Izuku knelt in the High Priest's chamber, dwarfed by its towering bookshelves. The ancient scriptures rustled softly as a draft meandered through the room, carrying with it the pungent aroma of incense, mingling with a faint mustiness of age-old books.
Izuku's past, marked by the sparse bleakness of the orphanage, felt worlds away as he absorbed the surrounding opulence. The warmth of the bath he had received, with the rough yet strangely comforting bristles of the scrub, still lingered on his skin.
The food, modest yet far more lavish than anything Izuku had ever known, was a revelation. Each bite was a luxury, a stark contrast to the meager scraps he had endured in his ten years marked by scarcity.
The High Priest, an enigmatic figure draped in the authority over his office, regarded Izuku with a gaze that seemed to pierce through him. "Do you know why you were brought here?"
'No, sir.' Izuku's fingers twisted the hem of his tunic, a silent turmoil of anticipation and fear playing out behind his wide, green eyes.
'The Saintess is our god in human form, destined to ensure peace in our kingdom,' the High Priest explained. Izuku, unfamiliar with such a figure, could only nod, his imagination conjuring images of a revered and powerful entity.
"From today onward, the temple's knights will train you to be the Saintess's protector, his constant shadow. And when the time comes, you will escort Saintess Katsuki to our king, who will reward you with abundance," declared the High Priest.
The High Priest leaned in closer, his voice a whisper laden with subtle menace. "You will report everything about the Saintess to me. And remember, should you be disloyal to your purpose and fail, the consequences will be far worse than anything you've known in that dingy place you came from." A shiver ran down Izuku's spine at the veiled threat, and he nodded, his agreement barely audible, fully aware of the dire consequences of any failure.
When the door opened, Izuku saw Saintess Katsuki—a boy of his own age, yet possessing an otherworldly beauty that seemed to transcend mortal realms. The allure of Saintess's appearance, however, was in stark contrast to the cold hostility in his eyes, serving as a stark reminder of the complex reality beneath the surface.
Summoning his courage, Izuku managed a smile, though it wavered with nervousness. 'It's an honor to serve you, Saintess Katsuki,' he said, his voice respectful yet trembling slightly with the weight of the moment.
Saintess Katsuki turned sharply, his gaze cold and dismissive. "I don't need a babysitter," he snapped, his voice biting. Izuku flinched, the sting of rejection all too familiar. He fought the urge to respond, swallowing the hurt Saintess Katsuki's words evoked. Deep down, he had hoped for a different beginning, perhaps even a sense of connection. Yet, the stark reality of their situation loomed between them, a barrier as cold as the Saintess's glare.
The High Priest, observing the tension, interjected with a stern, commanding tone. "Saintess Katsuki, tradition dictates that a protector accompanies you. The pilgrimage you will undertake is fraught with dangers, and it will be Izuku's sacred duty to ensure your safety."
Saintess Katsuki's lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes flashing with barely concealed disdain. "Traditions," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "They're more like chains."
The High Priest's face remained impassive, but the slight tightening around his eyes revealed the challenge he faced in managing the young Saintess. "Your reluctance to adhere to our guidance has necessitated this arrangement," he retorted, a hint of sternness edging his voice. "Had you been more compliant, perhaps this 'sacred right' could have been delayed."
Izuku, standing a few paces behind, felt a twinge of discomfort at this revelation. The reality of his role was becoming increasingly clear—he was a guardian and a watcher, tasked with ensuring the Saintess remained within the temple's grasp.
The air crackled with tension as Saintess Katsuki's voice rose, his frustration breaking through his usually controlled demeanor. "I don't need him shadowing my every move!" he exclaimed, his voice echoing against the ancient walls of the chamber.
The High Priest's response was calm but laced with a veiled warning. "Continued disobedience has consequences, Katsuki. You would do well to remember that."
The Saintess's eyes narrowed at the High Priest's admission, a silent acknowledgment of the power struggle that lay beneath their exchange. Without another word, he pivoted and strode out of the room, his posture radiating defiance with every step.
