The sky answered.
It was as though heaven itself had been watching all along.
A wind rose without warning—soft, gentle, and impossibly cold. It drifted through the trees, brushed against the old stone walls of the church, and flowed down the endless stairs like a living thing. Step by step, it descended until it finally reached the young married couple standing in the midst of their trial.
The wind passed through Yuuta first.
Cold relief washed over his burning skin, and for a fleeting moment, hope flickered inside his chest. I can still move, he thought weakly. Just a little more. He had already climbed nearly a third of the way. The summit felt closer now—close enough to imagine reaching it.
But his body no longer obeyed him.
His legs trembled uncontrollably, his breath came in broken gasps, and his vision blurred at the edges. The will to move remained, but the strength to do so was fading fast.
In his arms, Erza broke.
She cried like a baby—raw, unfiltered, desperate. For someone who had always worn a cold expression, who had never learned how to show her emotions, this was her first time collapsing so completely. Her pride shattered, her composure vanished, and all that remained was fear.
This was not a choice.
When pain or trauma became too overwhelming, even the strongest beings returned to their most basic state. It was not weakness—it was instinct. A reset of the soul when the mind could no longer endure.
Erza clung to him, sobbing uncontrollably.
The blood on the stairs bore silent witness to everything.
Those who saw it felt their hearts ache. The crusaders who had mocked earlier lowered their heads in shame and began to pray sincerely for the first time. The maids gathered with trembling hands clasped together. More people arrived—strangers who did not belong to Yuuta's world, yet whose humanity had not failed them.
They prayed.
And heaven listened.
It was the middle of the afternoon when Father Nelson heard it—a distant, unnatural sound rolling across the sky.
Thunder.
His eyes widened as he looked up.
Dark clouds surged forward, swallowing the sun whole, spreading across the sky like a massive umbrella drawn over the island. Daylight vanished in moments, and an unnatural darkness fell over the church, the stairs, and the countless souls watching below.
Something had answered their prayers.
Thunder cracked across the sky.
Then came the rain.
The first drop fell—not randomly, not by chance. It was as if heaven itself had chosen where that single drop should land. With quiet precision, it descended and touched Erza's forehead.
The water was harmless. To a being as strong as her, it should have meant nothing.
Yet that single drop shattered her.
It slid down her face, washing away the fear that had clung to her heart, blending with the tears she had been shedding in pain. Those tears—once heavy with despair—changed their meaning. Her trembling lips quivered, then softened. Pain gave way to relief, and relief slowly turned into something fragile yet radiant.
Hope.
Then the second drop fell.
And the third.
Soon, thousands followed.
Rain poured from the heavens, drenching the land as though the world itself had exhaled after holding its breath for too long. The air changed instantly—cool, fresh, alive. The scent of wet soil and stone filled the mountain, calming hearts that had been clenched in fear moments before.
From the forested slopes, frogs emerged and began to sing, their voices echoing like nature's hymn. Church bells rang—not pulled by human hands this time, but swaying freely, as if angels themselves had rejoiced.
The crusaders erupted in cheers.
They shouted like fans celebrating a victory on a great field, their earlier cruelty forgotten in the face of something far greater. Laughter returned—but this time, it was warm, not cruel.
The maids smiled through tears. Some ran outside the church, lifting their hands and spinning in the rain, dancing in gratitude, praising God without words.
Water rushed down the staircase.
At first, the stone resisted. Each drop vanished the moment it touched the heated surface, turning into mist. But the rain did not stop.
Drop after drop fell with stubborn persistence.
And at last, water won.
The stairs cooled—visibly, undeniably. Steam rose as the burning stone surrendered, becoming gentle beneath the falling rain.
The path before Yuuta was no longer cruel.
It was finally merciful.
Erza felt the rain first.
Her eyes widened, and for the first time in a long while, her voice carried something light—almost childish.
"Yuuta, look," she said, lifting her face toward the sky.
"It's raining. Look… it's raining."
Her words trembled with excitement, with relief she had been afraid to hope for.
But Yuuta did not respond.
The rain touched his skin, cooled his burning body, yet he reacted to nothing. His steps faltered—not because he was stopping, but because his senses had dulled, as if his body no longer recognized the world around it.
Erza's breath caught.
The hope that had bloomed in her chest shattered in an instant.
"Yuuta…?" she whispered.
Panic seized her. She quickly lifted his face, forcing him to look upward, then lowered her chin instinctively, trying to shield him. His eyes were unfocused—empty, like a broken doll that no longer responded to touch.
Then rainwater slipped past his lips.
Yuuta coughed, his body jerking violently as the water entered his throat. For a brief, terrifying moment, he stopped moving entirely.
