SOTBW - 241

Najane sat up and gently stroked Maximón’s face.  

“Instead, promise me just one thing: no matter what happens, never use violence against Luna again. If something about her makes you angry, just ignore her instead.”  

Maximón understood the weight behind Najane’s words. Just as he had prepared himself to endure any resentment she might direct at him for his actions, Najane too was ready to embrace much of what burdened him.  

He silently wept as he recalled the look in her eyes and the tone of her voice when she had proposed marriage. Her statement—that he didn’t need to apologize to Luna—carried the same affection from that day. Maximón knew exactly what it meant. He understood so well that, gripping her hand, he buried his guilt-ridden face back into the blanket covering her lap.  

“...I promise. I won’t do it again.”  

Thankfully, she still loves me.  

At least she hasn’t given up on me entirely.  

Najane’s love softened Maximón, making him weaker, more vulnerable. But he didn’t mind this change—it was proof of how deeply he loved her. Even if he were to become nothing at all, he would have no regrets.  

“...I’m sorry.”  

At that moment, Najane apologized to him. Startled, Maximón lifted his chin. By now, her eyes were brimming with tears.  

Shocked, his eyes widened as he hurriedly sat on the sofa and cupped her cheeks. A single tear rolled down her gaunt face, tracing the path along his palm.  

Maximón squirmed, unsure of what had caused this sudden sorrow. Frantically, he searched his memories, trying to figure out what mistake he might have made—but nothing came to mind. With a pained expression, he looked at Najane, his gaze desperate, silently pleading for her to tell him his sin so he could make amends.  

But she shook her head, wiping away her tears.  

“I’m sorry for turning my back on you like that.”  

Her tear-soaked voice echoed hollowly in Maximón’s chest.  

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t take your side… I’ve never been in this situation before, so I didn’t know what to do…”  

A wave of emotion surged within him. Unable to contain it, Maximón pulled Najane into a tight embrace.  

So you knew.  

You knew that if I let go of your hand, I’d drown helplessly in you.  

Maximón’s arms trembled around Najane, like someone barely reaching the shore after being swept away by waves. He felt guilty knowing that she understood this.  

If only you hadn’t known anything and could have just loved me blindly. If only you’d never realized the desperation with which I love you, perhaps you’d be happier.  

It’s my fault for letting you see through me.  

The whispered pleas he had muttered over and over in his heart—”Please, please, please”—had finally reached her, spilling over and making her cry once more.  

For the first time in his life, an overwhelming sense of guilt consumed Maximón.  

Holding Najane close, their bodies overlapping, Maximón ran his hand down the small of her back, fragile enough to shatter at any moment, searching for the sound of her heartbeat. The rhythm was fainter than before. He wanted to say “I love you,” but the words wouldn’t come.  

Swallowing them down, his throat burned, and his vision blurred. Perhaps even the inability to say those words freely was part of loving her. Maximón thought it might have been better if he had understood these things sooner, as he listened to Najane’s quiet sobs.  

Outside, snow began to fall without notice. He wished they could stay buried together in the cold snow, just like this. If only everything could remain frozen in this moment… if only time could stop here…  

“Would Emaydis continue to love you even after knowing your true nature?”  

The sound of snow sliding off the eaves startled him, and Luna’s whispered words rippled through Maximón’s mind once more. He tried to focus solely on Najane, pushing away such thoughts. But Luna’s words continued to unsettle him, and the anxiety they stirred refused to settle.  

Cradling the back of Najane’s head in his palm, Maximón gazed toward the snow-covered window. For a fleeting moment, his reflection in the glass revealed eyes as pale as those of a drowned corpse—so unnervingly white that they blended seamlessly with the whites of his eyes. Clenching his teeth, he blinked, and his irises returned to their deep emerald hue.  

Closing his eyes, Maximón held Najane tightly. No matter what he truly was, Najane would surely continue to love him. She would definitely...  

Suddenly, the memory of Luna mocking him with a strangled voice stiffened the hairs on the back of his neck.  

For Najane’s sake, Maximón resolved not to harm Luna—for now.

---

Belshua stood before the thousands of candles left burning by the worshippers, gazing up at the magnificent stained glass windows. Upon closer inspection of the colorful glass panels, one could see depictions of ancient heroes who had fought against the Seriths. There was Rakhshu, Sylin, Aron, Sainth, and even Villar and Reje, Renee, Briotton, and Mackanon. Although Mackanon had historically rejected the Holy Church and thus was not depicted in cathedrals long ago, his image began to appear on various decorations after the resurgence of the Seriths.

As Belshua stared at the sparkling glass, he lit a candle in front of him. 

It’s worth noting that none of these heroes left behind portraits. The images were imagined and created by later generations.

In particular, very little was recorded about Sainth. People assumed he must have resembled the valiant warriors from ancient texts—blonde hair with piercing blue eyes filled with a sense of justice. 

Belshua, who had been staring at the newly lit candle, turned his gaze toward the figure of Sainth in the stained glass window. Contrary to popular belief, Sainth did not have golden hair but rather jet-black hair, as if it had been drenched in ink. His hair was so dark that it stood out even among others with black hair. And though his eyes were indeed blue, they weren’t just any shade of blue—they were a striking icy blue with an unusually dark rim around the edges, almost as if mixed with ash.

Those unfamiliar with Sainth often felt a chilling sensation when looking into those eyes, as if a large beast were stalking them. But Belshua, who had lived for tens of thousands of years, could confidently say that Sainth was the kindest, most compassionate man to ever walk the earth, one who would never back down in the face of injustice.

