The sounds of galloping hooves smashing against the solid dirt echo in the air. Two soldiers, who had witnessed the massacre of their comrades with their own eyes, head toward a camp situated not far from the village. Upon their arrival, the gentle hum of conversation begins to overtake the rhythmic pounding of hooves as they finally reach their destination. In front of them stand a woman and her daughter. The one riding greets them with a smile.
«Rider» We're back.
The soldier standing behind the rider jumps off, feeling more energetic than ever. Many hours had passed since he last saw them — not enough, but enough to make it feel like years. He greets them with heartfelt enthusiasm.
The moment his feet touch the ground, the daughter sprints toward him with great joy, never losing the wide, happy smile on her face.
«Soldier» Theresia!
He quickly opens his arms, waiting for her embrace. As she reaches him, she leaps into his arms. He hugs her tightly before lifting her high into the air, her laughter ringing out like music.
«Soldier» You've got so much energy for someone so small!
Theresia giggled.
«Mother» She's been crying ever since you left this morning.
«Soldier» Really?
He shifts his gaze to look at his daughter who was lost in giggles and laughter. He warmly smiles, happy that she too was worried for his sake.
«Soldier» You missed your papa, is that why?
The mother approaches quietly. Unlike her husband and daughter, she doesn't show the same overflowing joy, though she's clearly relieved he's safe.
«Mother» I missed you too, dear. I'm glad that you are ok.
«Rider» So has he.
«Soldier» Wha—?
The mother lets out a soft giggle while the soldier, feeling slightly embarrassed, slowly sets his daughter down.
«Soldier» Well, it's true, but...
He turns to the other soldier with a mock-annoyed expression.
«Soldier» You didn't have to tell them everything we said in private.
«Rider» Just like how you went on and on about wanting to stay with them?
Pier, the rider, clearly enjoys teasing him. It's obvious they're not just comrades — they're close friends, with a brother-like love-hate relationship.
«Soldier» Lister, you—
Ana, his wife, picks up their daughter, who continues to laugh, not at the conversation, but simply from the joy of seeing her mother smile.
«Ana» I know my husband well, Pier. I expected something like this. No need to tell me everything.
«Pier» Yeah, I know, Ana.
«Ana» I'm glad that you and my husband are back, but—
Ana couldn't let her husband be embarrassed in front of her, so she playfully jumped to his defense.
«Ana» —When are you going to have a family of your own to come back to?
Pier's proud smile fades slightly, replaced by a soft grin. He'd never longed for a family of his own, but he couldn't ignore all the love his friend had in his life. He answers playfully.
«Pier» Your words cut deep, Ana.
«Theresia» Uncle! Uncle!
The girl reaches her arms toward Pier, who's still mounted on his horse. Though not bound by blood, she saw him as an uncle — he'd been around for as long as she could remember.
«Pier» Hey there, little devil!
Pier slowly climbs off his horse, still holding the reins. With one finger, he gently pokes one of her soft cheeks.
«Pier» You still want to be a soldier like your father?
She nods with pride.
«Theresia» I'm going to be strong like Daddy!
Pier pats her head, content with her answer. She stands still, clearly enjoying the attention.
«Pier» Good, good.
Yuma, the father, arrives and puts an arm over Pier's shoulder, then quickly pokes Pier's cheek with his other hand.
«Yuma» Before you can do that, you've got to be stronger than him — or you'll never catch up to your old man.
He's referring to a past event where they competed and Yuma came out on top.
«Pier» You're still holding onto that story, Yuma?
«Yuma» Mhm.
Pier isn't angry, but he's mildly annoyed that Yuma keeps bringing it up. Still, he doesn't want to lose this battle of playful jabs.
«Pier» You only won because you got lucky.
«Yuma» A win is a win.
Pier sighs. He had lost to Yuma that day, but he still refuses to fully accept defeat. The two of them burst into laughter at the memory, while Ana shakes her head with a smile. She doesn't fully understand the story, but she enjoys the moment nonetheless.
«Ana» You're both unbelievable. But I have to say—
Both of the brothers stop their laughter to let Ana speak, immediately turning their attention toward her pretty smile.
«Ana» Despite what you say to one another, you both look more like brothers than friends. And I love you both for that.
