"I didn’t lie, Sister Lucia!" Paschasius grinned. "People who receive revetions from God ot sin. If we did, dark corruption would seep from our hearts and swallow the world whole."

  "Just admit you stole the honey date from my pte, Pascha! That was my favorite part of the meal!"

  Paschasius pressed his lips together, trying so hard not to ugh—only to fail miserably.

  "Father Pascha, you have my honey date!"

  "You take mioo!"

  "Please don’t steal Sister Lucia’s again… she might actually cry…"

  Hearing the orphanage children rebuke him while also up their own food, Paschasius gasped in mock reverence. "Oh, praise God… where did You send these pure little angels from?"

  Then, in a dramatic turn, he cpped his hands together. "Alright! Round up! Form a line! Everyone, return Sister Lucia’s honey date properly!"

  The children giggled but obediently lined up. One by one, as they pced a honey date oe, they each said a single word.

  "Happy!"

  "Birthday!"

  "Sister!"

  "Lucia!"

  "Happy!"

  "Happy—ow! What do I say?"

  "Birthday, dummy!"

  "Why ’t we just sing?!"

  "Dummy! You rui!"

  "BWAHAHAHAHA—"

  "Father Pascha! This was your idea! Stop ughing!"

  "Ugh! Father Pascha is such a dummy! Happy birthday, Sister Lucia!"

  "Huh? Don’t ugh too!"

  "Pffft—!"

  By the time the st child had given her a honey date, Lucia found herself staring at a small mountain of them—thirty-something in total. Then, Paschasius stepped forward and pced two more onto her pte—his own and the one he inally stole.

  She sighed. "How am I supposed to finish all this…?"

  Paschasius sighed too. "Yeah… I k. It’s ooo many, isn’t it?"

  And without missing a beat, he swiped one bad popped it into his mouth.

  "Pascha!"

  ***

  Burn frowned, his gaze darkening at the grief pooling in her eyes. “Why are you bming yourself?”

  Man shook her head, silent. But Burn wasn’t having it.

  “You had to seal him,” he pressed. “Guilty or not, the corruption would’ve spread if you didn’t.”

  “The corruption would have spread anyway,” Man murmured. “But I could’ve saved him. Somehow. I should’ve tried. If it didn’t inally e from him, then maybe I—”

  “Alright,” Burn cut in, sharp but not unkind. “Let’s say you knew. Which you didn’t. Are you telling me you could have saved him?”

  Man didn’t answer.

  Burn scoffed. “You drowhe nd, Momo. You unleashed an o in a single breath—the moment your Vision awakened. You think you were in any state to ‘save’ him?” He let that hang in the air for a sed. “You couldn’t even save yourself. You died with him.”

  “Yes,” Man whispered. She looked down, hands tightening. “But if I hadn’t…”

  “You still saved the world.” Burn exhaled, then shrugged. “Yeah, alright, eventually the first demon lord dug it up again, but you still did. You are Saint Lucia. That Saint Lucia.”

  The woman who had been reboreen times—each time into the same royal family, each time dying before adulthood—only to leave behind a revolution in her wake. A cycle of sacrifice, wisdom, and defiance so relehat it had scorched history itself. All before awakening her Vision.

  And if corruption had e from another world… then maybe this was always iable.

  Iable because of its uability.

  Man exhaled slowly. “After I found out, he asked me to create that illusion barrier. We both cimed it was God’s and, but that was a lie. It was our own choice—the mere mention of something from another world was enough for us to try and hide.”

  She sighed. “But then, Isaiah remembered something. Romeuf once said that Merlin came from another world…”

  The Merlin they knew wasn’t a bad man. Even now—after he had betrayed her—it was difficult for Isaiah and Vd to recile that fact. How could Man’s father, the greatest mage to have ever lived, the man who had fought alongside them to sy the Demon Lord, have betrayed them?

  But for Man, it was worse. She knew corruption had e from another world.

  Wouldn’t that mean it was Merlin whht it?

  Or… were there others?

  When Merlin vanished—disappearing in the blink of ahrough a dimensional gateowered by Man’s accumuted soul energy he had successfully stolen—it was assumed he had returo wherever he came from.

  But what if he hadn’t simply returned?

  What if he had finished whatever he came here to do?

  What if his true purpose had always been—to spread corruption?

  Burn pulled her closer—just a little too hastily. He squeezed her tightly, rubbing slow circles into her back.

  “I’ve never met this guy,” he muttered, “but there’s nothing I want more than to poke him in the eye, pry it out, and feed it to him.”

  Man chuckled.

  “Anyway,” she tinued, “whatever attacked me i loop should’ve given him just as much backsh. It had been marinating inside Bir, and if the vessel had been anyone else… I’m guessing the attack would have maed pletely differently.”

  Burn frowned. “You mean, because it was something he used to manipute Bir’s Vision, it became that strong?”

  Man nodded.

  The Red Thread of Fate—Bir’s Vision Specialty.

  “Just like I never imagined someone could use Corruption to create a device like the Vision Resonator,” Man said, “I also never imagined someone could use it to cultivate a Vision—at the cost of the victim’s sanity, health, and even their life.”

  The sed Demon Lord had called Bir his masterpiece.

  Then there was that creature that had attacked Tristan and Yvolt. Ahl—whatever.

  Could he be another one of the Demon Lord’s experiments? Atempt at… whatever this was? Maybe even one of the successful ones?

  Burn’s grip on her arm tightened.

  Man raised a hand, leaning into him, brushing her fingers gently against his cheek.

  “Yes, Caliburn.” Her voice was soft. Certain.

  “If I save Bir…” she whispered, “we might be able to save Aroche.”

  Burn’s eyes widened.

  ***

  The void sighed. There was no up nor down, no horizon, no sky—only darkness, heavy and absolute. At the ter of this abyss, a shapeless mass pulsed, its surface rippling like ink disturbed by an unseen force.

  Suspended within, a head y still. Its eyes remained closed, as if lost iernal slumber, untouched by time or awareness. The bck mass shuddered. Slowly, agonizingly, the head began to rise.

  The silence deepened.

  Then, as if sensing its own awakening, the head’s eyelids twitched. A breathless moment passed before they parted, revealing eyes hollow ahless. The void did not reflect withi was absorbed.

  And then, the weeping began.

  Thick, viscous tears—bck as the void itself—spilled down the pale cheeks, leaving streaks that seemed to burn into the skin. They fell soundlessly, vanishing into the darkness below.

  Yet the weeping did not cease. The head, now fully emerged, remained weightless, adrift in its abyss. It did not sob. It did not wail.

  It simply opes eyes… a.