With his hands stuffed into his pockets, Belshua averted his gaze from the stained glass. Even though the reimagined version of Sainth was depicted alongside Astrun, gazing off into the distance, Belshua bowed his head slightly, as if uncomfortable with the feeling that Sainth’ gaze was directed at him.

Those who are forcibly resurrected can never return to the cycle of reincarnation. It means eternal life. While immortality might sound appealing to some, death and oblivion are gifts bestowed upon all living beings by the world itself.

To understand why this is a blessing, one need only think of Mackanon.

The passage of vast amounts of time has the power to wear down even the largest, hardest rocks into tiny pebbles. Human mental fortitude is no different. “Eternity” slowly erodes the human mind.

Humans are like flowing rivers; stagnant water eventually becomes putrid. Mackanon’s mind had long since worn away, leaving behind barely anything recognizable as humanity.

If Kieron hadn’t done something foolish, perhaps Sainth would have met the same fate. Just as Mackanon clung to his last shred of sanity by remembering Astien, Sainth likely would have stopped at nothing to meet Emaydis again.

Yet, despite everything, Sainth bore no resentment toward Mahilen, the one who had brought him back to life. One might expect him to express some measure of blame toward Mahilen for breaking such a taboo, but instead, he simply smiled gently.

Mahilen understood the meaning behind that smile—it was one of apology and gratitude… gratitude for being brought back despite the violation of sacred laws.

Lost in thought about Sainth, Belshua rubbed the back of his neck and turned away, his face a mixture of conflicting emotions. Tonight was his night off—a rare occasion—but he had come to Noctis Cathedral because he knew this might be his only chance to help Gwyneth.

When he told the priests sweeping the snow that he had an appointment with Archbishop Spello, he was promptly led to Venus’ office. Gwyneth was temporarily away, aiding the poor, likely distributing sacred flames to those who couldn’t afford firewood.

Upon seeing Belshua, Venus greeted him with overwhelming enthusiasm, clearly frustrated that he hadn’t been able to ask more questions about Aron due to Gwyneth’ interruptions.

“Welcome! Would you like some tea? Or have you eaten?”

Venus was overly polite the moment the priests left. Though Belshua waved off the offer, Venus, determined to finally satisfy his curiosity, selected the most expensive tea leaves and personally prepared a pot. He had a strong premonition that this might be his only chance to inquire about Aron.

“Did you come to assist with the ritual research?” Venus asked cautiously, his tone respectful and courteous.

Belshua glanced down at the faintly lemon-scented tea and nodded. There were no visible slices of lemon in the tea strainer. Staring at the teacup, Belshua fixed his gaze on Venus as if silently asking how the lemon scent was achieved.

Venus, initially missing the implication of the stare, suddenly realized and exclaimed, “Ah, you’re curious about what kind of tea this is!” He then rose from his chair and brought over a glass jar containing finely chopped leaves. As he opened the lid, a soft lemon aroma wafted through the air.

“It’s an herb called lemongrass. A plant rarely seen in cold Bastronia.”

“I see. I didn’t know such a thing existed.”

Belshua smiled faintly, as if pleased to have gained new knowledge.

“Do you enjoy the scent of lemon? Shall I give this to you as a gift?”

“No.”

Belshua closed the jar lid and responded sharply.

“It wasn’t me who liked it. Someone else did.”

Belshua, after returning the glass jar, savored the aroma and took small sips of the warm tea.  

Each time a draft caused the candlelight to flicker, Belshua’s shadow leaning against the wall swayed in response. The dark silhouette bore the shape of a human, just like Venus’. Had Belshua not revealed his true identity, Venus would never have known that the last dragon resided within this Noctis fortress.  

Venus followed the trembling shadow of Belshua with his eyes before gently setting down his teacup. As the warmth spread through him, he gathered the courage to ask Belshua a question.  

“If Lord Mahilen has no objections, may I ask you a few things?”  

“Are they about the ritual?”  

“I think I can discuss that with Archbishop Spello when he returns.”  

“You’re asking about Aron.”  

The quick-witted Belshua lowered his gaze and raised an eyebrow slightly. Instead of answering directly, Venus timidly fidgeted with his fingers.  

No matter how noble Venus’ origins as a member of the Luamars family were, he couldn’t help but feel intimidated in front of Belshua, who knew everything there was to know about Astrun. If he didn’t tread carefully with Belshua, he wouldn’t be able to hear the stories about Aron, whom he had admired his entire life.  

Almost all books about Aron—except for his diary—were essentially fictional works crafted from conjecture and imagination by later generations. Venus yearned to delve deeper into the essence of Aron.  

The tale of Aron, who hadn’t been born with even a drop of magical talent yet awakened divine power to save the world, was as captivating as the heroic ballads sung by wandering bards. Venus, born into the affluent Luamars family and accustomed to having everything handed to him, became utterly enamored with Aron, who had fought to seize everything on his own.  

For Venus, living like Aron was impossible—it was something only Aron could achieve. Thus, Venus desired not just admiration or affection, but a profound understanding of the existence that was Aron Noctis. From Aron’s favorite and least favorite foods to his specific tastes, hobbies, relationships, family, and more…  

However, the lack of detailed records always left a void in Venus’ heart. And then, Mahilen appeared. The very Mahilen—the dragon who had lived in the same era as Aron Noctis and shared the spotlight with him!