She quietly approaches the two with their daughter still in her arms but stops in front of her husband, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.
«Ana» I love him more, though.
Yuma says nothing and just looks at Pier with mocking eyes. Pier, on the other hand, looks at Ana with a playful challenge in his eyes, tilting his head toward her as he says:
«Pier» Are you afraid I might steal your man?
«Ana» I'm the one with the ring here.
Pier leans back. Today, he had lost two battles—one to his close friend and another to that friend's wife. Yuma smiles, even chuckling a bit, before happily saying to his friend:
«Yuma» This isn't your lucky day, friend. Normally, you win these types of battles.
Pier laughs it off, accepting defeat, but both Yuma and Ana notice he isn't backing up his usual teasing. Pier raises his hands toward Theresia, waiting for a high-five.
«Pier» I was just going easy today. I didn't want little Theresia to see me as a bad uncle.
Theresia responds with a smile and a high-five, making Pier grin at how cute she is—from her smile to the way she resembles both her mother and father. He feels content with how his friend lives his life. However, both Pier and Yuma have important business to take care of.
Pier slowly patted Yuma's back, signaling that it was time for the both of them to move forward with what they were here for. Yuma looked at Pier and immediately understood.
«Yuma» Alright...
Yuma turned toward his daughter. To him, her smile shone brighter than the sun hanging directly above. He quickly kissed his daughter on the forehead.
«Yuma» Papa has to leave for a bit, okay? I'll be back later.
Theresia's expression saddened, but before she could start crying, Yuma gently grabbed her soft hand, reassuring her again that he would return. Then he turned his attention to his wife—another source of light for him. A light that reminded him of the moon: quiet, yet beautiful.
«Ana» Take care of yourself.
«Yuma» I will.
He leaned in and gave her a soft kiss on the lips before turning around to follow Pier toward their destination. As Yuma started walking, Pier turned back and waved at Theresia and Ana, who waved back happily. The two men continued walking, passing by multiple tents. But the moment they turned the corner, out of Ana and Theresia's view, Yuma's face suddenly turned red. It wasn't embarrassment—but something he couldn't quite understand. Pier noticed immediately, but didn't know what was happening.
«Pier» Are you okay?
Yuma quickly put a hand over his mouth. His heart began to race. In his mind, all he could think about was his wife and daughter, and how grateful he was to have such a beautiful family. As he got lost in thought, his eyes began to water, and tears ran down his cheeks.
«Pier» Yuma...?
«Yuma» I'm sorry... it's just that—
More tears fell. His mind drifted to the way Theresia's fingers curled around his, or how Ana's scent still lingered on his clothes. He was thankful for every second they had spent together. The sight of the dead soldiers in the village had made him realize that one day, he might never see his family again. His voice began to shake with every word.
«Yuma» —I was thinking about the soldiers we found in the village, and I... I was reminded that someday, I might not be there to see my family, or protect them. I... I'm afraid. I don't want to lose them. I don't want to not be able to touch them. I don't want to not be able to smell their perfume. I don't want to.
«Pier» ...
Pier quickly pulled a tissue from his pocket. He understood the situation. The life of a soldier wasn't simple, like that of a trader or a king. No—a soldier's life is considered a cog in a machine, a tool to be used and discarded for a purpose. Pier looked at Yuma with gentle eyes.
«Pier» Do you remember why we became soldiers? Back then, we barely knew each other. Honestly, I used to think you were an emotional crybaby. But when I got to know you, I realized something: you're not as weak as you look. You're strong. Your desire to protect the ones you love brought you here. It's okay to be afraid of death—it...it scares me too. But I don't think death is the end of someone's life. I believe that even in death, you'll still protect your family. Maybe it's selfish to say, but knowing you... I doubt you'll ever forget their faces.
Yuma slowly grabbed the tissue Pier was holding out to him. Despite his fears, Pier's words sparked something inside him. Pier was right—Yuma had chosen this life. And even so, he had managed to keep on living and build a family. What was keeping him alive wasn't his skills but his desire to fight for the sake of protecting someone. As the tissue touched his eyes, Yuma replied, his voice still shaken.
