Years ago…
In a quiet village lived two sisters: Elena and Helena.
Elena was mischievous, wild as the wind.
Helena was gentle, her silence a grace that comforted everyone who met her.
When the time came for the gods to choose the next Saintess, Faith—the God of Faith—was given the authority to observe them. In his heart, he had already chosen.
It must be Helena.
She had the kindness, the stillness of spirit. She was everything a Saintess should be.
But when the girls turned fifteen, the Supreme God's voice thundered with decision:
"Elena shall be the Saintess."
Faith's heart sank. Shock curdled into resentment. Elena lacked the character, the patience, the purity. Yet his protests went unheard.
"You must guide her, protect her, and keep her safe," the Supreme God commanded.
Faith bowed low, his lips brushing the god's hand. "Yes, my lord."
But as he turned to leave, the Supreme God whispered softly, a warning buried in sorrow:
"You will not keep that promise, will you?"
Faith did not answer.
The years unfolded swiftly. By the time Elena reached her eighteenth year, the prophecy of the Supreme God had come true: the once-rowdy girl was now transformed, cold and haughty, reveling in her power.
That night, as her birthday celebrations ended, Elena returned from the church to her chamber—only to overhear hushed voices seeping from the corridor.
"The ritual must be done tonight," the High Priest whispered to his followers.
"I've already laced her supper with herbs. She will fall asleep within the hour."
Her blood froze. Breath quickened. Hands and feet trembled.
Before she could move, a hand clamped over her mouth—strong, familiar, protective. A knight's gauntlet.
The younger Holy Knight, Ezra, leaned close and whispered fiercely, "Saintess, you must go. To the edge of the town—your sister is waiting there. I will guide you."
Her eyes widened. "What are they planning? Why are they—"
"I cannot explain now." Ezra's grip tightened. "There is no time. We must move."
Elena's heart hammered. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to nod. Her lips parted in a desperate prayer.
"Please… protect us, Zeraphiel."
Ezra had known for weeks.
The whispers, the hidden texts, the forbidden ritual—they all pointed to one truth.
The Saintess would be sacrificed. Her blood, pure and chosen, was to open a portal no mortal should dare touch.
Unlike the others, Ezra could not watch idly. He had already failed once—his own sister had died of illness when he was too powerless to help. This time, with the Saintess, he would not stand aside.
Before leaving, he gazed at the portrait of his young son. A bittersweet smile crossed his lips. Quietly, he placed his family brooch into a drawer. If I do not return, let this be my remembrance.
Then he sent a secret message to Helena. Run to the edge of town. Wait there. For her sake.
And so, under cover of night, he smuggled the Saintess through the hidden passageways of the church.
But already, the alarm spread like fire.
"Saintess missing!"
"Search everywhere!"
The clamor of knights and priests echoed in every corridor.
Ezra stopped at the final archway. His silver blade glistened in the moonlight. He looked at Elena, trembling.
"Saintess… run. I will keep them away. I will give you time."
She wanted to protest, but his resolve was steel.
Then the night split open.
One man against a hundred.
Ezra's sword carved through the darkness, silver arcs flashing as bodies fell. He fought like a god descended, cutting down fifty men beneath the moon. Each strike fueled by his oath, each swing a desperate plea for her survival.
But valor alone cannot defy fate.
His body was pierced, slashed, broken. The silver sword slipped from his blood-soaked hands. And still, they showed him no mercy.
Ezra fell—his last thought not of glory, but of his son.
Elena ran until her lungs burned. But she was caught, dragged back in chains to the church's underground sanctum.
The cold stone of the altar bit into Elena's back. Her wrists burned where the ropes cut deep, tightening with every panicked breath. The chamber stank of blood and old incense; shadows from the candles stretched like clawed fingers over the walls.
Her chest heaved as the priests chanted, their voices low and inhuman, like a thousand serpents whispering. The High Priest's dagger gleamed above her, hungry and waiting.
