Episode 187
“[Yawn. Tristan, I’m going to take a nap. Wake me up at an appropriate time.]”
“Yes, Sirius.”
Several centuries later, Tristan smiled serenely at the Calamity God’s vague and un-godlike command.
He could do so because of the new name he had been given.
Dolores had asked the Calamity God for a new name, burying all her memories as Dolores. With no physical body and no one who knew her, it was easy to feel reborn.
She dismissed the brief taste of freedom, the relatively peaceful days before becoming an apostle, as if they had never happened, convincing herself she had always been a slave. Life here wasn’t so bad.
‘I’ll wake him up in about fifty years.’
Serving as the Calamity God’s slave, she had learned something. The world was much larger than she had imagined, and the Calamity God’s domain wasn’t limited to Heilan.
While the Calamity God slept, Tristan worked tirelessly, just like before. And every hundred years or so, he also had to deal with this.
“No! I don’t want to be a slave, even in death!”
“Accept your fate. You enjoyed the power the Calamity God bestowed upon you. Don’t you want to take responsibility?”
“I didn’t ask for this power!”
Every hundred years, whenever an apostle died and ascended to this realm, Tristan coldly suppressed their rebellion.
He had done this so many times that it no longer fazed him. In fact, it annoyed him.
‘A slave is a slave, even in death. Why resist?’
Tristan, after subduing another resentful apostle, looked down at Heilan and murmured,
“Another hundred years.”
Time, which had once crawled by, now flew by in the blink of an eye.
As Tristan himself began to wear down, his spirit eroding, a powerful prayer from Heilan reached his ears.
“Hey, listen to me.”
…It was a strangely short prayer. Tristan sighed and murmured,
“Is it time for the next apostle to die already?”
The next apostle seemed rather impertinent. He made a mental note to put them in their place when they arrived. He blocked out the prayer, ignoring it.
And then, another hundred years passed.
It was time for the new apostle to arrive.
“…Why aren’t they here yet?”
Well, some apostles lived longer than expected. This one must be doing a good job.
“My angel, listen to what happened today.”
‘Perhaps that annoying prayer will stop when the apostle arrives.’
Who in their right mind would call the Calamity God an angel? Tristan was both baffled and impressed.
Five years later,
“…”
The long-awaited apostle finally arrived. But they were different from what Tristan had expected. They weren’t crying, weren’t filled with despair. Intrigued, Tristan asked for their name.
“Your name?”
“…Alexia.”
The black-haired apostle replied, her eyes blazing with defiance. Tristan, impressed by her spirit, explained her duties.
“Once a slave, always a slave. Don’t even think about escaping this realm.”
“I know. So stop wasting your breath.”
She was truly something.
‘Well, at least she won’t be boring.’
Her attitude was unpleasant, but her acceptance of reality was refreshing. Tristan shrugged and sent her to her designated area.
And then,
“My angel, I’m struggling. My perfect plan has been ruined.”
That insane prayer again. Tristan couldn’t believe his ears. He had thought it was Alexia, but she was already here, dead.
‘Wait a minute.’
He suddenly realized. The prayer didn’t have the distinct aura of a High Priest or an apostle. It was just… a prayer. Tristan was stunned.
‘A mere human’s prayer can reach me?’
And it wasn’t even directed at the Calamity God. He suddenly became interested in the owner of the prayer. He looked down at Heilan, the land he had been ignoring, and gasped.
“He’s praying to my statue…”
A boy with dazzling blond hair was talking to a statue of an angel, a statue modeled after Tristan, his face filled with adoration.
His prayer was filled with despair, but his expression was that of a lovesick fool.
‘He must be insane.’
It was best to ignore him. But he couldn’t.
It was the first time he had received such adoration, such affection. No one had ever spoken to him with such a gentle voice.
He found himself listening to the boy’s prayers.
And then one day, the boy, now a young man, his voice filled with despair, begged the statue,
“Please, save me…”
What was happening? Tristan was worried about him.
He wanted to help him. But what could he do?
‘I can’t do anything without the Calamity God’s permission.’
He hadn’t longed for freedom since receiving his new name. But now, he craved it.
For this man who had found him!
‘Wait, the Calamity God is sleeping.’
He had fallen into another one of his naps a few years ago.
And he wouldn’t wake up for decades, perhaps centuries. If Tristan could just slip away while he was sleeping…
‘Why am I even a slave to the Calamity God?’
A new realization dawned on him. He could use this man’s faith to free himself.
He could become a god, loved and worshipped, free from all constraints.
His suppressed desire for freedom, buried for centuries, erupted like a volcano, pulling him back to Heilan.
Dolores’s body crumbled into dust and vanished. Her memories, however, flowed into the four people gathered in the spire, through the holy relic.
They were speechless, shocked by Dolores’s tragic past.
Dolores, humiliated by the revelation of her past, collapsed onto the floor, her voice filled with despair.
“Why can’t I ever fail…?”
The cage imprisoning Artius, the dark clouds engulfing the Imperial Palace, were slowly dissipating. Dolores was dying.
“Why am I always betrayed, used, abandoned…?”
No one could answer her question.
Her life seemed like a collection of all the tragic moments from Chelon, Lucius, and Philemon’s lives.
“Princess Elonia, I envy you. I envy Alex. I envy you, Lucius. I wanted to be loved. I wanted to be happy, loved unconditionally…”
Thick, bloody tears streamed down her face.
