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The lid of the teapot rattled as steam hissed from its edges, swirling in a misty veil before Zenith's face.
She stared at Isolte for a long moment, but the girl only met her gaze briefly before looking away. Setting down the cloth, Isolte lifted the teapot's lid.
A burst of fragrant steam bloomed into the kitchen, rich with the scent of high-quality black tea. After Allen left for Roa, Zenith had specifically asked the village merchants to procure fine tea leaves from the capital, preparing for potential visits from Philip and his wife.
The aroma was exquisite.
Yet Zenith's mood remained complicated.
The mist curled around their clothes, ethereal as smoke, mingling with her soft sigh.
"...I'm sorry, and... regretful. I was indeed a noble of Milis, a devout follower of Saint Milis. But now—"
"I'm an apostate. I won't shamelessly ask for His blessings anymore."
Isolte's hand, gently fanning the steam, froze mid-motion. Her calm expression fractured, replaced by open surprise as she turned back to Zenith.
The woman's smile was bittersweet, tinged with remorse—but not regret.
Isolte blinked. When she first entered the kitchen, her Water God-trained instincts had immediately flagged Zenith's noble bearing and rare hair color, marking her as Milis-born, a believer in monogamy.
But Isolte had dismissed it. If she judged every Milis apostate, half the nobles in Ars—hypocrites who flaunted the faith while indulging in debauchery—would hang. Raised in the capital, she'd long grown numb to such contradictions.
Yet here was Zenith, apologizing—genuinely.
No shame. No deflection.
Unlike the Asuran nobles who sinned without remorse, Zenith's sincerity was… disarming.
"You once believed in Saint Milis, and He once blessed you," Isolte said carefully, softening her tone. "Since you say you were a noble of Milis, yet now live in this remote Asuran village… much must have happened. For a former devout, the Holy One surely sees your struggles. He wouldn't fault your departure."
Zenith laughed—a self-deprecating sound—but her shoulders relaxed. She shook her head, fetching cups from the cabinet.
"Allen's friends all seem so mature. Thank you for the comfort… though I doubt you truly believe that."
Isolte smiled, pouring the tea. The liquid streamed like crimson silk, reflected in her dark eyes.
"In the capital, many Milis followers are hypocrites. If I obsessed over doctrine, I'd only torment myself."
Zenith nodded. "My husband was once a noble. He's told me enough about their… customs. True devotees like you seem rare?"
"People join the faith for different reasons," Isolte mused, eyes on the teapot. "Those who seek wealth, power, or lust—their faith is shallow. When doctrine clashes with desire, they falter. Their devotion was never pure."
Zenith fell silent, then asked:
"What was your reason?"
The stream of tea broke.
Isolte set the pot down with a soft clink.
"I'm a 'hypocrite' too."
Zenith blinked as Isolte continued:
"But unlike them, I didn't join for greed. After my parents died, I needed an 'anchor'—a tether to wherever they'd gone. So I chose Milis."
She looked up.
"I don't worship Him purely. I'm selfish—I crave His mercy, the light beside His throne. If He gathers the souls of believers, then when I die… I'll see them again in His radiance."
Her fingers traced the cup's rim.
"My faith is flawed."
Zenith stared, then chuckled.
"If that makes you a hypocrite, then most of Milis's empire qualifies—including the Pope, who clawed his way to power. Was his path pure?"
"If only the flawless can be faithful, then only 'saints' truly count."
Isolte didn't argue, focusing on the tea.
Zenith listened to Paul's muffled voice from the parlor.
"But by that standard… I was a true believer."
Isolte stiffened, startled.
Zenith's smile turned wistful.
"Not a saint, mind you. But I truly separated desire from devotion. Even now, though I've betrayed His teachings, I still revere Him. I believe…"
"God watches from the heavens—but never answers."
Isolte's lips parted.
"You're saying… Milis's doctrine is wrong? That He blesses apostates? How—?"
"Don't mistake me," Zenith cut in gently. "This is just a sinner's solace. I failed the faith—not the other way around."
Realizing her bluntness, Isolte flushed. "Forgive me, madam. I didn't mean to judge."
"No need. I am an apostate. I'm only sharing my thoughts."
Zenith gazed into her tea, reminiscing.
"I was the second daughter of a Milis count—a 'proper' noble girl. For fifteen years, I obeyed my parents, upheld every tenet… But unlike others, I never conflated faith with personal wants. Perhaps because I lacked nothing, I never expected anything from God."
"Even when I fought with my family, ran away, was tricked into joining an adventurer band… Forced to heal nonstop, exploited… I never prayed for deliverance."
"I've always believed: God watches, but doesn't intervene. He's God—human suffering is beyond His concern."
She tilted her head at Isolte's stunned face.
"So yes, my faith was 'pure.' I sought nothing from Him. Only reverence."
Isolte was speechless. A believer who worshipped without expectation? In Asura?
She fumbled for words, settling on: "What… happened after? The healing—how did you escape?"
Zenith warmed her hands on the cup.
"Not God. My husband saved me."
Isolte's mind flashed to Allen's words years ago at the Water God dojo.
"Back then, I hated him," Zenith admitted. "A crude Asuran noble—vulgar, unreliable, childish, greedy. He mocked others, groped women, pursued me with the dirtiest intentions…"
Her fingers traced the cup's warmth.
"But he wasn't evil. He helped me, even while laughing at my naivety. So… he became my husband."
She paused, recalling the night of his infidelity.
"He promised monogamy. Years later… well, you see the result. I chose to forgive, to betray my faith."
"Because…"
"God is God's. I am mine."
"He sits above. I choose what saves me."
"Paul has countless flaws. When he broke his vow, I raged—wanted to leave. But after the storm passed… I realized I'd always expected this."
"My fury wasn't about the maid, or this family. It was the broken promise."
"In the end, I accepted his repentance."
"Perhaps… his saving me sealed my fate. Had he been worse, I might've lost all choice. At least now, I chose this path."
She laughed, lifting the tray.
"Of course, to you, this just sounds like an apostate's excuses."
Noise spilled from the parlor—Sylphie and Eris arriving with Lutz and Norn.
"I've rambled. Let's serve the tea. Could you pour four more cups?"
As Zenith turned to leave, Isolte suddenly spoke:
"Madam, I'm not judging you. In Asura, I've seen far worse."
She hesitated.
"I just wonder… If one day, God did speak—calling your betrayal a sin, affirming His doctrine… What would you do?"
Zenith paused at the door, answering without thought:
"I'd kneel in penance… and ask Him: 'Does an apostate like me… still deserve to be Yours?'"
She smiled over her shoulder.
Then stepped into the hall—
And vanished from Isolte's sight.
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