«Yuma» You're right. As much as my heart wants to deny it, I became a soldier for one reason—to protect Ana. And just like you said—
He slowly began to calm down, taking deep breaths in and out. His voice became firmer as he finally relaxed.
«Yuma» —I can always protect them in the next life.
«Pier» That's right.
Yuma slowly curled the tissue and tucked it into his pocket. With two fingers, he quickly rubbed his eyes one last time before turning toward Pier with his arm out, feeling reborn.
Pier grabbed his arm and held it tightly. In that moment, Yuma pulled Pier into a one-handed hug. Pier didn't resist; instead, he gently patted Yuma's back.
«Yuma» Then I promise—as long as I live, I will continue to fight for them. My sword is not a tool of right or wrong. It is meant only to protect the things I care about.
«Pier» Now you're back.
«Yuma» Like always.
«Pier» Do you still have the strength to report the massacre?
«Yuma» Who do you take me for? Let's go already.
They both pulled away, tightening their grip one last time before bumping their arms together. Inside a tent, a man with a white beard and brown hair was writing a report until a soldier stepped in.
«Soldier» They're back, sir.
«Old Man» Perfect timing. Let them in.
The soldier exited the tent and brought in both Pier and Yuma. Their posture was firm and composed.
«Pier» We've returned.
The old man immediately noticed the absence of their target and looked at them with a puzzled expression.
«Old Man» Where is the boy?
«Pier» Nobody was there, sir. All we found was a pile of corpses from Squadron 2. We searched the area, but not a single man survived.
The old man stroked his beard, visibly agitated. He hadn't expected things to turn out this way, and with the kid missing, the mission was still incomplete. But what he said next shocked both Yuma and Pier.
«Old Man» For the record, two members of Squadron 2 survived. They managed to capture the mother and safely leave the battlefield. However, she's no longer in our custody. Our superiors wanted her for themselves.
«Yuma» If I may ask, sir... what exactly do they plan to do with her?
The old man glanced at the report in front of him, reading a few lines before replying.
«Old Man» You may ask, soldier. We don't know yet. But if the kid is still out there, they'll likely use her to lure him out.
Pier, unconvinced, addressed the old man—who was in fact the Chief of their squadron—once more.
«Pier» Chief. I have a question.
«Chief» Speak.
«Pier» Where is the father in all of this?
A heavy silence filled the tent. No one dared speak. But Yuma noticed the absence of the father in all previous discussions. The Chief had deliberately avoided the subject. Pier spoke again, this time with frustration.
«Pier» Chief!—
«Chief» The father died. Killed by one of ours.
Yuma's eyes widened in shock. He glanced at Pier, who remained completely unbothered, a small smirk forming on his lips.
«Pier» That explains it.
The Chief raised an eyebrow, setting down the paper in confusion.
«Chief» Explains what?
«Pier (thinking)» The kid. He unlocked the Prometeo because of the loss of his father.
Pier hadn't asked out of concern, but to confirm a theory. With the father's death confirmed, he realized the boy's awakening was emotionally driven.
«Pier» The moment I saw those corpses, I questioned whether it was the work of a Prometeo. Now it's clear. The kid is an Exorcist.
«Yuma» Prometeo... I thought only trained warriors could withstand its strain. How could a child survive the awakening?
«Chief» Most don't. The Prometeo feeds on grief, rage, trauma—the kind of emotions a child should never have to endure. But if they do… it changes them. Permanently.
«Yuma» ...
Yuma wanted to speak, but couldn't find the words. Looking at Pier confused him. It wasn't the first time he'd seen Pier indifferent to death—but this time, it was a child. The Chief listened silently. Yuma began to question everything: Was this really right? That boy had a family, and little by little, they were destroying everything he loved.
As the Chief and Pier continued their conversation, Yuma began to hear a ringing in his ears, drowning out their voices. Until—
«Pier» Yuma!
The ringing stopped. Yuma turned to him.
«Yuma» Yes?
«Pier» We have to prepare. We're going to lead the entire squadron to him.
«Chief» There's no need.
«Pier» What?
«Chief» The superiors gave us direct orders not to interfere with the kid anymore. Our only job is to gather as much information as possible and report back.