Izuku hesitated for a brief moment, watching Saintess Katsuki's retreating figure. The High Priest's clearing throat jolted him back to the present. "Do not delay, Izuku. Begin your duties at once," he commanded with an air of finality.
With a sense of urgency, Izuku hurried after the Saintess, his footsteps echoing in the vast corridors of the temple. As he neared, he tentatively reached out, hoping to catch Saintess Katsuki's attention. But the moment his fingers brushed against the hem of the Saintess's robe, he was met with a swift and sharp reaction.
Saintess Katsuki whirled around, his hand batting Izuku's away with a force that sent an obvious message. His eyes, fiery and full of contempt, bore down on Izuku. "Don't touch me," he spat out, his voice laced with disgust.
Izuku recoiled as if physically struck, the sharpness in the Saintess's voice slicing through him, reigniting the sting of past rejections. He remembered all too well the looks of disdain from prospective parents at the orphanage, the silent judgment that deemed him unworthy.
"I... I'm sorry, Saintess Katsuki. I didn't mean to offend," he stammered, his voice barely a whisper.
Saintess Katsuki's response was a derisive snort, his glare lingering for a moment longer before he turned away. "Just stay behind me where you can stay out of my sight," he muttered, resuming his march through the temple.
Chastened yet resolute, Izuku trailed a few steps behind. The weight of his new role, coupled with Saintess Katsuki's clear animosity, settled heavily on his shoulders. In those moments, Izuku's resolve hardened; he recognized his path would not be easy, but he was determined to fulfill his duty, regardless of the obstacles.
As the days slipped into weeks and weeks into months, Izuku found himself immersed in a rhythm that was both grueling and rewarding. Every morning, before first light touched the sky, Izuku's day would begin on the training grounds.
He joined the Knights, the wooden sword in his grasp, both a tool and a symbol—a physical extension of his newfound role. Day after day, he swung and parried until the skin on his palms was raw and tender, yet he never complained. Each blister, each sore muscle, was a testament to his commitment, a small price for the stability and full belly the temple provided. Amidst the rigors of training, Izuku found a strength he never knew he possessed, and with it, a growing sense of purpose that transcended his initial fears and doubts.
A structured routine, alien in his orphanage days, now unfolded around Izuku. Three meals a day, once a distant luxury, became his new normal. Nevertheless, old habits clung to him like shadows. Every night, he would carefully tuck away a portion of his meal into a small sack he had found, a silent nod to the uncertainty that had once governed his existence.
This morning, as Izuku approached the Saintess's chamber, a sense of apprehension gripped him. Today was significant—it marked Saintess Katsuki's first day of prayers, a pivotal event in the temple's routine, and a test of Izuku's commitment to his duty.
"Saintess Katsuki, it's time for morning prayers," Izuku called out, his voice steady yet tinged with an underlying tension. Silence greeted him first, followed by muffled sounds from within. Izuku's hand hovered at the door, a subtle reminder of the delicate balance he now navigated between duty and empathy.
The door opened abruptly, revealing Saintess Katsuki, his golden hair tousled and his crimson eyes shining with defiance. "I'm not going," he announced, smirking.
A heavy weight settled in Izuku's chest as Saintess Katsuki's refusal shattered the early morning's calm. "But Saintess, it's required. The temple expects—"
Saintess Katsuki dismissed him with a casual wave. "Their expectations don't concern me." With that, he strode off in the opposite direction.
Anxiety twisted in Izuku's gut, knowing he couldn't let the Saintess skip the prayers. Torn between duty and understanding, Izuku called out, "Saintess, if you don't attend, I must report to the High Priest." His voice was steady, but betrayed an undertone of conflict.
Katsuki halted, turning to face Izuku with a glare that could freeze fire. "You'd tattle on me? Really, Izuku?" His words were sharp, cutting through the morning air.
