Chapter 63
“Nen, wrap him in a Veil of Light.”
Hongyeom spoke.
“Five layers will be necessary.”
The beauty with crimson hair blazing like fire, Akirea of the Crimson Flame, clenched her fist. Yet with her other hand—her left hand, burning with flames—she pressed her side.
There, endlessly writhing and gnawing at her insides, was a scar from which the Abyss surged.
“Akirea-unnie, was there really no other way? If we do this, that child’s heart might break…”
The maggots of the Abyss were seared away by her brilliant flames, but this Abyss was that of a king.
In other words, immortal.
Even when burned again and again, it would be reborn.
Just like the one now swirling from the thigh of the boy Feiquorier, collapsed upon the floor of the training ground.
“Have you ever looked into that boy’s heart, Nen? Surely, it contains nothing but terrible self-loathing.”
“……!”
“A person who cannot accept himself—how could he possibly embrace others, let alone walk the path of a warrior who leads?”
Her words wavered.
Was it because of the pain of the Abyss devouring her body? Or was it the ache of her heart, remembering the younger brother who, by his own choice, had completed a life of humanity and wisdom?
Mir? Mir-mir-mir?
His proper name is Mirngadia, which means wisdom. The abbreviation Mir is most unsuitable.
Mir-mir-mir-mir-mir?
?
In their childhood, when the three siblings journeyed with Yonghyeon, laughter came without restraint.
In those days, the siblings trailed behind him, marveling at mountains and rivers, seas and lands, with wide eyes.
On that road, Yonghyeon would tell them stories tangled with wonder. He bestowed light upon those they met along the way, showing the siblings the smiles spreading on the faces of people relieved of their suffering.
When the siblings tilted their heads in puzzlement, not grasping the meaning of those smiles, Yonghyeon would suddenly laugh heartily.
“I don’t even know what it is I’m trying to teach you. Just seeing you is already happiness enough…”
In memory, Yonghyeon was always smiling, and within his smile, the siblings too smiled.
Looking back now, perhaps that smile was light itself.
If laughter was light, then Yonghyeon—who protected that light from the winds of the world—was a mountain.
Within the embrace of that mountain, the light could burn brightly, dim, and flare again, without fear for tomorrow.
Perhaps… no, certainly.
That was what it meant to be with one’s parents.
“Parents—are they not the happiness that all living things of this earth deserve before death?”
So once said Mirngadia of the Azure Star.
“But in this world, there are no parents. The people live as though it were natural, having none, or having lost them…”
When he said this to Akirea, Mirngadia’s face held a quiet sorrow.
“The memory of days spent with parents is paradise in this mortal life, strength for living on. But here they live without such memory, without such hope, until they die. How can we soothe such lonely sorrow?”
“Mir, how could such a thing be done by our strength alone?”
“Father could do it—and he did.”
When he grew old and died a natural death, in a field bathed in twilight, Yonghyeon said:
“I cannot leave you behind and go on ahead—I worry for you too much.”
The young Mirngadia answered:
“Father, I will carry the light you gave me into this world.”
“……”
“I will return to you in the Paradise of Creation, only after I have become a son not unworthy of you.”
Yonghyeon did not hear those last words before he passed, but Mirngadia made them his lifelong vow.
“I promised thus, yet I have lived only a life of shame.”
Mirngadia of the Azure Star had been gifted since childhood, reading books from the day he was born. Through study, knowledge, and wisdom, he sought to build a world of humanity.
To raise such a world, his younger brother fought the same battles as their father—and died before his sisters.
He died before them, fulfilled his calling before them, and went to a place beyond this world.
“Father, guide me on my final path.”
That was his last testament.
And that day, the twilight blossoms of the field where their father had died spread again before Akirea’s eyes—together with the calm, pure smile of her younger brother’s farewell.
Her grief had nowhere to go, and so her eyes filled with a heavy mist.
“So now… are you, somewhere in those high and distant heavens, resting in Father’s embrace…?”
At that moment, the vortex of the Abyss surged from Kaisen’s chest, wrapping his body and releasing a powerful shockwave.
It had begun.
The inner battle with the Abyss whispering in the deepest depths of his soul.
“Nen, that child’s fortune is that he was born with the greatest talent in history. Before becoming an adult, he already reached the pinnacle.”
“…Yes.”
“And that very talent is also his misfortune.”
“Why?”
“Because before experience could temper his heart, before he could mature, before he could even become an adult, he had already obtained the power of a hero.”
But such a one cannot truly be called a hero. He cannot bring light to the world.
Just as now—his whole body consumed by the Abyss, the sinister essence moving his body like a dead soul.
Aradamantel shrieked under the Abyss’s influence and was thrown from his grip.
The boy Feiquorier, eyes blazing with dark-blue light, stared straight at Akirea.
“Right now, that child is nothing more than a swordsman wearing a hero’s shell…”
Broken so wretchedly.
