It did not take long for the crimson clouds to disperse, as though an invisible giant had swept them away with a single breath.
The sky, which had seemed immutable for as long as anyone could remember, shifted without warning and opened above us into an endless ocean of stars, so vast it defied the limits of sight. At its heart shone a blue moon, warm and majestic: the homeland of She who had entrusted us with the arduous task of saving the world.
A beautiful image.
Merely a prelude.
The beginning of an ominous end that, from afar, the allied armies mistook for a favorable omen; the long-awaited sign of victory they had yearned for.
It was not.
We ourselves, the ones who bore their hopes, could scarcely remain standing. We were wounded and spent; yet, by the goddess's grace, all five of us still lived.
None had fallen: not foolish Marok, nor fearful Orden, not even reckless Seriel. With the blessings I had managed to gather by then, I kept them from succumbing to death. But that was all. I had no power left to give.
All that remained was to wait.
To place my faith in a miracle.
That is precisely what I did.
When the firmament darkened, when the stars went out one by one and the nearest, brightest heavenly body was swallowed by a ravenous storm of immeasurable power, I did not feel fear.
When my companions fell to their knees and, at my back, the soldiers broke into cries of despair as the earth itself seemed to tremble before the coming ruin, I did not falter.
Neither death nor darkness shook my resolve, for it was in him that I had placed my trust.
But…
Why, then, did I fear his light?
That pristine radiance rising against every shadow, like a dawn heralding the end of a night grown far too long.
As he straightened—despite the pain coursing through every fiber of his body, drawn taut like a spear about to be thrown—I felt my heart lurch, poised on the brink of bursting.
As he wrenched forth the very last fragment of power from the depths of his soul to stand against the absolute darkness, I clutched at the edges of my garments, once white, with a strength I had not known still lingered within me.
As he rose toward the heavens to confront the murderer of millions, the enemy of the world, the being who had oppressed the continent for centuries, my vision blurred.
And as he lifted his sword… I could no longer bear to look.
I did not fear the evil, nor the power of the king who had oppressed that land for centuries, for I knew he would prevail.
What I feared, instead, was what would follow.
It pained me to accept how near his departure had come.
While that thought weighed upon me, the clash occurred.
There were no explosions, no thunderous roars.
It ended with the same swiftness with which it had begun.
Then came the celebration.
The knights struck their swords against their shields in an awkward, unrecognizable rhythm.
The mages raised spells to the heavens, burning through the last of their mana.
The mercenaries laughed and shouted without restraint, releasing the tension they had long carried.
Even my companions celebrated in their own way, embracing one another and speaking of what they would do once they returned home.
I did not join them.
All I could do was restrain my emotions, press them tight against my chest, and keep them sealed in silence, so as not to tarnish the others' joy.
My heart ached. The palms of my hands had gone pale from clenching them so hard, and mucus clogged my nose in the most undignified way.
Even so, I endured.
As was expected of one who bore the Church's reputation upon their shoulders.
Yet my composure began to fracture the moment I sensed someone approaching.
I do not even know how I recognized him without lifting my gaze. Perhaps it was his scent, or the unmistakable cadence of his steps. Perhaps that near-tangible charisma of his, or that presence to which, without ever noticing, I had grown accustomed.
It almost makes me laugh to remember the first impression I had of him.
I had never met anyone so rough with me, and I—who have never cared for such treatment—of course despised him for it.
How did we end up like this?
Just as now, memories assailed me then without warning; memories that, under different circumstances, would have drawn a smile from me. But not in that moment. Not there.
There was so much I wished to tell him, and yet I could not.
It would not have been fair to him, who would soon depart.
Nor to me, who would remain behind.
So I stayed silent.
Or at least I tried to, choking back my sobs.
It was there that I understood how shameful my existence truly was.
The tavern bards, amid their tales, songs, and mockery, called Orden a coward for fleeing the conflict in the northern reaches of the Empire. Yet he returned to reclaim his lands and his honor, to save his people and restore their freedom.
Nothing but lies.
The coward was me. Me, who refused to act even when it was within my power to do so.
I had to accept it.
And still, he was everything I was not.
Staggering, he drew too close—I knew it by the movement of his shadow—until his rough hand came to rest beneath my chin.
Despite the gentleness hidden within that touch, I tried to pull away from the warmth rising from his skin; my tangled emotions demanded that distance.
For his part, brutish as ever, he paid no heed to what I wanted. He lifted my face with firm insistence, forcing me to show him an expression I had not revealed even during my childhood in the orphanage.
I felt his uneven breath brush against my nose. I noticed the tremor in his grip. My vision blurred further. It was as though, unconsciously, I sought to stop seeing his blood-stained face.
Panic seized me.
I searched within myself for any scrap of power that might ease his pain.
I found none. And so I was on the verge of making a foolish decision.
Once again, he saved me.
Without giving me time to offer the prayer of sacrifice, he took hold of my shoulders and pressed his lips to mine.
From that moment on, nothing else mattered.
. . .
In truth, it was not as pleasant a sensation as I had heard others describe.
Yes, in that instant I felt as though time had come to a standstill—that only the two of us existed within a single universe. But it was not something worth sharing.
His cracked lips scraped against mine. The taste of iron that reached the tip of my tongue was far from agreeable. The sweat that coated his skin as he drew me close was something I would have avoided under any other circumstance. Not to mention the scent after a week of ceaseless travel and battle.
There were many factors that marred that first experience of my life, one I had dreamed of so often.
Not only because of him, but also because of the noise around us, the uncertainty of what might happen if someone saw and spread word of it.
Because of shame, because of fear, and because of sorrow.
And yet… it was beautiful.
Pages extracted from the secret diary of ▒▒▒▒ ▒▒▒▒ of the Church of the Perpetual Light.