Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire Novel - Chapter 430

**Chapter 430: Hidden Faith**
**The Conqueror Sea, Main Island of the Summertree Archipelago**

In the darkest hours of the night, the residents of Summertree Island were deep in rest. A hushed stillness blanketed the land, the lights across the island dimmed save for a few critical sites still aglow.

One of these was the sacred plaza at the base of the Great Tree. Though empty of people, the flickering flames of torchlight bathed the space in warm, dancing shadows.

At the center of the plaza stood a colossal wooden statue—an effigy of the Goddess of Plenty, sculpted from the living tree itself. Before it, a lone figure garbed in white stood motionless, adopting a posture of humble reverence.

Vania, wrapped in her ivory nun’s robes, stood with her eyes gently shut. Poised and graceful, she began to shift with a deliberate calmness. Her breathing remained steady as she turned, arms sweeping outward. In the quiet of the night, she danced in solemn devotion before the likeness of Abundance.

The firelight flickered around her as she moved. Each movement flowed with serenity, every step placed with purpose. Her dance was not merely art—it was worship. Every motion paid tribute to the ancient tree-carved form. She poured herself into it completely, making each gesture a sacred offering.

Her movements continued, seamless with the very layout of the plaza, as though the place had awaited this very dance for centuries. With a change of costume, her steps would pass for an official ritual of the faith.

At the edge of the space, Anman—Summertree’s Abundance Priest—stood frozen in amazement. Decades spent serving in this ceremonial hall had never revealed such a sight. And yet something inside him insisted—this dance *belonged*. It was meant to be performed here, before the Goddess. A part of Her worship that had long gone unseen.

As Vania’s performance neared its final steps, a gentle shift stirred the ancient site. The plinths in the plaza’s corners, each etched with figures mid-dance, began to glimmer faintly—like stars blinking into existence. One of them, the Dancer’s pedestal, showed unmistakable change. Tiny buds near its base began to twitch open, mirroring the stirrings once only seen near the Waterborn Sailor’s plinth.

“The Dancer’s… it’s awakening… This is beyond belief…”

Anman’s words slipped out in disbelief as he watched from the sidelines, eyes wide. Never in his years as high priest had he witnessed anything stir except the Water Sailor’s. The other three stood as symbolic relics, cleared of debris but otherwise ignored. For a millennium, only one plinth had responded to Summertree’s rites.

“That woman… she’s truly a child of the Goddess. Raised in another branch of Her legacy… and yet still whole. She carries the sacred movements passed down by Her faithful…”

His thoughts tumbled into spoken whisper, mingled with sadness. Had the keepers of Her dance masked their devotion under the Saint Mother’s name simply to endure under the shadow of the Glorious Church?

As Vania’s movements slowed and came to rest, Anman’s doubts withered. Such perfection couldn’t be feigned. It required years—no, a lifetime—of reverent practice. The living echo between her and the effigy left no room for disbelief.

Realizing the truth of her devotion, Anman’s earlier tension melted. Her past words returned to him now with newfound credibility. As she stood catching her breath, he approached with formality, robes rustling softly.

“I must beg your pardon for doubting you earlier. You are… without question, a servant of the Goddess.”

He offered a respectful bow. Vania turned toward him, still catching her breath.

“Please, Priest Anman, your caution was only natural. As guardian of Summertree, your duty is to your people above all.”

She gently assisted him to rise. Their eyes met, and Anman spoke with quiet conviction.

“I never dreamed that faith in Her could be preserved this way. To revere the Glorious Saint as though She were our own Goddess… simply to survive… it fills me with grief.”

His tone carried the weight of sorrow. Vania listened carefully before responding with clarity and purpose.

“Though painful, it has allowed Her faith to endure. Saved it from vanishing entirely. Kept Her followers alive in an age where open worship would invite destruction. Under Glorious Light’s dominance, it’s the only viable path. And more than that, Priest Anman, I believe this road could protect Summertree too. Instead of head-on resistance that would leave our land in ruins… this route preserves both life and legacy.”

Anman nodded slowly, though a trace of unease lingered.

“Your reasoning is sound. But… such a choice still feels disloyal to Her spirit.”

Vania replied without hesitation.

“The Goddess values life. And even if Her true will is veiled from us now, surely She would not wish Summertree destroyed. She created abundance—not martyrdom. Her mercy is broad enough to cherish living souls over burnt offerings.”

Her words were soft but filled with faith, and Anman found something in them rekindled.

“Yes… Yes, you’re right. Her way is one of growth, of life continuing and flourishing. If Summertree were reduced to ash beneath Glorious Fire, Her mourning would be boundless. To challenge the Church head-on… to sacrifice innocents for a proud defiance… no, your path truly offers a way forward.”

Hope surged within Vania. He believed her. She had not only won him over—but maybe all of Summertree could yet be spared. This fragile possibility, once distant, now lay within reach.

“Lady Vania, I want Summertree to walk this path. To adopt the Saint Mother as our own Goddess in name. But can we truly do so without notice? Will Glorious Light not see through our ruse?