Izuku met his gaze, his resolve firm despite the turmoil inside. "I have no choice, Saintess. It's my responsibility."
There was a moment of tense silence before Saintess Katsuki exhaled sharply and walked back towards the prayer room, his steps heavy. As the door slammed shut, Izuku felt a mix of relief and guilt, the echo resonating in the morning's quiet.
Every three days, like clockwork, Izuku reported to the High Priest. In these meetings, Izuku recounted Saintess Katsuki's actions—every word, every gesture, every useless attempt to escape with an accuracy that Izuku doubted was needed, but didn't question.
"There was an incident," Izuku started, his voice betraying a hint of hesitance. "Saintess Katsuki attempted to skip morning prayers."
The High Priest's eyes, usually unreadable, showed a flicker of interest. "And how did you handle this?" he asked, his voice betraying no emotion.
"I warned him," Izuku continued, fidgeting with the hem of his tunic. "I told him I would have to report to you if he didn't comply."
"And did he attend?"
"Yes, sir," Izuku said, recalling the Saintess's reluctant compliance and feeling an unwelcome pang of guilt. "He went after I warned him."
"Good," the High Priest responded, his voice tinged with approval. "It's crucial that the Saintess fulfills his obligations. Your diligence is commendable."
Izuku nodded, the High Priest's praise leaving him with a hollow feeling. Standing there, in the High Priest's austere chamber, Izuku felt torn. He was caught between the rigidity of his duty and a growing sense of empathy for Saintess Katsuki, who was just as much a prisoner of his role as Izuku was of his.
In his quarters, Izuku found solace in a modest meal, each bite a quiet reminder of his new life within the temple. As he ate, his gaze drifted to the small sack under his bed. Without thinking, he broke off a piece of bread and tucked it away, an old habit hard to shake.
He pondered the paths he and the Saintess were on - so similar, yet worlds apart. The security of the temple, a stark contrast to the uncertainty of the streets, brought him a measure of peace. But for Saintess Katsuki, it was a gilded cage. Izuku understood that, even if he didn't feel it himself.
Each encounter with Saintess Katsuki was a minefield of unspoken tensions, his hostility a constant reminder of the chasm between them. Izuku weathered the Saintess's verbal jabs and disdainful looks, understanding them as shields, much like his own silence.
As days melded into weeks, Izuku noticed subtle inconsistencies in Saintess Katsuki's behavior - moments of dishevelment or breathlessness when solitude or prayer should have been his only companions. These discrepancies ignited a suspicion in Izuku, leaving him torn between reporting them or staying silent. In the end, he chose the latter, opting to observe the Saintess more closely, the weight of his decision heavy on his mind.
As spring breathed life into the world around them, the temple gardens became a sanctuary of emerging colors and fragrances. It was here, amidst the blossoming flowers and the gentle warmth of the season, that Izuku followed Saintess Katsuki once again. The Saintess's voice, tinged with irritation, cut through the tranquility. "Do you have to trail me like a lost puppy? It's suffocating," Saintess Katsuki muttered, casting a scornful glance over his shoulder.
Izuku inhaled the scented air deeply, steadying himself against Saintess Katsuki's jabs. "I apologize, Saintess. I'm only fulfilling my duties," he responded, his voice a mask of practiced calmness, maintaining a respectful distance.
The Saintess scoffed, his frustration palpable. "Duties, always duties. Don't you ever tire of being the High Priest's puppet?" he shot back, his pace quickening as if trying to escape his own shadow.
Izuku, feeling a familiar twinge of discomfort at Saintess Katsuki's accusation, remained silent, focusing on the path ahead. The tension between them was a constant companion, ebbing and flowing like the shadows of the swaying branches overhead.
In this strained coexistence, an unexpected moment unfolded. A young girl, her clothes a tapestry of patches and repairs, accidentally collided with the Saintess. The gentle impact disrupted their tense walk, introducing an unforeseen ripple into their routine.