And then—
His chest rose sharply.
Cold spread through him, washing over the burning pain, forcing life back into his limbs. His heartbeat steadied, his vision cleared, and sensation returned all at once—overwhelming, cruel, yet real.
Tears filled Yuuta's eyes.
Only now did the pain truly reach him.
He had not thought when he began this climb. He had not measured his strength or feared the cost. He had only moved forward, because stopping was never an option. If he faltered—if he lost balance—even once, both he and Erza would fall. The stairs below promised not injury, but death.
That fear had driven him onward when his body had already surrendered.
So he kept moving.
Step after step.
Now, under the mercy of the rain, the path felt different. Shorter. Kinder. The stone no longer burned his feet, and the weight in his arms—though still heavy—no longer felt impossible.
Erza lifted her gaze toward the top.
Her breath caught again—but this time, in disbelief.
"…Only a hundred," she whispered.
"Yuuta… only a hundred steps left."
Hope surged through her like a wave.
And Yuuta, silent but unbroken, took another step forward.
Neither Yuuta nor Erza noticed it.
They did not see how Yuuta's sacrifice was already reshaping the hearts of those who watched from afar. The blood that had soaked the stone steps mixed quietly with rainwater, flowing downward—back to where his climb had begun. It trailed along the ancient stairs like a silent confession, until it reached the soil below.
There, among the white flowers blooming at the foot of the mountain, the water settled.
The petals drank deeply.
White turned crimson.
And before that sight stood an old man, unmoving.
He watched as the red spread through the soil, glowing faintly against the pale flowers, and something inside him finally broke. Tears welled in his eyes—tears he had not shed in centuries.
He had once believed love to be a weakness.
A flaw.
A crack in strength.
He had looked at Erza and Yuuta's bond and dismissed it as something fragile, something dangerous. To him, affection dulled judgment. Emotion weakened rulers. Love, he believed, had no place in a world shaped by war and survival.
Yet now, as he watched the proof carved into stone and blood, he realized how foolish he had been.
For the first time in his long life, the old man witnessed a dragon being protected—not by power, not by fear, not by dominance—but by sacrifice. Dragons had ruled for centuries, undefeated and untouchable. They had never needed saving.
And yet here was a human—weak, breakable, mortal—pushing his body beyond its limits, bleeding with every step, not to conquer… but simply to love.
The old man's chest tightened.
He had never understood this kind of strength.
He had feared Erza's gentleness, believing her softer heart would weaken the Atlantis Kingdom and doom it in the wars yet to come. That fear had driven him to manipulation, to cold calculations, to poisonous decisions made in the name of "the greater good."
Now, standing before those blood-stained flowers, regret crushed him.
The devotion he had tried to erase was not weakness.
It was something far more terrifying.
Something that endured even when the body failed.
And for the first time, Grandpa lowered his head.
Not as a strategist.
Not as a Great Sage revered by generations.
But as a man drowning in regret.
The weight of his actions pressed down on his chest, unbearable now that the truth stood before him in blood and rain. The sins he had committed in the name of wisdom no longer felt righteous—only cruel.
He remembered the moment it began.
After witnessing the nature of Yuuta and Mana's bond—fire clashing against water within the realm of Memory Rapture—something inside him had twisted. Fear had taken root. A distorted, almost maddened thought had bloomed in his mind: Erza must leave Yuuta… for her own good.
That belief had justified everything that followed.
From the shadows, he had tampered with Yuuta's dreams, turning rest into torment. Night after night, he subtly manifested Mana's presence, filling Yuuta's mind with weakness, fear, and relentless nightmares. The suffering grew slowly, quietly—just enough to be endured, just enough to rot the soul.
And when Yuuta finally began to break, the blame shifted.
Erza believed it was her fault.
She thought her presence weakened him. That her love was a curse. That staying by his side was slowly destroying the man she cherished. And Grandpa had allowed that lie to grow—no, he had nurtured it.
Now, standing before the blood-soaked steps, understanding struck him like divine punishment.
He had called himself wise.
Yet he had failed to understand the simplest truth of all.
Love was not weakness.
It was the very thing that gave Yuuta the strength to walk where no one else could. It was the reason a fragile human body carried a dragon through suffering, pain, and despair without surrender.
Grandpa's eyes fell to the ground, to the blood mingling with rainwater below.
Shame burned hotter than any spell he had ever cast.
All his knowledge, all his centuries of experience—and still, he had been blind.
Slowly, painfully, resolve replaced regret.
He understood now.
And with that understanding came a decision.
A choice that could no longer be delayed.
Grandpa straightened his back, his gaze hardening—not with arrogance, but with responsibility.
He knew what had to be done next.
To be continued.