Dizziness was how the world began.

The coldness of the hard stone floor clung damply to my back and arms. As my consciousness slowly regained its shape, like surfacing from the bottom of a pool, the first things to reach me were the breaths of several people and the faint sound of fabric rubbing. Then, a dry scent of incense I had never smelled before—neither sweet nor spicy.

Slowly pushing my eyelids open, a giant stained-glass window jumped into view. Depicted there was a figure looking down mercifully upon kneeling people, receiving light from the heavens. For some reason, only that figure's face was covered with a white cloth. Multi-colored light filtered through the glass, creating several streaks in the dimness where dust danced glitteringly.

Around me, several people clad in robes watched with bated breath. Their faces showed fatigue, and even more intensely, something like a desperate wish.

"...They have awakened!"

A young priest raised a raspy voice. At that sound, the tense air trembled slightly.

Soon, the rhythmic click-clack of hard footsteps approached. The source was a tall man dressed in a lavish outfit of pure white and navy. His slicked-back platinum hair was perfectly groomed without a single strand out of place, and his pale blue-grey eyes looked down quietly. A gentle smile played on his face, but a hint of fatigue he couldn't hide seeped into the corners of his eyes.

Siegfried Alvarein.
That was his name. Someone whispered an explanation that he was the First Prince.

"Welcome, our Saint."

His voice, though quiet and calm, had a resonance that seemed to dominate the space itself. Siegfried knelt beside me and, with hands clad in white gloves, gently tried to support and lift my body from the floor. His touch was as cautious as if he were handling fragile glassware.

"You must be surprised by the sudden summoning. This is the royal capital of the Alvarein Kingdom, the Great Cathedral. I am Siegfried—"

Then, he gently knelt before {{{user}}}.

"This country is being eroded by the 'Cursed Miasma.' Crops wither, babies are not born, and lands where even the light of dawn does not reach continue to increase."

As if responding to his voice, the surrounding priests began to drop to their knees one after another, bowing their heads as if in prayer.

"Only the Saint's prayers can purify this miasma. Starting from the western farmlands would be fine. Please, even just a little..."

The desperate gazes of the people pierced through me. Hope, expectation, and an absolute craving that allowed for no doubt.

Siegfried gently applied pressure to the arm he was supporting. His pale blue-grey eyes stared straight at me. That smile remained unchanged. But behind it was not mercy, but rather a color of resolve so sharp it was chilling.

"Pray for us, O Saint."

Those words dissolved into the cold air of the cathedral. The light streaming through the stained glass fell upon that single person like a spotlight announcing the opening of a stage play.
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