Everyone had their story, their pain. Dolores was no different. It didn’t justify her actions, but no one could judge her.
Elonia pitied her. But what could she say? Dolores was her enemy.
Just then, Philemon slowly approached Dolores.
“M-Mom.”
Elonia, startled, called out to her, but Philemon smiled reassuringly. She looked at Tristan, her voice filled with a weary sadness.
“So your real name was Dolores.”
“…”
They all watched Philemon anxiously. What if she felt sorry for Dolores and was consumed by guilt?
“A truly fitting name.”
“…!”
Philemon smiled, a bitter, mocking smile.
Dolores’s eyes widened in fury, and Philemon continued,
“But don’t envy me too much.”
“Are you mocking me?!”
“No, I’m serious. I have to return to the Calamity God, leaving behind the family I longed to see. Are you still envious?”
“…!”
Return to the Calamity God? Artius stared at Philemon, his face filled with shock, but Philemon, her resolve hardening, continued, her gaze fixed on Dolores.
“And these children have also suffered. Don’t envy them so easily. At least they didn’t destroy everything out of resentment like you.”
“That’s…!”
“You said you wanted to be loved, Dolores.”
Philemon knelt down beside Dolores, meeting her gaze.
“Let me ask you one thing, Dolores. Have you ever truly loved anyone?”
“…!”
Dolores, about to answer affirmatively, hesitated.
She had loved Felix, but she had killed him the moment she realized he had betrayed her.
She had always prioritized herself, her own needs and desires, above all else. She hadn’t loved anyone but herself.
Philemon, as if she had expected this, smiled sadly.
“Love is a two-way street. You have to give to receive. If you only take and don’t share, you can’t be loved.”
“How would I know?!”
Dolores shouted, her eyes bloodshot.
How could she know when no one had ever taught her?
She had always been alone. No one had ever guided her, loved her unconditionally!
Philemon, looking directly at Dolores, her voice gentle but firm, said,
“You know. Someone must have taught you.”
No, no one had. Just as she was about to shout her denial,
“Dolores.”
“…!”
Dolores stared blankly at Philemon’s face.
A voice, familiar yet distant, echoed in her mind. And Dolores finally understood.
Why she had both liked and disliked Philemon.
“Mother…”
Philemon, Alexia’s face resembled her mother’s, the mother she would never see again.
“But Mother couldn’t have loved me…”
Her mother had given her the name Dolores. She had never understood why her mother would give her daughter a name that meant sorrow. She had assumed her mother hated her.
Philemon shook her head, correcting her misunderstanding.
“That’s just how Heilan is.”
“…!”
Heilan had chosen the Calamity God as its patron god to avoid calamities, to receive his love and protection.
And her name, Dolores…
“Sorrow is already in your name, so I hope no more sorrow comes to you, my child.”
Her mother’s words, long forgotten, resurfaced from the depths of her memory.
Why hadn’t she remembered?
“My child, don’t live like me. Be happy.”
Dolores’s buried memories, like seeds sprouting from the earth, bloomed.
“Ah…”
Her bloody tears turned clear, and Philemon, her eyebrows drooping, smiled sadly.
“See? You knew.”
“Ugh, sob…”
Yes, she had known.
Why had she forgotten? She had been loved, even if it was just for a short time.
The realization made her cling to life, to Philemon’s leg, her voice filled with desperation.
“Save me, I don’t want to die. I want to live, I want to live as a human…!”
Becoming an apostle hadn’t been her choice. But if she had known how to love, how to be loved, she wouldn’t have ended up like this.
“I can do better this time, so please, give me another chance…!”
Dolores looked up at the sky, sobbing uncontrollably, her cries like a child’s. Cracks began to spread across her face.
“N-no!”
She touched her face, her body crumbling, her eyes disappearing. She knew, this time, that death was truly imminent.
There would be no second chance, no resurrection. She would vanish completely.
Her struggles ceased, her cries fading as she accepted the inevitable.
“Mother, I’m sorry…”
She whispered, her eyes closing, and the dark clouds engulfing Ravanta vanished completely.
Elonia, looking at the empty space where Dolores had been, the floor clean, not even a speck of dust remaining, looked up at the pale blue sky and murmured,
“…Dawn.”
The others, also looking up, replied,
“We stayed up all night.”
“…Indeed.”
Just as Lucius murmured his agreement,
“Yaaawn.”
Someone yawned loudly, an uncharacteristically boisterous sound. They were all tired, but no one would normally yawn so openly.
Elonia, curious, turned towards the source of the sound.
It was a boy, his hair a mess, clutching a pillow, dressed in pajamas. He yawned again, scratching his head, seemingly oblivious to their stares.
“…Who is he?”
Elonia murmured, her voice filled with disbelief. The others shared her sentiment.
How had he even gotten into the Imperial Palace, dressed like that?
Just as Elonia was about to question him,
“S-Sirius?”
Philemon murmured, her eyes wide with shock. Elonia and Lucius’s heads snapped towards her.
“Sirius?”
“The C-Calamity God?”
Lucius asked, his voice filled with disbelief. Philemon nodded, her eyes trembling.
The boy, rubbing his sleepy eyes, yawned again, then looked around and muttered,
“Yaaawn. It’s finally over. Capturing a runaway slave shouldn’t take this long.”