Chapter LII: Guardians
As Liz sleeps, she drifts into a dream—a dream unlike any she has experienced before. Instead of appearing in Bennett's familiar room, she finds herself surrounded by an endless void. The darkness stretches infinitely in all directions, and the eerie silence unsettles her. She takes a cautious step forward, but the ground beneath her is nonexistent, making her feel as though she is floating.
"Where is this place?" she wonders aloud, expecting Bennett's voice to answer. But there is only silence.
Panic grips her as she takes another step, only for the void beneath her to suddenly collapse. She plummets into the abyss, her heart racing as she falls, unsure of where she will land. Then, just as suddenly as the fall began, it stops.
She opens her eyes and finds herself in a dimly lit room. Her heart clenches. She knows this place. It is the other dimension from a previous dream—the realm where she was labeled a "bogus buyer." Fear creeps into her chest as she looks around, searching for her phone, hoping to find Bennett's comforting presence there. But when she unlocks it, his name is missing.
Liz forces herself to move, stepping out of the room and descending the staircase. At the bottom, she freezes. Standing before her are Dominga, Dolores, her grandmother, and her mother, all wearing expressions of disappointment and sadness.
She tries to ask why they look so upset, but before she can speak, one of them—her grandmother—breaks the silence.
"Why didn't you invite Bennett to your birthday celebration?"
Liz's breath catches in her throat. She opens her mouth to reply, but no words come out. Her body refuses to move as she watches in horror. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she notices something sinister—her own shadow, but it is not normal. It is moving on its own, twisting and writhing as if it has a life of its own.
Before she can process what is happening, the shadow extends its dark tendrils and engulfs her. The world around her shifts violently, and she is pulled back into the void.
Liz gasps as she finds herself once more floating in the darkness. The overwhelming sense of guilt from the question lingers in her chest, suffocating her. She presses her hands to her temples and tries to remember. Why had she not invited Bennett? And then, the answer crashes down on her like a wave.
The void begins to change, warping into a scene from her past—a moment she had buried deep in her mind. It is the memory of her birthday celebration back in Grade 7. She sees her younger self, surrounded by friends, laughing and enjoying the luxurious party she had thrown. Gifts, decorations, and an extravagant cake fill the scene. But among the guests, one face is missing—Bennett.
Liz watches as her younger self dismisses the thought of inviting him, too caught up in the excitement of money and material things. She had been blinded by the allure of popularity and the fantasy of being someone important.
Tears well up in her eyes as regret crashes over her like a tidal wave. How could she have been so selfish? She had taken Bennett's presence for granted, never realizing how much her actions had hurt him.
The memory fades, and the void begins to transform once more. This time, it molds itself into something familiar yet grand—the Catedral Metropolitana de San Pablo. The towering structure stands majestically, its stained-glass windows glowing softly in the dim light. Liz's feet carry her inside without hesitation.
Inside the cathedral, she walks towards the altar, her knees growing weak with emotion. She kneels down before the retablo, hands clasped tightly as she bows her head.
"Lord, please… forgive me," she whispers, her voice trembling. "I've wronged him. I was selfish, blind, and ungrateful. I hurt Bennett… and I hurt You. Please… show me how I can make things right."
As her words fade, a warm light suddenly envelops the altar. Liz lifts her head, eyes widening as a brilliant glow emanates from the top of the retablo. The Holy Spirit, depicted as a dove, is perched above, radiating an ethereal light that soothes her aching heart.
The warmth of divine presence fills her, but before she can bask in it fully, the sound of footsteps echoes behind her.
Liz stiffens, fear creeping into her veins. The cathedral is empty—or so she thought.
She clenches her hands, unwilling to turn around.
Who is coming? Is it a friend… or something far worse?
As Liz kneels inside the grand Catedral Metropolitana de San Pablo, the echoes of her whispered prayers bouncing off the towering stone walls. The dim glow of candles flickers before her, their soft light casting long shadows across the polished marble floor. She shuts her eyes tightly, her heart heavy with guilt as she clasps her hands together.
Then, footsteps echo through the sacred silence.
Liz tenses, her fingers gripping the hem of her blouse. The presence behind her grows nearer. She keeps her eyes shut, completing her prayer, then slowly traces the sign of the cross over herself. The footsteps stop just beside her.
"The Lord be with you," a voice greets, deep and calm, filled with warmth and authority.
Liz opens her eyes and turns her head. A wave of astonishment washes over her as she beholds the figure standing beside her. Cloaked in a red and green tunic, his robe drapes over his strong, Roman features. He clutches an ancient book in one hand. His other hand rests lightly on the hilt of a sword, the very ancient-old sword Liz had discovered, with its gleaming blade reflecting the candlelight.
It is none other than St. Paul of Tarsus.
Liz's breath catches in her throat. Her hands tremble as she lowers them to her lap. "St. Paul?" she whispers, almost unable to believe what she is seeing.
