I Just Wanted to Nap, But They Built Me a Religion

The morning was filled with sunshine.

Today marked Lysette Dormir's second birthday.

And on this day, just before the sun reached its peak. She will receive her blessing.

The household moved like a hive, swarming with motion and murmurs.

Hallways were lined with sacred silk.

Priest and seamstresses wept alike, scrambling to perfect threadwork robes so delicate they could be carried by the wind.

Petals were crushed into ink. Prayers sewn into napkins. Every mirror had been polished twice.

After all, even a commoner's blessing ceremony was sacred.

And this was the Dormir house.

The one with the Serene Heir.

----

Ezrel, now 4 years old, stood beside his father in the family chapel. He wore a deep blue robe with sun-threaded cuffs.

He yawned once.

Then twice.

No one scolded him.

Huhhh. Im bored…

Let's hope she doesn't receive any weird blessings.

I'm already scared of her behaviour.

---

While the guests thought it was mystic restraint. Ezrel still yawned.

A noble leaned in, whispering,

"That's the Dormir boy. The silent one."

Another nodded. "The one with the unknown blessing, yes?

 The priests still don't know what it is…"

"Yet they call him The Serene Heir already?"

The third noble answered, "I heard a priest found a tear he shed and declared it divine."

"No, bottled it."

"Good heavens."

"Not only that they also said he was very powerful."

"There is even a priest who claims to be touched by god because of him."

"Oh My Lord"

 -----

At the front of the hall, Ezrel rubbed his head.

He could hear every word.

He hated this place.

Oh, good lord....

When can I rest.....

Somewhere hidden among the pillars stood Milia, a young maid with violet ink stains on her cuffs. She pressed herself into the corner, journal half-raised.

She hadn't been assigned to record these ceremonies …..

 Not yet….

But she had to.

As she was acknowledged by her young master.

The Serene Heir.

She had watched how he walked in.

She had seen how his footsteps slowed.

And now…

She watched his little sister enter while journaling it.

---

Lysette was wrapped in snow-white cloth, a ribbon of golden thread tied across her chest.

 She looked quiet.

 Too quiet.

Like a doll. Carried by a maid.

Today was her day to turn two years old.

Still barely a toddler.

But the ceremony awaits no one.

It was a tradition in this world for people to get their blessings at two years old.

No divine loom. No enchanted mirror.

Just a simple platform and an old priest from the Church of Serivelle who was holding a velvet cloth in case the divine mark appeared.

He began the prayer with trembling hands.

"Oooh god and goddess in this world, grant your blessing to this child," he recited.

A standard prayer..

The moment stretched long.

Guests leaned in.

Lysette stared straight ahead.

Then…

She slowly raised her hand.

Not toward heaven.

But toward her brother.

The audience hushed.

The priest faltered.

Ezrel blinked.

Huhhhh… Why me again??

I already don't have enough rest..

Please...Spare me….

And the air shimmered.

A thin, golden thread pulsed faintly between Lysette's hands

Her lips never moved.

Her backhand glowed faintly.

 A thread-shaped mark etched itself into her skin

 It was the universal sign of a divine blessing.

The priest's breath caught in his throat.

He stammered..

"The child… has been blessed!"

Guests applauded.

Some gasped.

A noble wept softly at the beauty of it.

But Ezrel remained frozen.

He got nervous now thinking that his rest would become less than it should be.

-----

After the ceremony concluded…

Behind a curtain..

The priest spoke privately with Lord and Lady Dormir.

"She was not blessed by Serivelle," he said lowly.

They blinked.

"But the symbol—"

He raised a hand.

"I know our goddess's thread."

"I have conducted seventy-eight blessings. This was not her sign."

"Then who?" asked Lady Dormir, hand clutching her dress.

The priest's mouth drew tight. "There are 99 recorded gods in Aureventis. And that… that was god number 43."

"Nyemari?" Lord Dormir whispered.

"A forgotten name," the priest nodded.

"The Silk Mother. Not worshipped in generations. I only know of her because of old temple texts. She accepts no prayers. Appears only when... she fancied someone."

Silence.

Then the priest bowed.

"I will not say more. But… treasure your daughter. Her path will be hard."

"But it's still better than your son ….."

 "After all, until now we still don't get information about his blessings…"

-----

From the shadows, the young maid Milia clutched her journal.

Her blessing "Chronicle's Clarity," or what she thought it was.

It was the mark of Selphira, the Ink-Mother.

But what she witnessed today felt like something beyond ink or memory.

Not something she can get by her Chronicle's Clarity blessings.

She wrote:

Two fates are already intertwined..

One will face hardship while one will accompany it..

Will it change the world or will it destroy it..

No one knows what, only time awaits it..

----

That night, Ezrel lay awake.

His sigil pulsed faintly.

Again.

It's become more often now after the ceremonies today.

What kind of blessings is this?

I still don't know what it brings to me.

Just what did that entity give me???

He came to this world to get a rest, but what that entity gives him still makes him worry

Outside his window, the wind carried petals to the courtyard.

He turned to his side, expecting peace.

But rather than peace, he saw his sister already beside him.

Curled, calm, hand resting near his.

He hadn't even noticed her climb in.

Her backhand still shimmered with the mark.

She didn't speak.

Didn't move.

But her fingers brushed his sleeve.

And the thread glowed faintly once more.

Ezrel closed his eyes.

"I don't want this."

The sigil pulsed again, like giving him an answer..

Too late.