In a world where the gods demand pain as tribute, Yuda has served as the Great Shrine Maiden of Asterion for over a century—a Regeneration-blessed tool of the state, burning and healing without end, never permitted to die. She has long since stopped believing in the voice she speaks for.
But when a northern village is reduced to ash by a rogue flame-blessed, Yuda is dispatched to investigate. What she finds is a young man consumed by fire that will not kill him, cradling the charred body of a g
Fire Punch: Flame of Atonement - God is not here — The Rebellion of the Oracle City
Snow fell, quietly wrapping the morning of the royal capital Vermina.
From the topmost tier of the Great Temple Asterion, the seven-layered city sprawled below, filled with people breathing white into the cold air. From the temple plaza on the first tier down the spiral stairs to the market on the third, today was the monthly Oracle Market. Steam rose from the stalls, and commoners clutched their copper coins, waiting for the words of the shrine maiden.
Yuda stood beside the altar.
Her white vestments had been carefully arranged by the priests before dawn. The collar was stiff, the sash at her waist pulled tight. Beneath the fabric, the wing-shaped brand on her back held a faint heat. It hadn't faded since last night. The heat of the steam turbine she'd seen beneath Karkeln still seemed to linger inside her body.
(I will now read aloud the voice of God.)
Yuda looked at her own hands. Her fingertips no longer trembled. The trembling had all drained out of her last night, after Serafina left the room, when she'd sat on the floor hugging her knees. Now there was only stillness. Like a stone sunk to the bottom of a well, still.
"Great Shrine Maiden, the hour approaches."
A young priest bowed behind her. Yuda did not turn.
"I know."
Beyond the altar, nearly two hundred priests stood in formation. All in white robes, hands folded before their chests, watching Yuda. Their gazes were the eyes one turns upon a vessel of God. For a hundred and thirty years, Yuda had endured those gazes. And to answer them, she had kept performing the voice of God.
(Performing.)
(Yes. I have only ever been performing.)
Yuda looked at the scroll placed upon the altar.
Parchment edged in gold thread. Every Oracle Market, the Bureau prepared the script for the oracle. Today's text was nearly identical to the one she had crushed in her fist in her chambers last night.
"God rejoices in the sacrifice that serves as fuel for the people."
"The disposal of unregistered flame-blessed is the will of God."
(I will open this scroll.)
(Open it, and read it aloud.)
(That was my role.)
The murmur of the plaza carried on the wind to the altar. The voices of the people were full of anticipation. Oracle Market day was the most vibrant day in this country. The shrine maiden's words moved market prices and decided the fates of merchants. The people waited for hours in the snow to hear the voice of God.
(They believe.)
(That the words from my mouth are the words of God.)
Yuda drew a slow breath.
Cold air filled the depths of her lungs. There was no smell of iron and oil. This was the surface. The smell of snow, the smell of candles, the smell of the people's white breath.
(For a hundred and thirty years, I have performed God within this scent.)
(But no more.)
Yuda took a step toward the altar.
The priests straightened as one. The murmur of the plaza quieted like a receding wave. Thousands of gazes gathered on Yuda's white vestments.
Yuda stood before the altar.
Before her lay the scroll.
(I will open this.)
(Open it, and read it aloud.)
(That is my—)
Yuda reached for the scroll.
Her fingertips touched the cold surface of the parchment.
—In that instant, the brand on her back pulsed hard.
Hot.
Burning hot.
(No.)
(I will not open this.)
Yuda gripped the scroll.
Her white fingers dug into the gold-threaded edge. The parchment crinkled.
"...God,"
Yuda's lips moved.
Her voice was small. But in the hushed plaza, it carried clearly.
"God has said nothing at all."
The priests stirred.
The old priest in the front row raised his face in shock. The young priest beside him opened his mouth to speak and froze. The people in the plaza exchanged glances, faces bewildered.
Yuda dropped the scroll onto the altar.
A dry sound echoed through the silence.
(For a hundred and thirty years, I have kept opening this scroll.)
(Kept reading aloud the voice of God.)
(But it's over now.)
"I will not read the oracle today."
Yuda's voice was clearer than even she expected. The mask of the shrine maiden, worn for a hundred and thirty years, peeled quietly away.
"Great Shrine Maiden, what are you saying?! The oracle of Oracle Market is the law of the nation!"
The old priest shouted, his face crimson.
Yuda looked at him.
(This man does not believe in God either.)
(He knows the oracle is politics.)
(And still, before the people, he performs the words of God.)
"God is silent,"
Yuda said.
"For a hundred and thirty years, the words I have read aloud were not the voice of God. I was merely reading the Bureau's scripts as though they were. This nation's oracle has been politics from the very beginning."
The plaza went still as if doused with water.
Snow continued to fall without a sound.
—And then it happened.
The air at the center of the altar, exactly where the scroll had fallen, wavered.
(What—)
Yuda strained her eyes.
The air shimmered like a heat haze. The white of the snow, the gray of the altar stone, warped and twisted—
And there stood a girl.
No. Not a girl.
The left half was a girl. White hair. Blue eyes. So very much like Yuda as a child. That face from back then, when she knew nothing, innocent.
But the right half was—
A tree.
From the right half of her face, from her neck, from her shoulder, countless branches grew. Thin branches, thick branches, branches lush with green leaves. They writhed slowly, like living things. Her right eye was covered in wood fiber, unlit.
"Big sister."
The voice resonated.
Not in Yuda's ears, but deeper—inside her skull, from behind her heart, as though sounding directly.
"We finally meet."
The priests screamed.
The crowd erupted.
"W-what is that?!"
"A monster!"
"There's a tree—a person—growing on the altar!"
Panic swept through the plaza.
But Yuda could not move.
(This voice.)
(This face.)
(I know this being.)
