Chapter 535: Fractured Demise
Father Rohan knelt beside the thrashing Saintess without hesitation. Ruby was still screaming, her voice reduced to a raw, animal screech that scraped against the ears of everyone present. Her hands were still locked around her own throat, her nails gouging deeper into the soft flesh with every convulsion.
"Hold her steady," he said quietly to the two priestesses who were still struggling to contain her. Then he leaned in, assessing.
He checked her pupils first, pulling her face close to the lantern’s flame. Her eyes were blown wide, the pupils so dilated they had swallowed nearly all the color, leaving only thin rings of blue around bottomless black.
Terror.
He checked her pulse next, his fingers pressing against the frantic flutter at her wrist. Rapid. Erratic. A heartbeat running at full sprint toward a cliff.
Then he examined her neck, the skin already bruising, the furrows left by her own nails beading with blood, and felt the tension in her muscles, the rigid, locked-in-place desperation of a body convinced it was about to die.
This was not illness or injury. This was an extreme panic attack. It seized her mind and shook it until reality itself fractured.
But Roarke, beneath the mask of Father Rohan, had seen eyes like this before. As an assassin, he had seen them in the faces of men and women who were about to be murdered, or as they were being murdered.
The wide, unblinking stare. The animal terror.
Was she being attacked? His eyes swept the room with the knowledge of his former trade. No sign of breach or forced entry. The windows were intact and the door had been opened without force.
"What was she doing before this?" he asked.
"She was just... going to sleep, when she suddenly screamed and we ran to her room... opened it with the serf’s master key..." One of the priestesses answered, her own voice trembling with shock.
"Is it a vision, then?" Father Rohan muttered, more to himself than to anyone else.
"Father, what happened to the Saintess?!" someone in the crowd demanded.
"It’s shock," Father Rohan answered, his voice rising just enough to carry authority. "Extreme shock. She has seen or felt something."
He turned back to the priestesses, his hands already moving to gently pry Ruby’s fingers from her own throat. "Please, help me stop her from choking herself."
"NO! NO! IT’S GOING TO FALL—HE’S RIPPING IT APA—"
"Shhh, shhhh..." Father Rohan leaned closer, his voice dropping to a soothing murmur. "Who? What did you see?"
"I DON’T KNOW—I DON’T KNO—HE’S KILLI—WHO—I DON’T KNOW—"
"Please, all of you, leave. Don’t agitate her further," he said to the crowd, glancing over his shoulder.
But not everyone left. Veras and Igor stayed. The higher-ups present, the ones who could not be dismissed with a wave of a healer’s hand, remained clustered near the door, their faces pale and drawn.
"I will be sedating her. She’s going to hurt herself if this continues." Father Rohan turned to Veras, the highest authority present in the temple at this moment, seeking permission.
"Yes. Yes, please do," Veras said, his face conflicted and voice tight with fear.
If Father Rohan was right, then the Saintess truly had witnessed some disaster. Perhaps a glimpse of her own future. Could it be... a prophecy of her death?
The thought sent a chill through the old priest’s bones.
Seeing Father Rohan take out a vial of medicine that was most likely a common sedative, everyone in the room swallowed hard. In the temple’s history, or at least, in their lifetimes, no one had ever had to sedate a Saintess before.
No matter how horrible her visions were, no matter how devastating the prophecies she delivered, the Saintesses of the past had always weathered the storm with dignity.
They had trembled, wept... but they had never screamed like a woman being murdered. They had never clawed at their own throats as though trying to keep their heads attached to their bodies. This was unprecedented.
Horrifying even.
Roarke forced Ruby’s mouth open with gentle but firm hands, tilting her head back and pouring the sedative down her throat in a slow, steady stream.
He made sure she swallowed every drop, his fingers monitoring the movement of her throat, ensuring the liquid didn’t go down the wrong pipe.
The last thing they needed was the Saintess choking on her own sedative while the temple’s leadership watched.
Slowly, so slowly, Ruby’s convulsions began to ease. Her rigid muscles went slack, her hands, which had been locked around her own throat with bruising force, fell limply to her sides.
Her wild, rolling eyes fluttered closed. The rasping, rattling screams faded to whimpers, then to silence. She was asleep.