As Saintess Katsuki sharply began, "Watch where you're going," Izuku tensed, anticipating a harsh reprimand. Yet, the sight of the girl's wide, frightened eyes seemed to disarm Saintess Katsuki. His stern expression softened, transforming in a way Izuku had never witnessed.
"I'm sorry, Saintess," the girl murmured, her gaze fixed on the ground.
Instead of the expected sharp rebuke, Saintess Katsuki's voice mellowed. "It's alright, no harm done. Are you here for your first blessings?" His tone, unexpectedly gentle, seemed to warm the surrounding air.
As the girl's timid nod summoned more children, Izuku watched from the sidelines, a soft smile forming as he observed the Saintess amidst the young crowd. The children, their faces alight with excitement, gathered around Saintess Katsuki like flowers drawn to the sun.
One little boy, braver than the rest, stepped forward, clutching a delicate white flower. "Mama says it's good to give the Saintess a white flower," he said, his voice a whisper of awe and nervousness.
Saintess Katsuki, to Izuku's surprise, knelt down, bringing himself to the boy's level. His voice was gentle, a stark contrast to the harsh tone Izuku had grown accustomed to. "Thank you," Saintess Katsuki said, accepting the flower. Izuku noticed a subtle tension in Saintess Katsuki's expression as he held the flower—a symbol of an image he seemed to resent.
The scene was heartwarming, Izuku thought, seeing Saintess Katsuki interact so tenderly with the children. It was a rare glimpse of the Saintess who could have existed in a different world—one free of the burdens of his title.
However, the warmth of the moment was short-lived. The overseeing priest's arrival brought a swift end to the children's laughter. Saintess Katsuki stood up, his demeanor shifting back to the distant Saintess as the priest spoke. "Saintess, it's time for the children's first blessing," he said firmly.
Saintess Katsuki, the white flower still in his hand, a silent testament to his conflicted identity, bid the children farewell and resumed his walk with Izuku.
Following behind, Izuku felt a pang of empathy for Saintess Katsuki. The brief encounter had peeled back layers of the Saintess's guarded exterior, revealing a glimpse of the person underneath. This insight strengthened Izuku's resolve to protect Saintess Katsuki, seeing it not just as a duty but as a commitment to the young man trapped behind a title.
Compelled by a growing curiosity and a newfound understanding, Izuku ventured a question, his voice tinged with tentativeness. "Saintess, if I may ask, why are you so kind to the children?" he inquired, observing Saintess Katsuki's profile for any sign of reaction.
Saintess Katsuki's pace slowed, his features softening, a stark contrast to his usual stern demeanor. "They're just kids," he answered, his voice carrying a note of unspoken understanding. "They're honest in a way adults forget to be. Kindness is all they should know."
Emboldened by the Saintess's response, Izuku dared to probe deeper. "Then why… why are you so harsh with me?" His whisper barely carried over the rustling leaves.
Saintess Katsuki stopped, twisting to face Izuku. His eyes, previously soft, now held a piercing coldness. "You are different. You are the High Priest's eyes and ears," he replied bitterly. "A puppet doesn't warrant kindness."
The rebuke stung Izuku deeply, highlighting the invisible yet undeniable chasm between their roles. He nodded in silent understanding, a mix of disappointment and acceptance in his heart. As they resumed walking, Izuku contemplated the complexities of their intertwined lives. Despite Saintess Katsuki's defiance, they both were bound by roles that neither had chosen prisoners in their own right.
In the twilight embrace of the gardens, Izuku returned to walk alone. The shadows and fading light interwove a tapestry, with flowers and trees bathed in the soft, melancholic glow of the setting sun. The Saintess's words reverberated in Izuku's mind, casting shadows of doubt over his role. Was he truly safeguarding Saintess Katsuki, or merely a pawn in a larger scheme?
Amidst the fragrant air of the garden, a rustling sound broke Izuku's contemplation. He glimpsed the Saintess stealthily navigating towards the dense woods, his form a shadow against the dimming light. Pushed by curiosity, Izuku followed, his footsteps silent on the garden's soft earth.