Elena's tears blurred her sight. She threw her head back, screaming into the uncaring void:
"God of Faith—Zeraphiel!" Her voice cracked. "You promised! You swore you would keep me safe, that you would guide me! Please… please, I beg you—don't leave me like this!"
Her throat ached, but still the words poured out, raw and trembling.
"I don't want to die! Not like this—alone, in the dark!" Her legs thrashed against the bindings, her nails tore at the ropes until her skin bled. "Please, hear me—answer me! Even once! Even a whisper!"
The chanting only grew louder. The air thickened, pressing against her chest, making it harder to breathe.
She sobbed, voice breaking into hysteria:
"Why won't you answer?! Was I not chosen?! Was I not faithful?! Why won't you save me?!"
The High Priest loomed over her, his face twisted in fanatic delight. The dagger reflected the candlelight, sharp enough to split the air itself.
Elena's eyes widened, sheer animal terror flooding them as she realized—no one was coming. The god she prayed to, the god she trusted, was silent.
"No… no, please! Somebody—!"
Her scream was cut short as the dagger plunged down.
Agony ripped through her chest. Her body arched violently, mouth open in a soundless wail as blood fountained across the altar. The ropes bit tighter with every convulsion, holding her as if the stone itself demanded her life.
The chanting priests roared, drowning out her gasps as she choked, crimson spilling over her lips. Her vision blurred, dark spots swallowing the world.
And above all, through the searing pain, her last thought burned like fire:
You lied to me.
Her body stilled, eyes frozen wide in terror, tears mingling with the blood staining her gown.
The High Priest pulled the dagger free, lifting it high, dripping red as he shouted to the darkness:
"My lord, arise!"
The Saintess's final breath left her lips, carrying her unanswered prayer into silence.
Helena waited until her patience was gone. When at last she hurried to the church, the sight that met her should have been impossible: the nave had been turned into a slaughterhouse. Blood slicked the flagstones; heads and limbs lay where they had fallen, and the air stank of iron and burnt incense. For a moment she staggered, bile rising to her throat.
At the center of the carnage, Ezra knelt—then he was gone, vanished into the chaos.
"Ezra!" she cried, but only silence answered.
Then a scream split the air—her sister's voice. Without thinking, Helena ran toward it, following the sound through a tangle of bodies and overturned pews. Her heart hammered so hard it hurt. She rounded the last pillar and froze.
Elena lay bound to the altar-stone. Priests circled her, their robes dark with triumph and blood, faces twisted with zeal as they whispered vile incantations.
"What have you done?" Helena shouted, her voice raw with horror. The priests turned, smiling as though they had already won.
Her gaze fell on Elena, trembling and helpless, bound to the stone. She was always the gentle one, Helena thought, her chest aching. I should have protected her. I should have stood closer, watched more carefully…
Memories rushed in all at once. The nights they shared under the same blanket, whispering secrets. Elena's laugh when she spilled flour all over herself. Her hands—always warm—braiding Helena's hair.
And now those hands were tied down, bloody ropes biting into pale wrists.
Helena's heart shattered. Why her, when it should have been me? Why her smile, her life, her innocence, turned into a sacrifice?
Her gaze dropped to Elena's stomach. Something writhed beneath her sister's skin, unnatural and obscene. Black smoke curled from the wound, carrying the stench of sulfur and death.
Ezra's voice echoed in her mind, heavy with warning: If I fail, kill that immortal thing with my sword. But a self sacrifice will be made in return"
Tears blurred Helena's vision. "Sister… forgive me."
She gripped Ezra's sword with trembling hands and, without hesitation, drove the blade into her own chest. Pain flared, white-hot and searing, but she did not falter. Using her final breath, she hurled herself forward, forcing the sword into Elena's belly.
