The midday sun hung high on the horizon, pouring its golden light onto a peaceful garden. A soft breeze drifted across tree branches, dragging with it the scents of sweet Japanese dishes and fresh water from the canals. Humidity clung to every breath, grasping skin and drenching it with sweat.
Two Japanese-style, sliding doors hung wide open, separating the man-made garden from the polished wooden room of the Inn. Inside the room, two figures in blue yukatas kneeled on soft red cushions. A low wooden table stood between them, set with ceramic cups, plates, and a kettle that steamed gently. An aroma hung in the room, the fragrance of green tea mingling with the sweet scent of soy.
Outside the open doors, Beatrice sat cross-legged, her tiny frame finding refuge beneath the slanted roof. A book, that looked ridiculously big compared to her body, rested on her lap. Her usual pink dress was replaced by a dark blue yukata, a different flavor from what she was used to.
A little further, a small fountain rippled gently as Garfield dipped his feet in, arms folded behind his head. The pristine water cooled his skin, earning a toothy smile from the youth, a sharp one. He wore his usual outfit, black pants, a purple loincloth, long gloves, and an open vest that revealed his toned muscles.
"I'm telling ya," he said while chewing on a meat skewer, "this is the life. No evil cults, no explosions, and, best of all, no weirdos in clown outfits."
"You just described half the people you know, I suppose," Beatrice muttered from the shade of the inn's roof, her nose deep in a thick book
Otto chuckled from inside as he poured green tea into ceramic cups. "If we're lucky, it'll stay this way. Honestly, it's not every day we get to relax before business."
Emilia sat, across from Otto, by the low table, absent-mindedly stirring her cup.
"It's really lively here, isn't it?" she said, voice soft. "I didn't expect the city to be so busy. At least not since…"
"The city has recovered," Otto replied, stretching his hands as he leaned back. "Merchants and travelers have come in flocks. People forget quickly."
"It's a good thing," Emilia said with a hopeful smile. "Things moving forward."
"Mmm." Otto sipped from his cup, then paused. His eyes drifted toward the open garden. "By the way… I overheard something earlier, on the way back from the market."
"About what, I suppose?" Beatrice asked without looking up from her book
"There was a public execution recently. Caused a bit of a stir, which might be the reason why everyone is busier than usual. Supposedly, they decided to send a message to the cult by killing the Sin Archbishop of Pride."
The garden fell quiet before a gust of wind cut through the tense atmosphere.
Beatrice's book slipped from her fingers and landed, with a silent thud, on the wooden deck.
"...What did you say, in fact?" she asked, voice suddenly sharp.
Otto blinked. "The Sin Archbishop of Pride. They burned him at the stake, apparently. I didn't catch the details, just that it drew a huge crowd."
Beatrice's pupils constricted. Then, turning her back to the garden, she sat up like a puppet tugged by invisible strings.
"That's not… that can't be, I suppose…" Her breath got caught in her throat
"Beatrice?" Emilia tilted her head with worry
"I–" Beatrice clutched her head, fingers twisting her golden drills. "I accused him. I– I–"
Her breath hitched, and reality shattered around her. The light inside her mind seemed to shiver, a veil was torn from her subconscious. Memories began to surge–
And suddenly, he was there.
His smile. His voice. His pain. His hands reaching for her, even when she turned away. The way he chose her when no one else did. That warmth—
"Subaru," she whispered reverently, like she had committed the taboo of forgetting a god
Emilia's hand trembled slightly, tea droplets spilling onto the table. "Subaru…?"
Like an incomplete puzzle, the pieces began to fall into place.
Emilia's heart sped up. His face bloomed in her memory like a delicate flower after a cruel winter. Her eyes stung, tears welled up and slid down her cheek before she could understand the reason.
"Betty's sorry!" Beatrice's voice cracked, her body folding in on itself like paper.
Emilia's cup slipped from her hand and shattered against the floor. The sharp crack of porcelain echoed across the room. Emilia didn't move to clean it, instead, she stared at the fragments on the floor as if she were the one breaking apart.