Not spreading light to the world—
but devoured by his own darkness, spreading that darkness instead.
“That child is, quite literally, a false hero.”
The “will” he carved into his heart the day he first took up a sword—false.
The “will” is a lamp.
But if the lamp itself is false, then when he walks that path, he thrashes in agony as though lost in darkness.
“That is why this battle is the first step he must take—to find the true lamp of his heart.”
“Unnie, but Kaisen has already been walking that path…”
“No. He has only been driven by hatred, by anger, by such impulses. A path walked that way cannot reach its end. He will break again.”
“Then what must he do?”
“He must be honest with himself.”
From the very first step as a hero, everything had been misaligned.
The cause was the wedge buried deep in his heart.
Because he would not truly look at that wedge—because he would not face it as it was—he could not pull it free.
That wedge was his true heart.
“At such a young age, it is only natural… but still…”
You must awaken, Kaisen.
Face the wedge. Pull it free—before your heart, pierced by it, rots and festers entirely.
That is why we brought you here, to confront yourself—to face your true heart.
Akirea drew a deep breath.
The flames shrouding her body surged, transcendent and fierce.
“My condition is like this… and you, too, bear the power of the Dragon of Light. It seems I will not be able to hold back my strength.”
The Fate of a Time Limit,
The Hero’s Path, the Hero’s Heart (2)
“What are you doing? Why aren’t you avenging your enemy?”
‘Me’ spoke.
I realized my breathing had stopped.
Across my entire inner world, landscapes of memories—like hallucinations—unfolded wide.
“If you keep spacing out like that, you’ll die.”
‘Me,’ in the form of my younger self, charged forward—yet Aradamentel would not draw from its sheath.
“Hahaha! What are you doing? This is so easy!”
It was because of Spring’s Whisper.
The rustle of grass, the chirping of insects, the sound of the wind sweeping across the fields.
As a child, I used to lie down on the soft grass and fall asleep. Then I would wake up to those warm rhythms.
Kai, are you awake?
You troublemaker. You were sleeping out here again?
The one who carried me home on their back was usually my mother, sometimes my sister.
The feeling of being carried home by someone—it was the best feeling in the world.
That hill overlooking the sea, the sunset setting the waves aglow in red, my mother’s humming, my sister’s scolding…
“Ha! So you do remember!”
And into the middle of that beautiful sound—
A sound of something shattering erupted.
Cracks spread across all those remembered landscapes, and the melody of memories turned into a hideous noise.
“That it was you yourself who destroyed all of this!”
No. No, that’s not true.
It wasn’t me. I didn’t do it.
Even in the moment my arm was severed, my leg’s tendon cut, and I collapsed helplessly to the ground—there was no strength left in my limbs.
【Ash covering the earth.】
【A flashing axe blade.】
【A scream crying out: Mom!】
【The weight of death striking down upon Mother’s body.】
【Kai, could you come here? Mom doesn’t have much time left…】
My mind shattered.
The awareness of that distant day—something I tried to forget, again and again—surged up like a tidal wave and swallowed me whole.
I knew.
I too…
In truth…
I always knew who the true enemy was.
Yes.
In my heart, I knew.
But that truth—
I could never, never…
【Mother, drenched in blood】【is smiling】【smiling】【smiling】【smiling…】
It was my life’s unanswered question.
Mother, why did you smile in that moment? How—how on earth—could you possibly smile then?
Why?
But the one I could ask was gone. Now, even if I cried out “Mother…” no answer, no soft “Yes?” with a smile would come back…
I dreamed.
On that spring day, I was sitting in a field of silver grass stretching to the horizon, eating sandwiches with my mother.
Beside us was Father, my sister, and Camilla too.
When I regained consciousness, I was once again lying in the hospital room.
At the doorway leaned Achillea of the Crimson Flame, giving off the warm scent of firewood on a winter’s day.
Even opening my mouth required a desperate effort.
“Your Excellency… even while I’m lying here like this… my time is drawing close to zero…”
「……」
“Please… let me go. Unlike you, I cannot control the abyss within me…”
No matter how many times I tried, I could not.
The agony of reliving those memories, of facing that truth beyond memory—it was unbearable.
Better to die than to face that again…
Mommy’s hands will make it better. There, there, it’ll be alright.
Suddenly, within Achillea’s transcendent heat, my mother’s warmth rose as an illusion.
Whenever I felt even a little sick, even a little unwell, she would never leave my side, always holding my hand tight.
If only I could meet her again, just once more…
How wonderful that would be. How… truly wonderful.
Thinking of that joy—something I would never know in life—my mouth fell open, and my heart spilled out against my will.
“Why… why did it have to be me…”
Why me, of all people…?
Never once in my life had I wished for this power. Not before I knew its price—the loss of my entire family—and not after either.
My words echoed in emptiness.
「Through long years I have come to believe this: the gods grant trials not to punish, but to test whether those they deem worthy of power can truly use it rightly.」
“A trial…?”