(I know it, and yet I do not remember.)
"Oh, don't be so frightened. I came to see you. I've been watching you for so very, very long."
The being called Surya took a step toward Yuda.
Branches crawled along the floor. Fine roots dug into the gaps between the stone tiles.
"Your body is special, big sister. The blessing of regeneration spins life infinitely, with pain as its price. That body will make the finest fuel to warm the world."
The brand on Yuda's back pulsed violently.
Hot.
Burning hot.
(Fuel.)
(My body is fuel.)
(That sight I saw in Karkeln.)
(I will become that too.)
"Your blessing of regeneration is a perfect fit for the Old Generation's plan. You'll be the core—the heart of the tree that warms the world. Your pain will warm this frozen star."
Surya's voice was kind.
Soft and sweet, like a lullaby.
And that was precisely why it was terrifying.
"Come now, big sister. Come with me. Your body will become the fuel that warms the world."
Surya reached out her hand to Yuda.
The human hand, on the left side. White, slender, the hand of Yuda as a child.
Yuda looked at that hand.
(If I take this hand—)
(I won't have to suffer anymore.)
(The pain, the guilt, all of it will vanish.)
(I'll become fuel for the world, and burn away.)
(And that will be the end.)
—No.
Yuda bit her lip.
The taste of iron spread through her mouth.
"I—"
Her voice trembled.
"I do not exist to be anyone's fuel."
Yuda said it.
The words she had swallowed for a hundred and thirty years, deep in her heart—for the first time, in her own voice, she spoke them aloud.
"I am myself. Not a vessel of God, not firewood, not fuel. I am Yuda."
Surya's hand stopped.
The blue eye on the left stared fixedly at Yuda.
"Big sister."
Surya tilted her head.
"You still don't understand. Your body is already, long since, inside the Old Generation's plan. Whatever you say, however you refuse, your body will become the tree that warms the world."
Surya took another step closer.
Branches stretched toward Yuda's feet.
—And then it happened.
"Hey."
A voice rang out.
Yuda turned.
Beyond the altar, past the rows of priests, the iron grate of the exhaust shaft was glowing red-hot.
The next instant—
BOOM!!
The grate blew apart from within.
Flames erupted.
Red, red flame. In an instant, it turned the snow-covered altar into scorching heat.
And from within those flames, a boy came leaping out.
His whole body was burning.
His dark brown hair was singed and curling at the tips, his skin blistering and regenerating over and over, red-black. On his left arm, a burn scar carved with his sister's name. His amber eyes, wet with pain, glared straight at Surya.
Aguni.
"You... what're you doing to her?"
Aguni stood between Yuda and Surya, still wreathed in flame.
The scorching air seared Yuda's cheek.
"This one—I owe her. Down in the Karkeln dungeon, she undid my restraints and let me escape. And you wanna turn her into firewood...? Like hell."
Aguni's flames caught on Surya's branches.
Crackle, crackle—the sound of wood burning.
Surya watched her own blazing branches with interest.
"Oh my. You're flame-blessed, aren't you? And an inextinguishable flame at that. Similar to Doma's blessing. But a little different."
Surya slowly swayed her burning branches.
The flames licked at the wood, turning leaves to ash. But Surya's face showed no sign of pain.
"How interesting. Your flame can burn my trees. But my trees spread infinitely, just as your flame never goes out. I wonder which of us burns out first."
"Wanna find out?"
Aguni took a step forward.
The flames grew.
"If you're gonna make her firewood, I'll burn you to nothing. That's all."
Surya looked at Aguni.
The blue eye on the left caught the firelight and glinted.
"You protect your big sister. Do you love her too?"
Aguni's flames flickered for an instant.
"...N-no! It's not like that!"
"I see. But your flame is trying to protect her. It's warm. So very warm."
Surya smiled.
The left half of her face became the smile of Yuda as a child.
"But what a shame. Your flame cannot burn me to nothing. I am far, far older than your fire."
Surya's body began to turn transparent.
The branches dissolved into the air like smoke.
"Big sister. Let's meet again. When you've learned more about your own body. You are still fuel. My precious, precious fuel."
Surya waved to Yuda.
"We'll meet again, big sister."
And she vanished.
Nothing remained where Surya had stood upon the altar.
The ash of burned branches mixed with the snow and danced in the wind.
—Silence.
Neither the priests nor the crowd could utter a word.
Aguni's flames crackled.
Yuda was watching Aguni's back.
(This boy protected me.)
(He said he wouldn't let me become firewood.)
(For my sake, he stood against that aberration.)
Deep in Yuda's chest, something moved quietly.
It was not pain, nor heat.
Something softer.
(What is this?)
Yuda pressed a hand to her chest.
Her heart was beating—slowly, but surely.
A warm pulse she had never felt in a hundred and thirty years.
"...You."
Yuda called out to Aguni's back.
Aguni turned.
His blistered face. His wet amber eyes.
"...What."
"Why did you protect me?"
Aguni looked slightly troubled.
"...Dunno. But when I heard that monster say she'd turn you into fuel, I got pissed. That's all."
"You got... angry."
"...Yeah. You got me out of that dungeon. You saw me as a person. Someone like that becoming firewood—that's just wrong. That's all I thought."
Yuda stared at Aguni's face.
(This boy always lands just outside my expectations.)
(He doesn't see me as a god, or a shrine maiden, or firewood.)
(He just sees me as a person.)
"I see."
Yuda said.
Then she turned toward the altar.
The priests still stood frozen. The crowd, in the snow-filled plaza, wore faces that couldn't comprehend what had happened.
Yuda pressed a hand to the wing-shaped brand on her back.
Even through the fabric, the heat of the brand was unmistakable.
(This brand is not proof of God's blessing.)
(It is a brand mark—for firewood.)
(Bu
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