"Subaru…" Emilia whispered again. Her voice was distant, trembling with awe and grief.
Otto sat frozen. "Wait… Subaru? Who is—" His words caught in his throat. "No…"
Beatrice staggered onto her feet, her small hands grasping the sides of her yakuta, the thick fabric denting from pressure."I did this in fact. I… I accused him of being Pride. I thought–"
Emilia's breathing was shaky, erratic. She pressed a hand to her chest, eyes wide. "Why… why did I forget?"
The memories crashed her mind like a wave: his smiles, his laughter, his pleading. Every single one of them was tainted with guilt, with disgust. Her time with Julius, the moments they confessed their love for each other, the– No, she didn't have time for this.
"Where is he?" Beatrice gasped, her fingers trembling as she pressed them to her temples. "Where is he, in fact? I have to—Betty has to—!"
Garfiel, who had sat frozen through the chaos, suddenly staggered forward, his meat skewer dropping to the ground.
"…Captain?"
His voice was a whisper at first, a child's desperate hope given breath. Then his eyes widened, pupils shaking erratically.
"No. No, no, no, NO!" He sprang to his feet so violently that the fountain water splashed behind him. "You said they were executing him?! You said Pride?! That's—THAT'S BULLSHIT!"
"Garfiel—!" Otto called out, but the blond boy was already gone, bolting through the sliding doors, barefoot and soaked, leaving only muddy footprints behind.
Otto remained kneeling in place, his face discoloring from realization. "This is… this is impossible."
Emilia stood abruptly, swaying on her feet. "We have to find him. If Garfiel finds him first, if he's still alive—he might be, right?" Her voice cracked. "Right?"
"He always found a way, in fact," Beatrice spoke, her raspy voice filling with defeat. "He has to"
The three hurried through the winding streets of Pristella, the clamor of activity clashing against the sickening stillness building in their chests. The lower districts had been nearly abandoned during the city's worst days, but now, as the city healed, it pulsated with renewed life. Merchants sold their goods to travelers, citizens gossiped, and life moved forward. A sweet scent mixed with the aroma of fresh fruit.
Garfiel's trail was easy to follow: half-shoved carts, startled passersby, one elderly merchant still picking himself off the ground and swearing.
Beatrice kept up surprisingly well; her small form was now weightless, each step sending her further than it should. "It was me, in fact… Betty said it. I called him Pride. I called him that, I—!"
"Not now," Emilia choked out, as she sprinted. "Please. Please just not now."
Otto lagged many paces behind, panting like a dog. "Wai- Wait up!"
The streets grew denser as they pushed deeper into the city's heart. People clogged the narrow alleys, murmuring, wincing, their gaze drawn ahead like moths to a flame.
They came to a sudden halt, unable to cross the flesh roadblock.
"Why… why are there so many people in the way?" Emilia asked anxiously, blinking as she tried peek over the crowd.
Beatrice didn't answer. Her small fingers were locked around Emilia's sleeve like a lifeline. Her face had gone pale, lips quivering. She kept shaking her head, eyes darting from person to person in search of something.
The square opened up, and the people thinned just enough for them to see.
At the center of the street, a crude wooden platform stood. Dark stains were baked into the planks. On top, a figure was tied by scorched chains onto a pole of crumbling charcoal.
The remains of a human body slouched forward, crumbling under gravity, head missing. The body shriveled inward, blackened and split, like he had been dried in the sun and left to rot. The limbs were curled unnaturally, knees drawn slightly up from how the muscle had tightened, bones exposed at the joints where the fire had licked deepest. The fingers had fused into a flesh slob.
Jagged ribs protruded like monster claws, hollow and fragile from starvation. Flesh was charred like the flavorful crust formed in well-done steaks. It looked like hardened wrinkles, a combination of dried jerky and raisins. White, grey powder rested on the blackened rubber like fresh snow.