Approaching the old shed, a place of forgotten tales and lingering shadows, Izuku trailed the Saintess. Hesitating at the entrance, his heart beat a rapid, anxious rhythm. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Izuku stepped into the unknown, crossing the threshold into a world of memories and echoes.
Inside, Saintess Katsuki stood transfixed before a large, imposing portrait. The woman depicted commanded attention, a figure of regal authority and undeniable strength. Standing proudly on a cliff, her gaze surveyed a sea of soldiers below. Her flowing blond hair mirrored the Saintess's, and her eyes, a piercing crimson, held a depth of resolve and power.
Contrasting with Saintess Katsuki's delicate white Saintess robes, the woman in the portrait wore regal attire of vibrant red, a color that spoke of courage and defiance. In the portrait, she held a raised sword high, expressing her readiness to lead and fight. The entire portrayal exuded an aura of unyielding strength and fierce determination.
Saintess Katsuki sat on the dusty floor, his eyes locked in an unspoken dialogue with the portrait. The reverence in his gaze revealed a deep connection, an aspiration to embody the strength and independence the woman represented. To Izuku, observing silently, it was clear this was more than a mere portrait of Saintess Katsuki. It symbolized what he yearned to be — a beacon of strength and autonomy in a world that sought to define him through its narrow lens.
In that moment of silent observation, Izuku felt a profound understanding of the Saintess's inner struggle. But the sound of approaching footsteps abruptly shattered this quiet understanding. The sound of approaching footsteps pierced the serene bubble of the shed, detaching Izuku from the serene peace and jolting him back to reality.
Saintess Katsuki's face twisted in a flash of panic as he noticed Izuku, his eyes betraying a surge of unspoken fears. In a flurry of motion, he covered the portrait with an old cloth, his actions frantic and hurried.
"What are you doing here?" Saintess Katsuki hissed, his voice tinged with urgency and a trace of fear.
Before Izuku could plan a response, the footsteps grew louder, ominously nearing the shed. Acting swiftly, Izuku pushed the Saintess behind a pile of old furniture, silencing his protests with a sharp whisper, "Hide, now!"
Izuku's heartbeat thundered in his ears as he moved towards the door, the weight of their predicament settling heavily upon him. As he opened it, he was met with the stern, authoritative face of a Knight Templar.
"Izuku, what are you doing outside of the temple at this hour?" the Knight demanded, his tone brooking no tolerance for dissent.
Under the Knight's scrutinizing gaze, Izuku's mind whirred, weaving a lie with a calmness that belied the storm raging within him. "I... I just needed some air, a moment to myself," he stammered, hoping his hastily concocted excuse would hold under scrutiny.
The Knight Templar's firm grip on Izuku's arm forcefully pulled him away from the shed, exhibiting an urgency that bordered on aggression. "We must immediately inform the High Priest," the Knight stated in a tone that brooked no argument.
Izuku cast a fleeting glance back at the shed, catching Saintess Katsuki's eyes through the narrow opening of the door. Through the narrow gap, Saintess Katsuki's eyes met his, a flicker of worry betraying his usual facade.
As the knight led him away, Izuku's mind raced, the gravity of his actions and their potential consequences weighing heavily on him. The walk back to the temple was a blur, each step echoing the dread building inside him.
After facing the harsh reprimand and punishment from the High Priest, Izuku lay in the dimness of his sparse room. Each lash on his back throbbed with a searing pain, a stark reminder of the price he'd paid for his loyalty to Saintess Katsuki. Yet, beneath the physical torment, a resolute calm settled over him. In this moment of solitude, Izuku realized his allegiance had irrevocably shifted; it was no longer the High Priest he sought to please, but the real Katsuki he yearned to protect.