"Do not be afraid, child," the saint assures her, his voice carrying a serenity that soothes her troubled heart. "I have something to show you."
Before Liz can speak, the cathedral melts away. Darkness surrounds them, and for a moment, Liz fears she has returned to the void from earlier. But soon, the abyss takes shape, morphing into a vivid memory—one that does not belong to her.
She finds herself inside a modest home, its wooden floors polished yet worn. A young boy sits on the floor, tapping his tiny fingers against a lyre. His short, curly hair bounces as he sways to the tune, eyes alight with concentration. Liz gasps.
Bennett.
"This is his childhood," St. Paul explains, watching as the boy presses the strings gently. "His very first composition was dedicated to me."
Liz listens as Bennett plucks a familiar melody, one that she recognizes instantly—the hymn of St. Paul. Her eyes widen, but then she notices something else.
A luminous figure stands beside young Bennett, though he remains unaware of her presence. The figure holds a golden harp, her gentle expression filled with encouragement as she watches over the child.
"St. Cecilia," Liz murmurs, realizing that the patron saint of music had been guiding Bennett all along.
The memory shifts abruptly.
Now, they stand in a dimly lit hallway. Bennett, much older now, grips his school bag tightly, his head bowed as he walks alone. Liz immediately recognizes the setting—it's the Colegio Metropolitana de San Pablo. Her chest tightens. She knows this moment. She had ignored him that day, brushing past him without a second thought, caught up in her own world of materialism and self-importance.
Bennett, in that memory, looks utterly broken. His eyes glisten, though he fights back the tears. But he is not alone.
Another unseen figure walks beside him, hand resting just above his shoulder, as though offering unseen comfort. The figure wears flowing robes, carrying a staff in one hand, and his expression radiates kindness.
"St. Raphael, the healer," St. Paul explains. "He was sent to guide Bennett through his heartbreak, to ease the burdens of his soul."
Liz presses a hand to her mouth. She watches as Bennett slowly regains his composure in the memory, whispering a silent prayer as he clutches his rosary beneath his uniform. He never blamed her. He only prayed for her.
The memory shifts once more.
Now, they stand inside a bustling mall. Liz instantly recognizes the scene—the day she spent all of Bennett's money without a second thought. She remembers how she laughed, how she indulged, oblivious to the weight of her actions.
On the other side of the memory, Bennett sits on a bench, staring down at his empty wallet. He does not curse her. He does not rage. Instead, he clasps his hands together, whispering another silent prayer.
Beside him, another figure appears—a man clad in a simple robe, holding a scroll in one hand. His presence radiates wisdom and understanding.
"St. Matthew," St. Paul continues. "The patron saint of financial matters, guiding Bennett as he faced the loss of his earthly wealth."
Liz's heart clenches. Tears well in her eyes. "Why didn't he give up on me?" she whispers, her voice trembling. "Why didn't he turn away?"
The scene dissolves, and they find themselves back inside the cathedral. But this time, something is different.
Clouds of memory swirl around them, each one containing glimpses of different people, different hardships, and each accompanied by a guiding saint.
St. Paul extends a hand, gesturing to the ethereal display. "God does not abandon His children. He sends His sentinels to guide them. Saints are not mere figures of history—they are intercessors, always watching, always praying, always ready to lead those who seek the truth back to the light."
Liz watches in awe as the memories fade. But then, something else takes shape.
In the front pew of the cathedral, she sees him.
Bennett.
He kneels, his head bowed, hands clasped tightly as he prays. His shoulders tremble, and his lips move fervently in whispered petitions.
"He prays for you, Liz," St. Paul tells her softly. "Not for revenge. Not for justice. He prays for your change. He prays for your heart to be healed. And most of all, he prays that you may be forgiven."
Liz's breath shudders. Her knees grow weak. Slowly, she steps forward, approaching the kneeling boy who had endured so much because of her. The weight of everything crashes down on her at once—her selfishness, her cruelty, her blindness to the truth that had been in front of her all along.
"I did not know the truth back then," she whispers, tears slipping down her cheeks. "Because of my carelessness, I was consumed by materialism. But Bennett showed me the truth. God was always there, guiding us, yet I was so blind to see it. Popularity and fame are fleeting—but serving the One who created us, that is the only thing that truly matters."
As soon as she utters those words, the cathedral shifts once more. The grand structure morphs, its walls softening, its golden glow fading into something familiar.
Liz blinks.
She is no longer in the cathedral.
She is in Bennett's room.
Bennett stands before her now, no longer a memory, no longer a distant figure in prayer. He looks at her with gentle eyes, the same eyes that had always held love for her despite everything.
Without hesitation, Liz throws herself forward, wrapping her arms around him. He stiffens for only a moment before returning the embrace, his warmth grounding her, reminding her that even in her dreams, he is real.
She is not alone anymore.
She never was.