Pier couldn't believe it. A dangerous, emotionally unstable child with Prometeo abilities was roaming free.
«Pier» So we're just going to step back and watch?
«Chief» These aren't my orders, soldier. I'm just as shocked as you.
Pier's eyes twitched. He stepped forward, his boots hitting the ground with a dull thud. His hand slammed onto the desk—not to push it, but to steady himself, like he was holding back a storm.
«Pier» No. You want us to wait while a child with powers like that walks free? We've seen what a rogue Prometeo can do.
The Chief slammed his hand on the desk and stood to assert his authority. Pier backed off, fists clenched in frustration.
«Chief» Pier! These are not my orders. Disobey them, and you'll be marked as a public enemy too.
Pier stormed out of the tent, his footsteps heavy. Yuma quickly bowed in apology for Pier's behavior and followed him out, but the Chief halted him in his place.
«Chief» One second.
Yuma froze. Slowly, he reached back and laid the curtain into place, fingers trembling slightly. At the sound of his chief's voice, he turned, eyes sharp with curiosity and concern.
«Chief» There is something else I'd like to report to you. About that falling star we all saw last night.
«Yuma» The falling star? What about it?
Yuma had completely forgotten about that particular event, even though he was there, watching it with his family.
«Chief» Do you remember when it appeared? And how it brushed over the night sky in a purple light? That star collided with Earth, and the village nearby was completely destroyed. The few survivors mentioned a pair of horns inside the massive hole it created.
A cold sweat crept down Yuma's back. The idea that a falling star had wiped out an entire village was unthinkable—yet it was the mention of two horns that truly froze his breath. There was only one creature that fit that description.
«Chief» A demon has managed to bypass the angels and reach Earth.
«Yuma» No...
A demon—a creature not seen in many centuries—had managed to get around the line of defense put up by the angels and safely arrive on the planet. With his body missing, he is free to roam to his heart's content.
«Chief» His path has been monitored ever since we discovered his arrival. And by the purple trail he left behind, it appears he is headed to Serras. We notified the guard about him, but I doubt they can do anything about it. That's all for now.
«Yuma» T-Thanks, Chief.
The Chief signaled with his hand that Yuma was free to go, and Yuma quietly left—his mind filled with the many problems that had appeared in just a single day. Now alone, the Chief lifted the parchment from his superiors—its edges still damp with the night's humidity. Then he turned to a second sheet, still blank. His pen hovered for a long moment, unsure where to begin.
«Chief» A new Exorcist... born not through ritual or training, but pure grief?
He paused,The Chief's pen hovered over the paper like it was a weapon.
«Chief» We didn't just fail a mission. We created something… unpredictable.
The chief's gaze turned towards the open tent, that golden brush of light covering the inside. The fabric of the tent slowly turned into silk, the silk not from any tent but from a curtain, from a window right inside an inn. In a place where the soldiers creation resided.
Pathos opened his eyes from the darkness his mind had made. The place didn't seem familiar, yet it was quietly comfortable. He found himself inside a room with wooden walls and an open window. The curtains swayed gently, brushing against the wooden window frame with a rhythm almost like breathing. The air inside the room smelled faintly of burnt wood and melting wax, a strangely comforting scent that reminded Pathos of something long forgotten. Outside, daylight had already disappeared, but the soft light of the candle beside him offered warmth. Next to him, someone appeared to be waiting. He sat in a chair, his right leg stomping against the wooden floor in anxiety. That person was Ruem.
«Ruem» Kid!
Pathos couldn't quite make out where he was or who it was, but the sudden call-out from the man beside him made him immediately understand.
«Pathos» Mmm?
He slowly sat upright, rubbing his eyes with his hands before looking in Ruem's direction. Ruem's face was tense, his eyebrows raised. The stomping stopped. A moment later, Ruem let out a soft sigh, releasing the tension he'd been holding.
«Ruem» Oh... thank God you're alright. You had me worried there for a sec.
Pathos slowly looked around, still unsure of where he was. The room didn't feel like a house—it looked more like an inn. Of course, he didn't know this, since he'd never been in one.
«Pathos» Where are we?
Ruem followed Pathos's gaze for a moment before turning back to him.