Not peaceful, of course. Her brow was still furrowed and her lips still twitching as though she were trapped in a nightmare she couldn’t escape, but asleep.
"For the time being, please never leave her alone. And tie her wrists to the bed," Father Rohan said. "This is strange. Very, very strange."
"Is there a medicine that can calm her mind if this happens again?" Veras asked, his fox ears drooping with worry. "A sedative, as effective as it is, feels too harsh for repeated use."
"Let’s monitor her," Father Rohan replied, humbly rising to his feet as the priestesses carried Ruby’s body to the bed.
"When she wakes, we will see what she does. If she tries to hurt herself uncontrollably again, then we have no choice but to sedate her once more. But if her reason returns..." He paused, glancing down at the unconscious Saintess. "We must comfort her, no matter what. She is in a very fragile state right now."
"Father Rohan," Veras said, his voice suddenly sharper, more formal. His eyes flicked meaningfully toward the doorway. "Please focus on our Saintess."
Roarke followed his gaze, and Igor was still there. The tiger’s aide had not left with the rest of the crowd, absorbing every detail of the chaos.
Roarke met his gaze directly, inclining his head. "Sir."
Igor could do nothing but nod in return. He couldn’t even speak up about his master’s condition here, now. The Saintess was the priority, everyone in this room would agree.
Ah, but, perhaps his master, knowing Ruby Vaiva’s situation, would want to come here instead of demanding the healer’s presence at his townhouse. Perhaps they could both be treated together, under the same roof, by the same physician.
"I must return to receive further orders from the Prince," Igor said, tone neutral. "Especially because we all know how deeply he cares about the Saintess."
"I hope the Prince understands," Veras replied, his tone carrying just the faintest edge of satisfaction.
Igor bowed stiffly and left.
Meanwhile, Father Rohan turned back to the bed where the Saintess lay. Her breathing was shallow but steady now, the sedative having pulled her down into a dreamless darkness.
Her wrists had been loosely bound to the bedframe with strips of soft linen, enough to prevent her from clawing at her own throat again but not so tight as to cause discomfort.
"Please ask that boy, Bimo, to bring my journal here. He knows where I keep it," Father Rohan said quietly.
One of the priestesses nodded and hurried out. It was remarkable, really, how quickly the balance of authority had shifted.
Moments ago, this man had been merely a contract healer, respected for his skill but ultimately replaceable. Now, after what everyone had witnessed, his quiet competence had become a lifeline.
The priestesses deferred to him and the acolytes waited for his instructions. Even Veras, the old fox who controlled the temple’s purse strings, sought his counsel.
Veras stepped closer, his voice dropping so that only Father Rohan could hear. "The Pope must have been informed by now. The Head Priest will return tomorrow from his official duties outside the capital. How do you think we should explain the Saintess’s predicament?"
"Father Veras, please." Rohan said gently, almost apologetic. "I am sure they will believe you even if you say the Saintess has gone mad." He paused. "I am deeply sorry to say it, but it looks to be the case..."
In normal circumstances, such words would have incited outrage. To suggest that the Saintess, the holiest woman in the continent, the vessel of divine prophecy, had lost her mind, was tantamount to blasphemy.
But when it came from someone as humble and dedicated as Father Rohan, the words carried a different weight. They felt like a premonition. A truth, reluctantly spoken only because the situation demanded honesty.
"You think so highly of me?" Veras asked, one eyebrow rising.
"Sir, if anyone is to protect the temple, it would be you," Father Rohan said. "Even without all the witnesses today, anyone would have believed you. And this... this is..."
He shook his head, his gaze drifting back to Ruby’s unconscious form. "What was she seeing...? How horrifying...?"
Veras looked at Ruby too. Something unpleasant stirred in his chest.
But Rohan, Roarke, held his own grin carefully concealed behind his concern.
Such well-placed words. He had learned them all from Bimo, the twelve-year-old spy who had mastered the art of narrative.
Still. What shocked him more was the fact that the Luna... had predicted this.
Before he had left the Dawnoro estate, sprinted across the capital to arrive as quickly as possible, she had said it.
"Let’s see. Perhaps Ruby Vaiva will need your assistance too, Father Rohan?"
Was she also a Saintess or something?