could tease him more, Flux leans forward to kiss him.
(A part of him is grateful for the pope’s efforts in covering them with his wings. It gives them a semblance of privacy, in a room full of people.)