«Ruem» We're in an inn. It was the closest place I could find to keep you cozy and warm. I tried looking for a doctor too, but I ran out of luck.
«Pathos» My head hurts...
Pathos raised his hand to his forehead, wincing slightly.
«Ruem» I bet. Aside from that, do you feel anything else? Do you need to puke again?
Pathos tilted his head at Ruem, confused by what he meant. He couldn't remember what had happened, but that word—puke—echoed in his mind.
«Pathos» Puke?... Ah, right. I'd almost forgotten about that.
He remembered now—he had thrown up. But the reason why remained a mystery. He tried to recall the moments before it happened, but his memory was blank. Then, something stirred. While he was staring at Ruem, still piecing things together, Ruem's face suddenly changed—distorted by Pathos's memory. He saw the burned face of Ruem, an image too vivid to forget. Pathos recoiled in fear, his breathing quickening, his hand raised in defense. Ruem reacted immediately.
«Ruem» Kid!? It's okay. You're safe now. I'm not going to hurt you.
Ruem backed away, raising his hands to show he meant no harm. But to Pathos, it felt like Ruem was reaching for him—just like when he'd seen Ruem's burning corpse. His pulse thundered in his ears, louder than the crackling energy at his fingertips. All he could see was fire. All he could hear was screaming. With that same raised hand, Pathos pointed at him, and static prickled across his skin like a swarm of angry insects. His hand trembled—not with fear, but with too much energy begging to escape.
«Ruem» Wait!
Ruem quickly conjured a wormhole to shield himself. A bolt of electricity shot toward him with a loud crackle, but the wormhole absorbed it just in time. Ruem slowly lowered the barrier, not angry, but clearly hurt—not by the attack, but by the way Pathos saw him now.
Ruem touched the side of his chest—right where the bolt might have struck—and looked at Pathos like he was memorizing something he'd never see again.
Pathos remained guarded—not because he didn't trust Ruem, but because the pressure was overwhelming. Deep down, his body blamed Ruem for everything.
«Ruem» I... I'm going to leave you alone for a bit, okay? You're still not in the mood to see anyone. I'll... I'll wait for you downstairs, alright?
Ruem slowly approached the door and opened it. The squeaking of the rusted hinges filled the room, fading as the door shut behind him. Pathos's breathing slowed. He lowered his hand to his face, covering it in confusion.
«Pathos» Why did I do that? My body moved on instinct, like I was still stuck in that vision... But I know it wasn't real—right?
Pathos recalled the visions he had—the moment he met Ruem, their first encounter, their inevitable deaths. The thought triggered a headache.
«Pathos» Ah! I don't understand... How am I alive if I died? Or was that... all just a dream?
A few words echoed inside him—words he'd never heard before, a voice with no clear source, a face that never truly existed. It spoke with calm, scripted certainty.
«???» This future must not live. And so I let you taste its ash. Burn it now. Or become it.
The face became clearer—it was his own. He wasn't just watching his reflection. He was watching a verdict. That thing—ash-skinned and burning—wasn't a possibility. It was a promise. His body was charcoal black, still burning with purple flames. The presence radiated a future that might still come to pass. Pathos snapped back to reality, shaken by what he had just understood.
«Pathos» That thing... is me. No... it's not possible. I'm still alive. I can't possibly be dead! This... future...
Then, the realization hit him. His breath froze. His eyebrows lifted as he recalled Ruem's earlier words, guessing at his powers.
«Ruem (flashback)» Is it like X-ray? Or—oh!—future sight?
«Pathos» I... I can see into my own future. No... if that's really it, then why could I feel my skin burning back then?
His mind spun through every possibility—maybe he'd gone back in time, maybe it was just the effect of the flames, or maybe he really had died. None of the answers felt right. Every line of thought tangled into a knot he couldn't untie. Under the weight of it all, he began checking his own arm without realizing it. The sensation of pain grounded him. It meant he was still alive.
«Pathos» At least I'm still alive... I just need to... sleep a bit...
Pathos slowly lowered his gaze to the bed, looking at the soft sheets that covered his body. He tucked himself under them, hoping his questions would be answered the moment he woke up. Slowly, he closed his eyes, searching for the sleep he craved—
—but a presence jolted him awake.
