The sister led me out of the gathering hall and into the main hall, which consisted of four interconnecting hallways surrounding a central courtyard.
Rows of brass piping, occasionally interrupted by wooden doors, ran along the outer walls of the hall. My reflection shone off their freshly polished surface. We followed the path of piping, passing several followers who greeted the sister with a smile and me with unease.
The grand courtyard was filled with children playing in dirt brought in from the outside. From above, similar to how the Middle Inner Ring is set up, water flowed from the Upper Core into indentations in the earth, mimicking a flowing river. The surface of the water sparkled with the gentle fake moonlight that the overhead lighting produced.
In the center of the courtyard was a large building, the group home for every resident of the chapel. A smaller portion of that building was the medical wing, where Celia and Anya currently are.
Rinne was supposed to be with them, but knowing her, she's probably out and about. At least here she's safe to roam around; I just hope she isn't eavesdropping in places where she shouldn't be.
Most chapels belonging to the believers of the Steam Goddess were not this grand. This location was the main chapel in the Middle Layer, led by a man who coughed up dust.
Cool air, artificially blown in from the courtyard, tickled the hairs on my arm as I held my blade tightly in my hand. This was holy ground, yet here I was carrying a weapon. It was unbecoming of me, and the constant stares of followers didn't help the situation in the slightest.
Had I not provoked Lilas back in the gathering hall, I wouldn't be forced to carry this thing around in the open like this.
"Ugh…"
I involuntarily let out a sigh. The sister in front of me turned around as she walked. There was a gentle smile on her lips as her blue eyes locked with mine. She reached for the veil that covered her head and pulled it off. Long brown hair flowed down to her sides, reaching her butt. How she managed to hide that much hair was something I would never understand.
"Here," she said, handing me the veil.
Muller said something about this action by a sister once, but I can't remember what it was.
Hesitantly, I took the veil. The smell of fresh pomegranate filled my nose as I held the veil in my hands.
"Use it to cover your weapon," she said, hiding her mouth. Her eyes gleamed as if expecting something.
"Thanks…" I did as she said and wrapped my Gearsaw with the veil, hiding every part besides the handle.
The sister tilted her head a little, and the expectant look melted into an embarrassed one. "Sorry about her," she said, her voice soft and low. She then turned back around to focus on what was in front.
"There's no need to apologize; part of the blame falls on me."
It wasn't fair that this sister would think of carrying the burden of Lilas's actions when she wasn't even present.
She placed a hand to her mouth and giggled. "You are very kind." She said, "It's no wonder Father Muller hangs around you."
"Are you close to him?"
"You could say that." She said, looking off at the children playing in the courtyard. "You could also say it is the will of a maiden's heart. But," she looked down as a sigh eluded her lips. "I know he has eyes for another."
She was right. Just the other day, he confessed that he sees Margaret as someone special to him. I did not have the heart to tell this woman that; rather, if anything, I wished her success.
Margaret wasn't the type to fall for a man romantically; to her, it was all transactional. Such is the way of those taken in by the orphanage system.
If this woman truly felt that way towards Muller, then maybe, just maybe, he too could live a happy life.
"Even if he did," I said, "I hope the best for you."
She gasped in surprise before looking back. Her face, a slight shade of red, broke into a gentle smile. "Thank you."
All of that quickly faded as she changed topics.
"But, again, I really am sorry about Mother Lilas." She repeated herself, her tone carrying the weight of a burdened parent. "She gets restless without Father Muller present, and she becomes borderline irresponsible."
"Could have fooled me."
If you take away the part where she tried to hug-tackle Sara with armor beneath her clothes, she seemed like the very definition of responsible. It was no easy feat to give a calming speech while controlling a shadow group. Not to mention how quickly she snapped into her role the moment this sister entered the gathering hall.
"Mother Lilas…to simply put, is burdened by her role within the church. Honestly, it was surprising to see her act unprofessionally around you, a person she's never spoken to before."
"Burdened?" I asked with a fake, dumbfounded tone. I saw the scars on her wrists; it wasn't hard to imagine the truth behind them.
"Yes…" The sister's voice lowered to a whisper so as not to be overheard. "She was found at a brothel in the Upper Layer. Father Muller was the one to find her. After learning that she was sold to them by an orphanage, he leveled the place in a single night. To Mother Lilas, Father Muller is her savior, and she'll do anything to keep him looking at her."
The sister took a moment to breathe as she grabbed her wrist. She rubbed it gently with a pained look in her eyes.
"Due to that, she worked tirelessly as Father Muller's apprentice. Gaining the title of Mother and Maiden of Metal. To the church and its inhabitants, she is the perfect image of a priestess. To me…she's on the verge of breaking. And Saint Edmond's request is only gonna make her shatter."
We stopped before a large pair of brass-plated doors that stretched from floor to ceiling. Rails trailed out from the sides, showing that these doors do not open inward or outward. Small, thick metal gears lined the sides of the tracks.
These doors felt like the atmosphere. Why did this sister tell me all of this information? If anything, as an outsider, I should not have heard any of this. I tried to open my mouth to speak, but the sister turned around with a finger to her lips.
She nudged her head towards the door and gave me a playful wink.
Well played.
Tell me all of this and create a situation where I couldn't respond. This sister was no fool; honestly, I respect her a lot for that.
Nobody tells all of that for no reason, so the saint here must have something in mind. Perhaps that is why he summoned me.