“You must understand—many of our rituals are public. Vital. Performed before entire gatherings. Can they truly be hidden?”

His concern was well-founded. It wasn’t a matter of simply renaming the Goddess. Nor was this an exercise in self-deception. Hollow gestures wouldn’t survive scrutiny. And with open ceremonies, continuing as they were, the Church’s eye would surely fall on them.

The challenge ahead lay in blending the old with the new—hiding truth in plain sight.

“Have no fear. We’ve walked this road before. But to shape the plan, I’ll need access to everything. A full account of all your rites. The inherited texts, every detail of your traditions. I will deliver them to our priestess, who will design a working strategy.”

Vania looked him straight in the eye, calm and firm. Her tone implied that elsewhere, an underground order of believers had already trod this path—one of which she was part. And after the dance Anman had just seen, he couldn’t doubt her.

Seeing her assurance, Anman exhaled, tension leaving him.

“Then so be it. The sacred knowledge of Summertree lies mostly in the hands of our priesthood. Many of these records are priceless. How much do you need?”

“As much as you can spare. We all follow Her, yes—but centuries apart have left our rituals diverging. Only with a full grasp of your customs can our priestess tailor an approach that fits. Please—hold nothing back.”

Vania’s frank request brought a shadow to Anman’s face.

“You’d have us surrender even the texts with what we call… ‘cognitive poison’? So many require precautions before reading them…”

“That’s no obstacle. Our priestess is deeply embedded in the Church’s Department of Holy History. She’s well protected—mentally and spiritually. You need not worry.

“Allow me access to the materials, and I’ll relay them through special means. Once she has them, her reply will come swiftly.”

Vania’s unshakable tone stilled the last of Anman’s doubts. He nodded firmly.

“Then we’ll proceed. All records tied to Abundant Faith will be placed at your disposal.

“Time is against us. I’ve chosen the path—conversion through outward reverence of the Saint Mother. Now, the Council must be summoned without delay. If unity prevails, we’ll notify the Church by dawn: our conversion… and the release of our prisoners.

“After that, I’ll reveal our sacred archive to you. What happens next… is in your hands.”

As the highest priest, Anman anticipated no resistance from his peers.

“Thank you for your trust, Priest Anman. We’ll do all we can to shield Summertree.”

Her voice rang with resolve. The priest exhaled deeply, then turned to depart. Vania followed closely. The night’s task was far from over.

……

“Whew… First step’s done. These Summertree folks…”

In a darkened hotel room in Tivian, Dorothy let out a long breath and leaned back on the sofa in her pajamas. Thanks to Adel’s intervention, Vania had gained the priest’s trust—and with it, a foothold.

“Talk about lucky—Adel’s memory still carries everything from her cult-leader days. Every gesture, every sacred movement. Without those… there’s no way the priest would’ve believed a word.”

Dorothy muttered as she lounged. Delphine’s writings described the ruins of Fecund worship sites—eerily close in layout to Summertree’s. The difference? In Delphine’s records, all but the Dance pedestal lay in ruin. Summertree’s still had three preserved, if unused. When she saw their Dance plinth, her gamble formed: paint Vania as a true inheritor of Fecund legacy, break Anman’s skepticism with proof in motion.

Just hours ago, Dorothy had requested Adel’s memories of sacred rites. Through a ritual offering to Akasha, she’d retrieved them. That foundational knowledge molded Vania into a believable emissary—someone Anman couldn’t help but accept as kin.

‘Another favor owed to Adel… The tally grows. Sooner or later, I’ll pay the price. Maybe this trove from Anman will offer something worth the debt.’

She gave a thoughtful tap to *The Sea of Texts Navigation Saga* beside her. Helping Summertree wasn’t some generous act. Dorothy wanted their spiritual treasure. Deprived of “Cup,” the abundance of Summertree’s records promised a feast. But this wasn’t mere plunder. She meant to fulfill her word to Anman—to craft a guidebook for hidden faith.

Why? Because she had the perfect model: the heretical manuscripts of the Wolf Blood Society from the Placenta Sect.

That’s right. Back when they infiltrated Tivian’s religious order, the Wolf Blood Society had forged texts—*Tomes of Syncretism*—that blurred the line between “Cup Mother” and Saint Mother. Using them, they warped Corcoran—Vania’s former mentor. On the surface he praised the Saint Mother, but inside, he worshiped the Cup. Later he tried to spread this corruption across his department—only stopped by Vania and Akasha’s protection.

Vania had read those manuscripts. Dorothy had tasked her to share their contents via Akasha. Inside them lay valuable teachings—how to merge faiths, blur idols, conceal true worship.

One manuscript wasn’t enough to secure Summertree’s future, especially since one of them had retained its mind-altering corruption. She needed to trade it—swap it for guidance on spiritual camouflage from other realms.

With that plan in mind, Dorothy assembled all related documents from Crown University’s archives and triggered her system. Two results lit up before her:

One: *Voodoo Path*.
Two: *Amakusa Cross True Faith Hidden Volume*.