The creak of the door pulled Izuku from his reverie, and he tensed, expecting another round of reprimands. However, to his surprise, it was Saintess Katsuki who entered, his presence casting a different hue over the room's somber atmosphere. Each step Saintess Katsuki took was hesitant, a stark contrast to his usual brash demeanor. He carried a tray of food, an offering that seemed to soften the edges of his usually harsh facade. Saintess Katsuki's eyes lost their typical fiery intensity, replaced by an unfamiliar warmth, silently acknowledging the sacrifice Izuku had made.
"I... I came to thank you," Saintess Katsuki murmured, his voice laced with an unusual sincerity as he set the tray beside Izuku. His eyes briefly flickered away, betraying a moment of vulnerability. "For what you did. For keeping my secret."
Izuku, taken aback by this rare display of openness, responded in a hushed tone, "Saintess? You shouldn't be here." His gaze met Saintess Katsuki's, searching for the hostility he had grown accustomed to, but finding none.
In the flickering candlelight, the ambiance of Izuku's room transformed. The Saintess's presence, once a source of tension, now brought an unexpected solace. As Saintess Katsuki tended to Izuku's wounds with a gentleness that contradicted his usual demeanor, each careful touch seemed to reach deeper than the skin, easing the weight of loneliness and misunderstanding that had long lingered between them.
"We can eat after," Saintess Katsuki said softly, a soothing presence in the hushed room. Izuku, feeling a shift within him, allowed the barriers he had built to fall, accepting the care with a vulnerability he seldom showed. It was more than the healing of wounds; it was an unspoken mending of their fractured rapport.
Once the tending was done, Saintess Katsuki turned his attention to the tray of food. "You need to eat something," he urged, his tone laced with a concern that felt genuine.
Izuku, though pained, managed a nod. "Thank you," he whispered, a blend of surprise and gratitude in his voice. With Saintess Katsuki's help, he slowly sat up, each movement a testament to the trust that was cautiously taking root. The act of sharing the meal, simple yet intimate, marked a profound shift in their relationship.
The room, once a solitary refuge, became a sanctuary of newfound connection. As they shared the meal, Saintess Katsuki's question broke the silence. "Why did you do it? Why protect my secret?"
Izuku met Saintess Katsuki's gaze, his voice steady with newfound clarity. "I want to be more than just a puppet. My duty is to protect you, truly and earnestly, as I was meant to."
A faint blush colored Saintess Katsuki's cheeks, lending a softness to his features that Izuku found endearing.
As they ate, Izuku, almost reflexively, tucked an apple into his sack. Saintess Katsuki gently noted the action. "You don't have to do that anymore. I'll make sure you always have food." Saintess Katsuki assured him softly. These words, simple yet profound, eased a long-held tension within Izuku, a silent vow of care and security that resonated deeply with him.
Shifting the conversation, Izuku ventured to ask about the enigmatic portrait they had seen in the shed. "Who was she, the woman in the painting?"
Saintess Katsuki's eyes held a distant look as he replied, "I don't know her name. She's a saintess from ages past. But she's different from the ones they show us in the temple."
As Saintess Katsuki spoke, his voice took on a tone of passion and resentment. "In the temple, they always portray the Saintess as fragile. But her," he pause as if trying to find the words to describe what he felt, "she was strong, commanding, standing tall amidst her soldiers. I feel more like her than the ones they want me to emulate."
At that moment, Izuku saw a different side of Saintess Katsuki, one that resonated deeply with him. It was a connection that transcended their circumstances, a mutual understanding of being more than what the world expected them to be.
Their conversation tapered off, leaving a comfortable silence filled with a mutual understanding, a silent accord born of shared experiences and newfound respect.
"If you have to protect me, then I'll protect you too," Saintess Katsuki said, a sincere promise in his eyes.
"That sounds nice," Izuku replied, a contented smile crossing his face as sleep enveloped him. In Saintess Katsuki, he had found an unexpected ally, a sense of belonging in a place that had once seemed so alien. As he drifted off, the memory of Saintess Katsuki's genuine smile lingered, a symbol of their newfound bond, a beacon in the darkness of his world.