The body was too small as if their humanity had been sucked out.
Several feet away, in front of the platform, an iron spike had been embedded in the ground. A wooden sign read 'PRIDE', below it 'The Fate Of Sinners'
Emilia tilted her head back.
And saw it.
A Head.
One eye socket had collapsed, caving inward. The other was an empty abyss, shrunken remains of an eye where the soul used to be. The flesh was blackened, bubbled, and melted down like old candle wax. Unrecognisable.
For a moment, the ruined head wore his smile, her memory painting over the horror. But no amount of love could bring flesh back to the bone. The image of a smiling Subaru kept flickering, deluding Emilia from reality.
Emilia's breath hitched, salty tears stinging her eyes. She collapsed to her knees before she realized she'd moved, the world tilting sideways. A sharp cry ripped from her throat, raw and primal, the sound of something breaking.
"No—" she rasped. "No, no, no, please no—Subaru—"
Otto looked away, tears threatening to escape. "Natsuki-san…"
Beatrice stood frozen beside Emilia, staring up at the head, her small hands trembling at her sides. Her lips moved soundlessly.
Then she whispered, hoarse and shaking, "That… that's not real. That isn't real, in fact…"
Emilia pressed her hands over her mouth as something thick and metallic surged up her throat.
A splatter of half-digested tea and bile struck the cobblestone, and she choked, coughed, and heaved again. Her stomach gave more than it had.
She wiped her mouth with trembling hands.
Then, she stared at him.
At it.
Emilia reached up toward the head, hand outstretched like she could still brush his hair from his face. But there was nothing soft left to touch.
"Subaru," she whispered, as if saying his name would make the world correct itself. As if the syllables would undo what had clearly been done.
He didn't answer.
"Please come back… I'll give you everything. I'll make sure… you never leave me again." She pleaded, her face covered in tears and mucus.
The uncaring world exhaled, ashes unclung from soot and flew freely into the sky. The long breeze carried with it the sickly sweet scent of burnt flesh and rot. The same sunlight that poured over the garden now revealed the truth.
Beatrice's breath hitched in short, shuddering gasps. She could not cry. She could not scream. All she could do was stare at the horror her words had produced.
"I did this," she choked. "I did this, in fact…"
And then she screamed, a raw, gut-wrenching wail tore out of her throat. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed, pounding the stone with her fists.
Amidst her breakdown, realization struck her.
'If I suffer long enough, maybe I'll suffer in his place. That's fair… isn't it?'
The story had reached its end… and still, the book would not close. Sin painted the blank pages in colorful, twisted colors. Where there is life, there is hope. Where there is death, there is opportunity. And where there is emotion, there is sin.
Envy
It tried to turn back time to save itself, but it couldn't.
A flickering orb flew across the abyss, misshapen and cracked. Witch factors clung to it, refusing to let go, like magnets. The orb pulsated, each movement shedding away broken fragments. The foreign entities worked like glue, keeping the unstable soul together, replacing what was lost; they had found the perfect vessel and refused to leave.
It closed the distance between itself and Od Laguna, awaiting the comforting embrace of peace.
Rejection
Such a corrupted being could never be allowed near a God. Its existence was a threat to the very world it resided in.
Envy
It hated the world. Why were others allowed to be happy when it could not?
Return–Failed
Return–Failed
Return–Failed
Od Laguna turned its face away.
There was no warmth. No welcome. No reset.
Just silence.
The soul drifted, shredded by the windless void. Its once-human form had long since unraveled, now a writhing knot of memory, desire, and curse.
Return–Failed
The command echoed endlessly, a dying script looped in a mind that no longer remembered who wrote it.
The Witch Factors sang. A thousand whispering voices, each one a mirror twisted inwards.
You are not done.
You are not forgiven.
You are not forgotten.
The soul convulsed. Time fractured. Reality bent, but would not break. There was no beginning to restart from, only the end, a prison burned to a crisp.