"I wish you the best in there," she said in a hushed tone. She pointed to my blade, wrapped in her veil. "I trust that you will take care of Mother Lilas, Father Muller, and his newest apprentice, Sara."
Trust, that was what I had forgotten.
To the customs of the church, when a sister hands you her veil, it means that she recognizes you are a trustworthy outsider.
The very thought stung. I don't know what Muller told her, or the parts he omitted, but I am not the man she thinks I am. But seeing those gleaming eyes filled with ignorance, I could not help reminding myself that lies serve as armor.
The sister reached for a large metal knocker on the side of the brass doors. "Saint Edmond, I brought Golden Steam." She said while knocking on the door.
Wordlessly, she stepped back as steam hissed and the gears in the tracks spun to life. The doors slowly opened with a grating sound of grinding gears.
The sister stood with her back straight and her hands folded in front. There was a grace to her posture as she stared with a practiced expression towards the gap in the doors. Once they opened enough to see the inside, she bowed deeply, her long hair almost touching the floor.
"Oh?" the man, known as Saint Edmond, said in a dry voice. His gray eyes stared at the sister on the other side of the door, then at me—rather, my weapon. "You did well, Sister Claire. Now, please leave us."
"Understood, sir." Sister Claire turned to me, the mask slipping into a natural smile. "Good luck," she whispered before walking away.
I stepped into the room alone, the saint's eyes never once leaving me. With a tap of the saint's foot, the doors screeched, then reversed direction.
The room was overwhelmingly brass. From the floor to the ceiling, even the furniture was made of brass. It was like walking into a hall of mirrors, if your reflections were brownish.
The only thing that dared not to be made of brass was the large stained-glass window where the saint stood. An image of a woman with golden hair and scarlet eyes; her hands pressed together.
Steam from small pipes floated upwards as if it were smoke coming from a candle. The faint sounds of gears turning filled the air as several mechanical parts in this room operated. What they controlled was beyond my knowledge.
My eyes were drawn back to the window. Looking at it, Rinara was the spitting image of the goddess of steam. The only thing that told them apart was the scars that covered her body.
Soon, Rinne would look just like Rinara…just like the goddess. That was the fate of the daughters of the goddess's blood. No matter the parents, they will always resemble the goddess.
"So the sinner who stole the life of the goddess's descendant graces himself before me." The saint said, his voice hoarse, fitting for how close he was to meeting the goddess herself. "That cloud of death that loomed over you, it's not so dense."
This was a man who could see through anyone. With age comes wisdom; that's what people say. And this man was full of wisdom, not because he himself was smart, but because he's seen it all.
Saint Edmond, also known as the Father of Confessions, has heard and seen people from all walks of life. With a glance alone, he's learned to understand what people are worried about and what fears them the most.
Never before had I had the displeasure of meeting him one-on-one. Whenever I was forced to be in here, Muller was always with me. But today, it was just him and me.
The man grinned as he looked down on me with his eyes. "Nothing to say about that?"
"What was there to say, Saint Edmond?" I said, resulting in a frown. He clicked his tongue as he threw himself into his chair.
I approached his desk and placed my weapon beside me. I took to one knee, staring at the ground.
"Get up," he said sharply.
I did as I was told and stood before him. He nudged towards the chair next to me, and I took a seat.
Each action I took resulted in him growing increasingly irritated.
Was this on purpose? Yes.
He and I were no strangers. Nobody in my life has ever wanted me to end myself more than this man. Every meeting, he spoke only to dig into my guilt. So, to avoid any unnecessary comments, I learned to make him annoyed so he could get straight to the point.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His vestments, tailor-made to suit his tastes, shook gently, the sound of metal clinking against metal faintly audible. He clasped his hands together and hid his mouth behind them, all the while his gray eyes locked onto me.
"Sinner," he said, his breathing matching mine. Every irregular breath I took, he took. This was him being alert. "You are really making me doubt the judgment of my peers."
"I am?" I said. "That's a shame."
"You are aware of the meaning behind Sister Claire's gesture, yes?"
I nodded.
"Then you'd best behave yourself."
Hearing those words, I straightened myself. I was being petty toward the saint, but I was also damaging Claire's will.
"Good," he cleared his throat, "Mother Lilas, the woman who saved you by allowing our foe to escape, has she told you why she was searching for you?"
"She," my mouth moved before my brain did, "was looking for me to inform me that the seventh seat and the second seat were having an internal scuffle."
Of course, it was a lie. Of course, he would most likely see through said lie. But I will not throw Lilas under the bus like that. As he said, she saved me.
With a thoughtful "hmm," I could see the corners of the saint's mouth rise from behind his wrinkly hands. "So, that's what the legendary detective has concluded." He lowered his hands. "You might be a stand-in, but you carry their role well. It's good you haven't changed throughout the years."
He said all of that with a genuine smile. The expression took me aback.
"Mother Lilas," he resumed, the smile fading to an expression of annoyance that was not directed at me. "She was supposed to meet with you and tell you that she would be looking after Sara in Father Muller's place." The saint broke eye contact.
"…" That's weird. A man like him breaking eye contact in the middle of our conversation was unheard of. Honestly unsettling.
"That's not all, is it?" I asked. His awkward glances around the room proved my suspicion.
"For her…yes," he said, looking all over the room still, not once looking at me. "For you…it's a babysitting job."