Madela: "I am Madela. The one responsible for the threads of destiny and the ocean of what could be. Oh-ho~ Perhaps I am a Chronicler, immortalizing the course of every world...?"
In the blink of an eye, as if she were a shadow herself, she appeared behind Oldred, her warm fingers beginning to massage his rigid shoulders. Her touch was strange—at once soothing and threatening.
Madela: "Or perhaps I am Destiny itself? You could say I am all three... Maybe the word 'Goddess' will suffice for that limited mortal mind of yours, Human~"
Oldred remained a statue, his steel shell betraying no reaction. But inside, his cold, analytical mind was whirring. He wasn't surprised. This was the final confirmation. He had indeed died on that gallows. The question now was, what did this Goddess want from him?
He shrugged his shoulders with a slight jerk, dislodging her tempting hands. His single eye scanned the surroundings. This colossal room was filled with books, antique ornaments, the ink pianist, and other silent ink servants who moved without a sound, tidying books that were never out of place.
Madela: "Hehehe~, in such a hurry?"
Oldred: "Why did you bring me here?"
Madela: "Oh? So *to the point*. It seems you're already sick of me. Hmm, you must not be very popular with the ladies."
Madela clapped her hands once. The sound echoed, and instantly, the world went dark. Light, sound, and even the air itself seemed to be sucked into a void.
Madela: "Very well, then. Let us add a little context to our coming business~"
The world returned to light. Oldred now found himself in a comfortable leather chair, before a small round table covered with a clean white cloth. Madela sat opposite him, smiling sweetly. Around them was a profound darkness, as if they were on the only island of light in an ocean of nothingness.
An ink servant, complete with a neat suit and a bow tie, approached them silently before placing a menu in front of Oldred. Oldred glanced down to see what was for dinner in the afterlife...
> Fresh Squid Ink
> Grilled Octopus Ink
> Classic Braised Black Ink
> Royal Blue Ink Juice
> And... Ink?
Madela: "*Ahem*, it seems the human palate isn't quite familiar with the local cuisine here, is it?~"
*Is this even worthy of being called cuisine?* With an empty, respectful nod, the servant departed.
A melancholy melody began to play, echoing in the darkness. A spotlight flared to life, illuminating a small stage not far from them. On it stood an ink-person resembling Madela, but her hair was snow-white, and atop her horizontally severed head grew a large sunflower. The figure moved its hands, and from its fingertips, tiny worlds were created and destroyed in an instant.
Madela: "Alright, alright. Let us begin~"
The theatrical performance began. Madela started to tell Oldred a story, her tone as intimate as if they were old acquaintances.
Madela: "I, and my siblings, are the firstborn daughters of the Beginning. Its name is Yue. It was the start, before the wheel of fate began to turn. The finger that nudged the first domino. Us? We are all merely its consequence. A line of dominoes, falling into an endless cascade."
The figure on the stage now vanished, replaced by four ink figures: one resembling Madela, one a mighty knight, one a graceful woman with white wings, and the last a man in a dark suit with a raven mask.
Madela: "'Destiny,'" she said, pointing to herself, "'Violence, Age, and Sickness.' The four of us, as the children of Yue, are responsible for turning the wheel of fate and every possibility."
Madela: "Isn't it grand?~" she whispered, her soft hand now taking Oldred's, which was covered in a leather glove.
Madela: "But… for how much longer?" she whispered again, and suddenly, her sharp nails pierced the skin on the back of Oldred's hand. The sharp pain made Oldred's muscles clench and his jaw tighten.
Madela: "When one world ends, a new branch of fate is born. And we do the same job all over again, and again, and again, with new spices that are, in essence, just as dreadfully boring. This is a prison, Oldred. And we are its eternal wardens… Oh? It seems I've become a bit too emotional."
Madela pulled her hand away from Oldred. She wiped her blood-stained fingertips on the white tablecloth before casually tasting the blood on her nail.
Madela: "Hm~… The scent of steel and gunpowder."
Madela: "Where were we? Oh, right. We are trapped here in a responsibility that never ends. But lately, I've noticed something, something strange. Why did it take me so long to realize it? Oldred, in all the possibilities thus far… in every branch of fate that has ever existed… your destiny has never once wavered by so much as a single thread."
Alright. Now Oldred was surprised. His mask might not have shown it, but inside, the cold gears of his mind ground to a halt. He wasn't one to believe the ramblings of some fate-reading crone, but this being... was different.
Madela: "So, tell me… who are you, *really*? Mr. Vas Linsman?"
...
...
...
Madela: "Ngehehehe~.... HAHAHAHA!! HAHAHA!! YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHO YOU ARE?! ISN'T THAT STRANGE?! I THINK SO TOO! How is it possible that a mere human has only one, static destiny as… a monster?"
Madela roared with laughter, so loud that the stage behind her began to crack. Black ink started to drip from the voids where her eyes should have been, like tears of darkness. Finally, she stopped, catching her breath. She placed a slender finger on Oldred's steel hand, tracing a cold, circling pattern.
Madela: "And… Oldred. Tell me one more thing."
Her voice was now a serious, piercing whisper.
Madela: "Who is Polgha?"
....
....
....
Oldred was silent. As if that name had stolen all the strength and words from within him.
Madela: "Because according to your entire life story, all of your books are always filled with the name 'Polgha'. But, strangely… I have never found a single book in this infinite library with the title 'Polgha'. Is your sweetheart a ghost?~"