* * *
So this was a “forgotten temple.”
No wonder it was so hard to find.
When Haen had first handed over enough money to feed an entire family for months, Hesia had been bewildered—but now he understood why.
It wasn’t until nearly two months after leaving the duchy that he finally found a clue about the first temple ever built.
Just as Haen predicted, the royal investigators claimed Hesia had killed him.
On top of being accused of Letian’s murder, they pinned the Count’s death on him as well—his identity had been exposed to the world.
If he hadn’t voluntarily renounced his claim to the throne beforehand, things might have gotten really complicated.
“That bastard’s insane. What kind of emperor acts so goddamn shady?”
He spat out the curse without hesitation, urging his horse to move faster.
A temple.
On top of a mountain, no less.
It was a long, exhausting journey.
He kept glancing behind him to make sure no one was following, then pushed his horse even harder.
If this information turned out to be false again, it would be the ninth wasted lead.
This time had to be it—he had no choice but to believe.
Hesia rode as far as the horse could go, then half-fell off the saddle at the edge of a rocky cliff.
If he were being pursued, they’d find the horse’s trail, so he sent it off the other way and began to climb.
Up, and up again.
He kept climbing until, finally, he saw something white.
So this was the first temple.
As if to prove its age, the place was barely standing—half in ruins.
“I finally found it.”
There wasn’t a single intact part of it.
And yet, something about it caught the eye—an eerie, almost magnetic pull.
Hesia stared at what was barely more than rubble, then slowly made his way inside.
He had expected dust and cobwebs, but to his surprise, the interior was bathed in pure white light.
Unlike its crumbling exterior, the inside was pristine. He looked around for a statue or an altar.
That’s when he saw it—a large, rectangular object.
“What the hell is that…?”
Tilting his head, he muttered to himself and cautiously approached.
It was a coffin.
Far too large to belong to any human—and completely empty.
He didn’t understand why something like this would be here, and as he stood frozen in confusion, light suddenly poured down from above.
The light was so intense it hurt his eyes.
Hesia instinctively raised his arm to shield himself.
Between the cracks in his fingers, he saw the light gathering into a massive shape—one that slowly began to take form, as if sculpted by divine hands.
Awestruck, he forgot to shield his eyes, and his arm dropped.
The light had taken the form of a woman.
Shrouded in a white veil, she lay serenely in the coffin. His heart pounded strangely in his chest.
The air, which had been still all this time, began to stir—no, to thrash wildly.
A sharp blend of agony and euphoria rushed through him, as if his blood had turned upside down.
It was a moment when Hesia could barely breathe, overwhelmed by a sensation he’d never felt before.
As if she were accustomed to what happened inside coffins, the woman lightly pushed the lid open.
Rising slowly, her seated height was nearly the same as Hesia’s.
The enormous woman wore a veil that concealed her face, unmoving even now.
Hesia swallowed dryly, certain she wasn’t breathing at all.
‘A real god…? If she’s truly a god, then maybe she can—maybe she can make Vivi happy…’
Unaware or simply unconcerned with Hesia’s tension, the woman stepped out of the coffin with a slow, graceful motion.
She looked down upon Hesia like one of the statues found in temples.
Her pure white robes flowed gently with each movement.
Perhaps because she had been born from gathered light, a halo glowed behind her.
Every bit of light in the temple seemed to converge on her.
Her hand, cold like marble and devoid of warmth, reached out to stroke Hesia’s cheek.
He flinched reflexively at the chill.
A breath-like laugh grazed his ear, and she whispered:
“You carry the feeling of someone I once missed.”
“Are… you a god?”
“I am. You, who doubt me—angel.”
As soon as she—no, the god—answered, Hesia dropped to his knees without hesitation.
Like a devout follower in prayer, he clasped his hands together.
But his expression and voice were more pleading than reverent.
“Then… could you bring someone back to life? You can take everything from me. Please, bring Vivi back. If you’re the god who created all things, then surely, bringing one person back isn’t too difficult. There’s someone who was endlessly kind—yet everyone treated him so cruelly. If he came back, he could finally know peace. Not everyone can love him, but… those who misunderstood him—they’re all gone now. He can finally be at pea—”
“You speak of Dolor?”
Cutting through Hesia’s desperate words, the god asked.
The name ‘Dolor’—the name she had once bestowed upon Vivisian—echoed in Hesia’s mind.
He nodded, face now wet with tears.
The god was silent for a while, then lightly flicked her fingers.
A bracelet that had been on Hesia’s wrist floated into her hand.
“Ah, the bracelet I gave to Hamael. Angelus… do you know the meaning of the name ‘Dolor’?”
“…Grief.”
“Yes. That child was born from grief. His life was never one I could change. Even if he were to live again, nothing would be different. Dolor longs for rest. He no longer seeks life. Life cannot be a comfort to him—that is your desire, not his.”
Her voice was gentle, yet each word struck with resolute clarity that made Hesia’s heart tremble.
His tear-streaked eyes didn’t waver, but his lashes quivered faintly.
As a god who sees all, her words held no lies.
The claim that Dolor was born from grief—that made Hesia angry.
But aside from that, there was nothing he could argue.
“But… there are many who want him to live. Whether it’s from regret… or true love… there are many people who hope he’ll come back.”
“Angels exist to bridge the gods and mortals—or to hear the voice of the divine. But many angels fail to fulfill either task. Closer to gods than to humans, they struggle to understand mortals, and even when they hear our voice, they often misinterpret it. And you, Angelus—you misunderstood the voice of your god.”
Like a judge handing down sentence, she declared his sin and its rightful punishment.
Whether her tone was laced with weariness or anger, Hesia bit his lip and said nothing.
“Angelus, let that child rest. For the living, death is terrifying. But death is not evil. Life is a process to discern who may come to my side. To die means to gain a new life beside me. There, there is no pain, no sin, no sleeplessness, no sorrow, no resentment. And if they wish, they can be born again in a new form. Is it not the place mortals have always longed for? Dolor is meant to go there.”
Like a parent gently explaining something to a fussy newborn, the god spoke softly and patiently.
She knew well how Hesia loved Vivisian, the boy born of the Duke of Teian’s bloodline, the one who lived a life soaked in grief.
That’s why the desire wouldn’t go away.
If the god could speak of him so kindly—then maybe, just maybe—she could bring him back.
Hesia steadied his breath, calming himself just a bit, but his tears kept falling as he smiled faintly.
“You’re right. Maybe… that’s truly what Vivi wants. No—I’m sure of it. He was always tired. He loved everyone, but he knew not everyone would ever love him in return. That’s exactly why… I want him to live. Everyone knows now—everyone knows he was innocent. That he did nothing wrong. They all see his purity now. And I just… I just want him to know it, too. Is that… is that selfish of me?”
When Hesia asked, his voice calm but vulnerable, the god said nothing.
With her face hidden behind fabric, Hesia couldn’t see what expression she wore, but he didn’t retreat in fear.
He stood his ground, filled with the resolve to do whatever it took to bring his wish to life.
The god, watching this small, fragile human as though seeing something unfamiliar, finally spoke.
“Humans live for the future. There comes a time when they must leave the past behind and move forward. So why do you insist on living in the past? Your place, Angelus, is not there. It’s in the future.”
She couldn’t hide her curiosity—how could something she created act so far from her expectations?
But that, too, was the nature of humans.
Longing for the past, fearing the unknown future… and still, always pressing forward.
“My beloved, foolish little creations.”
From beneath the thin veil, her eyes—both gentle and unyielding—gazed not at Hesia, but at someone else’s angel.
* * *
