"…Huh…??"
So… who was going to explain why she found herself inside a dark, cave-like basement?
It was so dark that she could see nothing except a faintly shining stone embedded in a statue. Yuna wielded her fire, creating a butterfly. Its heat was negligible, but it was bright enough to light up the narrow underground cave.
"A… are you God?"
A soft voice rang out in the damp, dark basement.
"Holy sh—"
Yuna bit her tongue at the last moment as her eyes landed on the skeleton-like child kneeling in front of the statue, forcibly changing her words into, "Holy light shine on you… child."
Okay, what nonsense. Blame the voice for suddenly talking about God.
It was fine with her to swear in front of older teenagers, but it wasn't okay to swear in front of children. She had a few unnecessary principles that she tried to maintain as much as she could.
Because she was startled and preoccupied with reminding herself not to swear in front of a child, while also being spooked by his bony appearance and making a hasty recovery, Yuna failed to properly register the child's question. She also failed to notice the brightness in his eyes as she greeted him jokingly.
After greeting the child, Yuna fell into contemplation.
So… what was going on again? And should she be vigilant around this child in such a dark, damp place?
The kneeling child moved forward, the chains binding his legs making a rattling sound. He raised his hand, which was also bound by a chain, and touched the fluttering butterfly that emitted a warm light.
The butterfly dispersed the moment the child came into contact with it, before the scattered, heatless flames gathered again, reforming into a butterfly.
"It's warm… beautiful… and bright…"
The child murmured, his eyes curious and shining as he looked at the butterflies lighting up the dark, damp, and cold place.
Only after hearing the rattling sound did Yuna notice the chains binding the child inside the basement cave.
"How did you end up here… no—why are you here?" Yuna asked, still staying where she was and not approaching him. Basic vigilance was necessary, even if the child didn't look threatening.
Although the child looked like a corpse—skin and bones with sunken cheeks—his bright golden irises stood out conspicuously.
"They put me here. They said only when I am in constant darkness will I crave for light and produce a powerful light," the child answered obediently. He looked up from his sitting position and asked, "Then why are you here…?"
The child hesitated, as if wanting to add something but holding back. He wanted to make sure of something first.
"I heard your voice, and then I found myself here," Yuna replied simply, because that was what had happened.
Yuna wanted to panic and make noise, but she was more afraid of attracting danger, so she forcefully calmed herself and remained composed. It took a great deal of willpower. The bony, corpse-like child bound in chains only made the situation worse.
At Yuna's answer, the child's golden eyes seemed to sparkle like millions of fireworks. It was as if he had been given the greatest treasure in the world.
"…You really are my God."
The child murmured quietly, so softly that Yuna almost pretended she hadn't caught his words.
Almost.
Her hearing had sharpened to the point where she could hear sounds from miles away if she concentrated, let alone the voice of someone so close.
"My name is Yuna, a human being, not God," Yuna corrected.
I suggest you rectify your misconception, child. I am a normal human who eats, sleeps, and poops… ugh… eats, maybe… poops… ugh… not anymore. Also, if I were God, the world would end. I'm not kidding.
Okay, let's not get tangled up in whether she was human or not.
What made a human being human wasn't the ability to eat, sleep, or poop. It was their principles, perception, and awareness that defined them.
"…En, I know. God cannot come to this world in their original form. They need a vessel," the child said elatedly, as if showing off his knowledge. There was even a hint of wanting praise for being knowledgeable.
Yuna choked at the child's interpretation.
"I'm not God," Yuna tried to explain, but the child only nodded as if he understood, making it clear that her meaning hadn't reached him at all.
"I—forget it. Who are they?"
Yuna gave up explaining. She was the type who didn't like repeating herself, and this momentary laziness to explain things clearly would become a catalyst—something she would deeply regret in the years to come.
The child lowered his head, as if afraid of something.
"Can you not say it?" Yuna probed. She really wanted to know what was going on. The child was the only living, breathing person around, and she wanted as much information as possible.
The child hurriedly waved his hand. "I can say it, but…" He hesitated and cast a furtive glance at Yuna.
Yuna gave him an encouraging look. "Go on. I don't bite."
"…They are the higher orders of the Light God Temple, and they must be much closer to you. So chaining me up here must be for my own good. Look, I met my God. I met you," his voice was tinged with elation.
"Hmmm…"
Yuna's eyes darkened as she looked at the child's bright smile. The smile wasn't even cute with his skeletal appearance.
This felt like it contained a story she wouldn't like hearing. She didn't feel like hearing it.
Still…
Looking at the chains and the now clearly bruised and skinny child, Yuna opened her lips and asked the question she wanted to avoid. "How did they treat you, and why? Tell me first, and then I'll decide whether what they did was good for you or not."
Damn her nosy self.
…
Lucian was a blessed child who awakened the light element.
An orphan taken in under the banner of the Light God Temple.