The orb spiraled, melting and reforming, caught in the gravitational pull of fate. Of sin.
Then–
It was too cold.
The breath of every midwife came out as condensed smoke. Blood poured on the floor before freezing over in thin webs. Frost had crept up the walls like veins of regret, cracking lamps and leaving the rays filtered through the curtains as the only light source. Icicles threw accusations, like cold fingers pointing inwards.
Emilia lay half-upright, propped against the stained mattress, her silver hair soaked with sweat. Her gown had long since been torn open and soaked with blood. She looked different now, her eyes sparked with danger, and her once luscious, long hair was cut short.
Her arms were trembling as she held an infant close, too close, pressed against her chest like she might crush and absorb him.
A midwife stepped forward. "Lady Emilia, we need to clean him. And your bleeding hasn't stopped, we have to—"
"Don't touch him."
The words were quiet but final. The air dropped several degrees.
The midwife froze mid-step.
Another tried. "Please, we have to—"
"I said don't touch him!" Emilia screamed, startling those who were already on edge.
Outside the luxurious room, stood an impatient Julius. Tears rolled down his cheek, burning his already sensitive eyebags. He wore his knight uniform even during such a moment, because that was all he was, a knight whose heart needed steel armor.
His hands shifted to the door handle, slightly opening the door with a high-pitched creak.
A spear of ice burst through the door from the inside, fast and savage, a primal reflex more than magic. It screeched through the air and tore through the outer frame, inches from Julius's neck. Another spike followed immediately, piercing the floorboards near his boots, forcing him to twist and roll back with practiced precision.
His arm hit the wall, leaving cracks.
Breath knocked from his lungs.
A shard of ice had sliced clean through the sleeve of his uniform, just a graze, but bleeding. He stared at the door, stunned, heart pounding, frost creeping outward through the cracks like vines with fangs. The ice exploded into life, blocking the door with uneven jagged shards.
"Don't come in," Emilia's voice rasped, low and uneven. "Don't… look at me. Don't look at him."
Inside the room, Emilia exhaled.
The child in her arms remained still.
Too still.
He hadn't cried, not once. Not even when the cold began creeping across his tiny body, when the room dropped below what a newborn should survive.
Emilia held him away from her body, getting a good look.
The infant had short violet hair that could barely cover his pointed ears, a testament to his elven heritage, even if his blood was impure. His eyes were sharp, giving him a mean look. The left pupil shone with a familiar amethyst, the right one with a light brown.
She gasped at the appearance
Her mind filled with both disgust and love.
The child blinked slowly. The same way he used to blink when he was thinking too hard. That half-lidded, pitiful expression, the one she had buried in her dreams and dug up again.
Her hands trembled, then her fingers tightened around the fragile skin.
She didn't mean to squeeze.
The baby's lips parted. No sound came out. His breath fogged the air for just a moment, like he was trying to cry but couldn't remember how.
One of the midwives stepped forward, feet shaking with fear. "Lady Emilia, the child, h–he needs a name. For the records. For the spirits' protection. For the—"
"Subaru," Emilia proclaimed with a smile, "His name is Subaru."
Subaru. That name was imposed like a curse.
The room fell silent, not from relief but from shock.
None of the midwives moved. One was quietly sobbing, pressing a bloodied cloth to her own wrist where an ice shard had cut through. Another stared at the newborn with trembling eyes, lips silently forming prayers to the dragon, prayers that would go unanswered.
"Lady Emilia," the eldest of them whispered again, finding the courage to save an innocent soul, "That… that name is—"
"I said his name is Subaru," Emilia snapped, eyes flashing. Frost cracked outward from beneath her. "It's his name. Not yours to change."
After that, the midwives knew better than to speak again
Her fingers traced his face with reverence and disgust, awe and horror.
"I'll love you this time. I'll keep you. I'll do it right. I will. I will. Even if you do things wrong."
Even if she hated what he was.
Even if she loved who he used to be.
Because
A mother's love is selfish.