「Yes. To test whether you can wield that power for good—or not.」
“If the price of this cursed power is such trials… I don’t want it! I never wanted this power to begin with!”
If flames could wear an expression of sorrow, Achillea’s would be so. She looked at Kaisen with a serene smile.
「So you resent the gods for making you the child of Laminea?」
“What?”
「The power you bear, the tragedy you’ve lived—it is all because your mother was Laminea. If you could be reborn, would you wish she were not Laminea?」
What did she mean by that?
I didn’t understand, yet I felt I did. Which is why I couldn’t answer.
I wanted to scream like a child, What do you know?!
「I know it well, Kaisen.」
Then, layered sorrows—quiet as sediment through the years—flowed out, carried on the trembling of flames.
「My mother died just before I was born. Killed by an old noble. She wanted desperately to meet me, but her wish was never fulfilled.」
“……!”
「But because of that, I came to know my father, Yonghyun, his friends, and my siblings. So even if I could be reborn, I would never change this fate.」
Why was it…
Why was it that when Achillea spoke, within that gentle, hazy flame, I saw my own bonds reflected?
When she said father, I thought of Camilla.
When she said friends, I thought of Johann, Jang Chongjin, and White Bear Eltoram.
When she said siblings, I thought of the fallen—Seira, Isla, Roberis, and all those of the Iron Cross.
「Kaisen, your life has been a string of tragedies. But the bonds you formed within those tragedies—were they also tragedies?」
It was hard enough to move my body, yet tears flowed endlessly, soaking the pillow.
“…No.”
「Then be honest with yourself. What do you truly want? To die, clutching only your sorrow? Even now, in this very moment?」
I thought absently.
I knew this wish would never reach any god—that it was an empty, meaningless cry. And yet, I thought it. I spoke it.
“Even just once…”
Even if it meant losing everything I had built until now…
Just once.
Even just once…
“…I want to see my mother again.”
Ah… so this was my deepest, most desperate wish…
The tears of the child inside me—trapped beneath the shell of the life I had forced upon myself as one who must only cut down and move forward.
Yes. This was the truth I had hidden all my life beneath the name of Feiquorier…
「Then tell me, what would you do if you met her again?」
I want to apologize.
I want to kneel and beg her forgiveness.
For every rude thing I ever did to her before that day. And for everything… everything that happened on that day.
「Is that so.」
I didn’t speak it out loud. Only tears poured down. Yet Achillea nodded, wearing my mother’s smile.
「I understand.」
Much time passed after that day.
Perhaps I had entered another inner struggle, but once again, I failed.
When I lost consciousness again, as my awareness dimly faded, I dreamed.
Was it a dream of Mother returning?
Within a nightmare of unbearable torment, I awoke to a scritch, scritch, scritch sound.
But it wasn’t the sound of my soul being torn in the abyss.
It was something far more familiar: the sound of an apple being peeled.
Mother sat at my bedside, peeling an apple. When our eyes met, I let out a hollow laugh.
‘Another dream.’
Now she would smile brightly.
“Our Kai, you’re awake…” she would say.
And then the dream would end.
“I was so anxious all the way here. What if it was someone else? I lost so much sleep praying it wasn’t, but what if it really was another child?”
But instead of smiling, the dream-mother spoke flatly, eyes turned back to the apple.
“There aren’t many people with such a strange name, but still—you never know. There’s always chance. And boys grow so fast—what if I didn’t recognize you?”
What was she saying?
Did I ever have such a memory?
Dreams are woven from memory, they say, yet I had no memory of Mother ever saying such things.
And something felt subtly different.
Unlike the Mother I remembered, she looked a little younger. And her eyes weren’t the golden dragon hue.
Black hair. Red eyes.
The color of my own eyes before I became a hero—the color Mother too must have had.
“But when I came here, I realized all my worries were pointless.”
Something welled up in my chest, burning hot.
“You’ve grown so tall.”
And in that feeling…
I heard someone quietly sobbing.
It was me.
“Yet your sleeping face—it’s exactly the same as when you were a baby… exactly the same…”
That feeling…
It was beyond description. No words in this world—no word born of longing, waiting, thirst—could capture it.
“Si…”
But as sobs choked me, my mouth kept closing. That word thrashed in my throat, desperate to surface.
Barely.
With great struggle—words I thought I could never again say—I forced them out.
“Si…”
Even to the very end, I wasn’t sure.
I feared the moment the word left my lips, this world would shatter like a dream. So I hesitated, and hesitated again, until the world blurred white.
“…Sister?”
The woman—bearing my dead mother’s face, speaking with her voice—set the apple down on a plate.
Since childhood, she had been skilled at peeling fruit. Yet this peel was jagged, a mess, her fingers trembling violently as though to break.
And within that trembling, she finally turned her face toward me. Her face, too, was distorted with tears.
“Yes. Then I’m your sister… Who else could be your sister but me, you fool…”