On the day he awakened, Meira flowers—also nicknamed the Flowers of the God of Light—bloomed beautifully around the Light God Temple.
His ordinary brown eyes turned golden, as if signifying that he was the beloved child of the God of Light, for the God of Light was said to have golden eyes.
Lucian was personally brought into the temple by the bishop, overwhelming him with the honor. Having been raised in the temple orphanage, he held deep respect and admiration for the Light God and the high-ranking worshippers said to be close to God.
From the moment he gained awareness, he was surrounded by nothing but God's teachings.
Lucian dreamed of being treated kindly and of serving the God he greatly admired. He didn't know that he had entered hell, and that it was the beginning of his hellish treatment.
He was immediately chained inside a deep, dark basement cave and subjected to lashings and various forms of physical torture. They said it was to enhance the self-healing ability of those who awakened light.
He groaned in pain throughout the night, sweat dripping as blood soaked his body. His healing ability was pushed to its limit, repairing his wounded and tattered body just enough for him to survive.
He was only five years old.
Day after day, night after night, he endured torture and pain. Once his healing ability caught up with their methods, they devised even more pervasive ways to torture him.
After a long while, his torturers began coming only once a week, sometimes once a month, because his healing ability had matched their rhythm.
Meals were given only once a week, and his drinking water came from the dripping moisture inside the cave.
There was no distinction between night and day inside the dark cave. It was lonely and cold.
The silence and loneliness sometimes felt more torturous than the physical pain. At times, he even wished his torturers would stay longer, just so he wouldn't have to endure the loneliness.
He began to loathe everyone, yet at the same time craved someone.
His only company was the statue placed inside the cave, with a faint, negligible glowing stone embedded in its chest. His torturers said it was a statue of God.
Lucian simply believed their words, never noticing the mocking expressions on their faces.
He spent his days alone and in pain inside the cave, until one day the bishop finally visited him.
The bishop still wore that amiable smile and spoke gently, as if he hadn't been the one who caused all his suffering and personally led him into the cave.
Lucian hated him—the catalyst of all his pain—yet he was pathetic. He craved his company. He craved the presence of anyone.
The bishop visited once every three months, and Lucian would eagerly crawl toward him like a dog greeting its master. He loathed himself for it.
After a while, the bishop stopped coming for a year, then only visited once a year. Lucian's sole companion became the statue he naïvely believed to be God.
Even if he realized it wasn't, he would rather believe that someone—anyone—was with him, even an omniscient and omnipresent God he couldn't truly feel.
Just the thought of some omnipresent being accompanying him made the darkness less frightening.
At least his mental state could hold together, knowing that something was with him. He clung desperately to this belief, afraid of becoming numb and losing his sanity, turning into a mindless puppet of fear.
Because he was so lonely, he prayed and talked to the statue every day, growing attached to the faintly glowing stone.
He became dependent on the statue and began to desperately desire God—to truly accompany him in his lonely confinement.
His only companion. His only God.
One day, the bishop told him he would no longer visit, and that the torture would cease. He would no longer be given food so his body could be purified.
The bishop said that once Lucian craved light enough, his potential would unravel, and all his hunger, pain, and longing would disappear.
Perhaps it was true.
In his hunger and desperation, in one final attempt, Lucian called out endlessly for God, craving light with madness.
The stone on the statue glowed brightly.
Then a person appeared.
That person created beautiful butterflies inside the cave, emitting warmth and light.
"A… are you God?"
He asked carefully.
The person looked at him, her black eyes resting on his face, and said slowly, "Holy light shine on you… child."
A voice.
Finally, a voice he had longed for.
It had to be God, Lucian thought, still half unable to believe it.
A butterfly flew beside him, and he gently reached out to touch it. It was warm.
"How did you end up here… no—why are you here?" the person asked, looking at him carefully.
It had been years since someone's gaze had rested on him with such focus. He enjoyed the attention so much that he wanted to burst into tears—but he had forgotten how to cry. His torturers had taught him not to shed tears, and eventually, he had become numb to everything done to him.
Even when the bishop visited, he kept his distance and avoided looking at him, as if Lucian were filth.
"They put me here. They said only when I am in constant darkness will I crave for light and produce a powerful light," Lucian answered obediently. He then asked, "Then why are you here…?"
He wanted to add God, but he restrained himself.
What if it wasn't God?
He had prayed for God. If he mistook someone else for Him—
Lucian's eyes darkened menacingly. His God was sacred. No one was allowed to pose as Him. No one was allowed to tarnish Him.
"I heard your voice, and then I found myself here," the person said.
Lucian's heart began to beat wildly.
It is… it really is…
"…You really are my God," Lucian whispered softly. He clutched his chest, trying to suppress his frantically beating heart that longed to leap toward its owner.
He had prayed—prayed that if his God ever came to him, his body, heart, and soul would belong to his God eternally.
And his God… came to him.