Chapter 372
The information recounted the fate of the thirteen Archangels, the exalted beings created directly by Quil-Hasa and placed at the pinnacle of the cosmic hierarchy, in the Heavenly Realm.
The story of their birth was not welcomed with the warmth of their creator.
The record stated that after they opened their eyes for the first time, becoming aware of their existence and themselves within the splendor of the Heavenly Realm, Quil-Hasa never came.
There was no physical presence, no visit, not even the simplest transmission of thought or feeling containing a question about their well-being.
The silence from the very source of creation lasted at least until they all reached the age of four, a period which, on their scale of time, may have felt immensely long and significant.
That silence and neglect created a profound emptiness and confusion among the Archangels.
In that situation, the first Archangel, who was also the only woman among her twelve male counterparts, bore an unrequested role.
Out of weariness and longing for the Creator that remained unfulfilled, she repeatedly gazed toward the river and the sun in the Heavenly Realm.
Her hopeful yet hollow stare became a common sight.
She hoped endlessly, with a touching perseverance, that Quil-Hasa—the source and foundation who had created them—would finally come to them and acknowledge their existence.
Though her age was not much different from that of her brothers, the angel nicknamed the Matriarch, who at the time had not even reached one or two years of age, seemed to carry a far heavier burden.
Unconsciously and without being chosen, she assumed the role of both elder sister and mother figure to them.
She was the one who gave comfort, who tried to fill Quil-Hasa's silence with her own presence, who soothed her brothers' confusion.
Indirectly, this role crowned her as the Mother of Angels.
The discovery of this fragment of the tale gave a deeply human and sorrowful dimension to beings who had long been seen only as symbols of power and perfection.
'Such immense love, yet it must be wrapped in the authority of the Source.'
For a moment, Xavier fell silent amidst the stream of cosmic data, his mind drifting into deep contemplation.
He questioned the logic behind Quil-Hasa's silence.
What reason could possibly be so important that it required the Creator to be entirely absent during the first four years of the lives of His most exalted creations?
Moreover, when His presence finally came for the first time, the record showed that it was only to assign duties and responsibilities to each Archangel, an interaction that felt more transactional than the warmth of a parent.
The question hung heavily, challenging the very nature of divine love and authority.
At first, Myra Astrielle, shaped by her own experiences of neglect and wounds, tended to draw the most direct conclusion.
She assumed Quil-Hasa must have been a negligent creator, a cold god who created and then abandoned—much like how the world had often treated her.
However, Xavier did not immediately agree.
He focused more deeply, not on the absence itself, but on the subject who had been left behind.
He delved into the biography of the Matriarch, the first and only female Archangel, in the time before she turned four.
What he found was not the image of a somber leader, but fragments of memories revealing a pure, childlike nature.
Xavier saw images of the Matriarch joyfully running through the Heavenly gardens, laughing gracefully.
He saw her questioning everything with eyes full of wonder, from the colors of flowers to the paths of the stars.
One particular scene stood out, where the young Matriarch tried to catch a butterfly that approached her, then sat down, asking in a small voice why the creature had flown near her.
There was innocence, an unquenchable curiosity, and a deeply human cheerfulness within those images.
From these fragments, a simple yet seemingly outrageous hypothesis began to form in Xavier's mind.
He speculated, and then expressed to Myra, that perhaps the answer was not neglect.
Perhaps it was the opposite.
Quil-Hasa loved His creations too much.
Yet, for reasons unknown, Quil-Hasa chose not to draw near.
'A tale of Quil-Hasa, of the angels, of love manifested through distance.'
Here, inside the train speeding Erietta Bathee toward her uncertain destiny, the long flashback of Myra Astrielle, Xavier XVII, and the cosmic secrets of Quil-Hasa suddenly shattered.
That other world broke into fragments when a neatly uniformed train attendant approached and greeted her politely.
The voice of the real world, flat and ordinary, severed the thread of contemplation that stretched across time and dimensions.
Without much thought—since it was a routine expectation—the attendant placed a plate of food and a drink on the small table before her, then continued on to the next passenger.
The presence was brief, functional, and entirely unaware of the ocean of memories it had just drowned.
Erietta paused for a moment, staring at the plate before her.
Warm steam rose from the simple meal, blending with the cool air of the cabin.
With automatic movements, she took her spoon and began stirring the contents of the plate, mixing the rice with the side dishes that might have tasted bland on a tongue still coated with another flavor of memory.
She took a spoonful, brought it to her mouth, and chewed slowly.
The physical taste barely registered, for her mind had already begun drifting again.
The door to the past that had just been forcibly closed reopened with ease, as though those memories had merely been waiting behind the curtain of consciousness to be entered once more.
She returned to reflection, diving once again.
Now, her focus rested on a specific moment in her adventure as Myra Astrielle alongside Xavier.
'Splitting all realities.'
In the end, after absorbing as much understanding as possible from the boundless ocean of cosmic information, Myra Astrielle and Xavier XVII intended to leave.
Their minds were filled with new discoveries about Quil-Hasa, the Archangels, and the origin of the power they sought.
They decided to move on, perhaps to process everything or to continue their journey elsewhere.
However, their steps had not yet touched the ground for a third time, or even before they had truly departed, when a sound shattered the silence and concentration.
It was no ordinary sound.
It was the blast of a trumpet—or more precisely, a horn so thunderous, so overwhelming, and so soul-piercing.
Its sound did not originate from a single point, but echoed throughout the entirety of their conscious space, as though it were blown from the very heart of reality itself.
It rang repeatedly, a cosmic siren both unnatural and spontaneous, whose power and frequency were so excruciating that Myra and Xavier instinctively clutched their ears tightly, trying to muffle the noise that felt as if it were about to tear apart the membrane of their very souls.
The pain was not merely physical, but spiritual—a vibration that disrupted the most fundamental balance of existence.
Struggling against the waves of sound crashing upon them, Xavier tried to determine what was happening.
He projected his consciousness outward, or perhaps perceived through whatever means the place itself provided.
What he discovered—or rather what he felt—sent a deeper chill through him.
It was not only their location.
It was not only a single universe.
All universes, no matter how far or near, how high or low their dimensions, were experiencing the same phenomenon.
To be continued…