It wasn't evil. It wasn't suffocating. It was… comfortable.
Seconds after feeling the presence, Pathos sat upright, this time getting out of bed, prepared. Even if it wasn't malicious, he was still on alert. When he turned his gaze toward the center of the room, he spotted a spark—pure white—floating calmly in the air.
In a panic, Pathos shouted:
«Pathos» Don't move!
The spark remained exactly where Pathos had first seen it. But it didn't obey. Slowly, it began descending onto the wooden planks where Pathos stood. But Pathos anticipated it. Once again, he tried to launch a bolt of electricity toward the spark. He channeled the energy into his hand, then fired.
«Pathos» That's it!
But nothing happened. That soothing presence stopped his powers—almost as if Prometeo, the power within him, refused to damage its own home. The spark gently reached the floor, touching it like a pebble skimming water.
A moment later, the entire room became consumed by blinding white. Reality twisted. The night sky turned to light—no, the entire world turned white.
Pathos looked around frantically, but only the endless void stared back at him.
«Pathos» Ruem! Where are you!?
He called out, again and again. No one answered.
Then, the spark became surrounded by pure black, making it the only visible point of contrast in the vast blankness. It contorted into various shapes, finally settling into a vaguely humanoid form—flesh-like and eerie. It tilted its head sideways, a full 90 degrees, staring into Pathos's eyes.
«Pathos (thinking)» Stay calm, Pathos. Even without your powers, you can still fight. If it comes closer… I'll knock it square in the face.
But strangely, he noticed something.
His body wasn't trembling.
«Pathos (thinking)» Why isn't my heart racing? Why are my hands still? I should be shaking. My mind is screaming—but my body's just... resting.
He quickly shifted his gaze back to the white figure. It pointed a finger at him.
«Pathos» What did you do to me!
«???» Your flesh remembers peace, even when your soul does not.
«Pathos» Grr... Just who the hell are you? What happened to the world?
The creature slowly straightened its head. Its hand reached up to touch its own face, then slipped inside its own flesh as though trying to tear it apart. Pathos recoiled, disturbed—but not afraid. It was strange. His body felt calm, even as his mind reeled.
Slowly, the being tore out a piece of its face, creating a mouth that hadn't existed before. Then it spoke—its voice calm, echoing across the void.
«???» Don't be afraid of me, brother... For I am not your enemy.
Pathos's breath was steady. Too steady. Like someone else's lungs were breathing for him. His limbs hung loose, slack, like he was sitting at the edge of sleep—but inside, his soul flailed like it was drowning. He clenched his jaw—or tried to. His muscles didn't obey. Instead, they relaxed more, as if touched by a lullaby.
«Pathos» Brother? I don't have brothers—especially not someone like you.
«???» God shaped us in fire—just differently. You from flesh, me from light. That makes us kin.
Pathos stayed silent, unconvinced. His fists were clenched. His teeth were grinding. Every muscle in his body was coiled like a spring—movements he forced himself to control. The creature noticed but didn't move a muscle.
«???» I am something forgotten by God—a guardian of the Promised Garden you humans call... Heaven. I am an archangel.
That caught Pathos's full attention.
«Pathos (thinking)» An archangel!?
«Archangel» Your future is what brought me here—to you.
Pathos slowly calmed. His hands relaxed. The angel's words rang with truth, but his sudden appearance stirred more questions than answers.
«Pathos» ...Go on...
«Archangel» The images you saw—those were glimpses of your future. A future that never truly existed, because your actions changed your path. Changed your fate.
The realization hit Pathos like a truck. His future had been one of purple flames and ash—but his decisions had shifted that timeline. He understood now: fate, if known, could be altered.
There was something else. The Archangel spoke like he already knew Pathos's thoughts—as if he had already heard his questions. And before Pathos could even ask—
«Pathos» You're—
«Archangel» Yes. I'm the one who gave you the ability to foresee your own future.
Pathos blinked in shock, then opened his mouth again—
«Pathos» You—
«Archangel» —Yes. I already know.
He tilted his head again—not curious, but scripted. Like a machine replaying a familiar sequence.
«Archangel» You came here with questions. I came here with answers. You wish to save your mother?