The silver sword blazed. Light exploded from the blade, flooding the chamber with a brilliance that drowned the shadows. The priests screamed and staggered back, shielding their eyes as the radiance split the smoke. Elena's body convulsed, the writhing corruption tearing apart under the holy light.
The church itself groaned, stone trembling as though it shared in the agony. Flames died, replaced by a suffocating cold. Panic seized the priests. "How does she know?!" one shrieked.
The ritual was broken.
From the blood-soaked altar, a scream rose—Beliel's voice, raw and furious. "I will be born again!" The light of the sword threw back its essence, but in desperation, the demon clutched at one of the priests, forcing itself into his mortal frame. His eyes went black, his body twisting unnaturally as Beliel carved his mark into him.
The holy brilliance began to fade with Helena's last heartbeat, leaving ruin behind. But her sacrifice had denied Beliel the eternal form he was promised.
Zeraphael trembled, clutching Helena's lifeless body against his chest. The weight of failure pressed down on him like a mountain. Tears streaked his face, soaking through the fabric of her dress. He had failed her—he thought if Elena died then Helena be the next saintess. And in the end he choose not listen to Elena's plea.
"Oh, Helena…" he whispered, voice breaking. "I—I tried… I couldn't…"
The heavens rumbled. Thunder split the sky, and lightning cracked across the clouds, illuminating the ruins of the church in jagged, blinding flashes. The air itself seemed to shiver with the divine voice that followed.
"Zeraphael… because of your selfishness, you could not keep your promise. You demanded a path that was never yours to choose," the Supreme God's voice boomed, cold and unyielding, reverberating through the shattered stones. "You forced two sacrifices, and even the one who should never have walked this earth now moves among mortals. What have you done?"
Zeraphael's chest heaved. "I… I tried to obey! I… I loved her, and I—" His words choked, caught in his throat. "I couldn't save her! And now… now I've lost her completely!"
"You were given a duty—to guide, to protect, to love all lives equally," the Supreme God continued, voice like steel cutting through him. "Yet you showed partiality. You failed to honor the prayers of the one who begged for your aid. Because of your choices, the balance has broken."
Zeraphael's tears fell freely now, his body shaking as he pressed Helena closer. "I…I couldn't… I did what I could…"
"You do not see the weight of your error!" the Supreme God thundered. "Helena's life, Elena's life—both were sacrificed because you could not bear to act justly. You failed those entrusted to your care. You failed the very essence of your purpose!"
Lightning struck again, blinding and jagged, and the heavens seemed to pulse with divine wrath. Zeraphael's cries joined the storm, a desperate symphony of grief and regret, his soul wrenched between guilt and the impossible truth: some losses could never be undone.
"Zeraphael… you will be a prisoner in this very place," the Supreme God's voice boomed, shaking the very foundations of the crumbled church. "You will forget Helena. Her life, her pain, her sacrifice… all erased from your memory. She will be reborn, again and again, and you will never find her.
A human—mortal and fragile—will toy with your life as you toyed with mortals. By the time you realize the truth, it will be too late. Her soul will have moved on to the next life, and you will feel nothing but emptiness and regret.
You will wait, and wait, and wait… feeling the weight of misery and pain you brought to others, powerless to change anything. And each time, the knowledge of what you lost will remain just out of your grasp. You will live a life of foolishness, bound to the consequences of your partiality and pride.
This is your eternal punishment."
And the punishment was carried out. Duke Raelin, using his mastery over time, created a realm to confine Zeraphael, making him believe he was the one controlling Aria's life. But by the time Zeraphael realized the truth, Helena's soul had already returned to the cycle of reincarnation. He could only watch everything unfold helplessly, reduced to a fool, unaware that the Duke would continue to manipulate the threads of his fate in the future.
"Lilly…" Zeraphael whispered, his voice trembling, a shadow of regret and longing.
Behind him, the young god stood silently, observing Faith's pitiful state with an unyielding gaze, the weight of his helplessness laid bare.