That simple word lit something within Pathos. He knew his concerns, but the brief mention of his mother made him realize that maybe the Archangel had arrived earlier—maybe he could have saved both his mother and father.
«Pathos» My mother!? You...You knew!?
Pathos took a step forward, the idea that he could have saved both of them driving him mad. The Archangel, on the other hand, stood still, unmoving—fully aware of the storm about to erupt.
«Pathos» You knew my future. Then why did you let him die? Why did you let my father die!?
«Archangel» I didn't.
Pathos stopped, his face still twisted with pain.
«Pathos» What? What do you mean, you didn't!?
«Archangel» You and I live in different worlds. I am capable of seeing everything with just one eye. But because of that, I became blind to your kind's pain. To us, your lives flicker and fade like candlelight. But your cry for help burned brighter than the rest—that's why I came. Your immense potential is why I'm here—to listen, to watch. That is why I gave you the Kindled-eye. So that I could lead you to a brighter future.
And in that instant, he understood. The difference between human and angelic existence was like the space between stars—too vast, too cold. And the painful truth that his father never had any other possibilities completely shattered him. His fist clenched so tight, his nails bit into flesh—but the wound quickly healed due to the angel's presence.
«Archangel» I truly am sorry for my lateness. I want to fix that mistake by helping you.
But Pathos wasn't having it. Even if the Archangel's words were sincere, he couldn't simply forgive him. The mention of the Kindled-eye triggered a realization: the day he had fainted—he could have chased after his mother's pursuers. Rage swelled, and finally, Pathos snapped.
«Pathos» Help!? My father is already dead, and my mother is gone! That day—it was because of you that I lost her! The pain from the power YOU gave me is why I have to search for her! I could hear her voice, my legs were ready to move, but the pain you inflicted stopped me! You want to be forgiven? Good—then go find her!
«Archangel» I can't interact with your world.
Pathos dashed forward, his fist ready for what was to come. He pulled his arm back, channeling all his pain into that one strike—but when he finally unleashed it, the attack phased right through the Archangel. Pathos's eyes widened in shock as he stumbled and fell to the ground.
He looked up. The Archangel still stood there, unmoving. Only his mouth was visible—making it impossible for Pathos to tell what he was feeling.
«Archangel» My presence on Earth would break my code as an angel. That's why I chose to appear in your mind. I am not a physical being—I am a projection of my true self.
Pathos clenched his teeth and rushed forward again to strike, but it was pointless. Every blow went through him—like striking smoke—there, then gone. With each hit, a grunt escaped his lips.
«Archangel» This is where our talk ends—for now. We will see each other again. But for now, remember this.
The Archangel extended what appeared to be his hand toward Pathos's cheek. Pathos, still attacking, paused as soon as the hand touched him. Somehow, he could feel it. They stared at each other—face to face, barely an inch apart.
«Archangel» Your powers are a gift. But the revelations from the Kindled-eye—they are not yours to control. Only I can grant them.
The world around them began to shatter like glass, the bright void turning into endless black. Pathos started to fall into this new void. He reached out for the Archangel—but in the next moment, everything changed.
Pathos opened his eyes from the darkness his mind had created. The place didn't seem familiar, yet it felt quietly comforting. He was inside a room with wooden walls and an open window. The curtains swayed gently, brushing against the wooden frame with a rhythm almost like breathing. The air smelled faintly of burnt wood and melting wax—a strangely comforting scent that reminded Pathos of something long forgotten.
Outside, daylight had already disappeared, but the soft glow of a nearby candle offered warmth. Next to him, someone sat waiting—his right leg tapping nervously against the wooden floor. That person was Ruem. The scene repeated once more.
«Ruem» Kid!
What Pathos had just witnessed was a vision. He quickly realized the moment was repeating. His vision blurred with tears... unsure of what to make of everything. Ruem, seeing his distress, tried desperately to comfort him.
«Ruem» It's alright, it's alright—you're safe now.
Ruem slowly wrapped his arms around Pathos's head. Pathos stared into his eyes. He felt the same way he had during the vision. The flashing images of Ruem dying still lingered in his mind. But this time, he knew—
That Ruem never existed.