Chapter 167
His voice remained flat, his expression unchanged, a perfect stone mask.
There was no dramatic humility, no pleading tears.
Only a straightforward declaration of a need.
He asked to be brought before his God. Or, more precisely, before the smallest fragment of his God.
That was all.
Enough to settle the matter that had lodged itself in his heart.
The request did not go unanswered.
A thud.
Not a sound, but a vibration that shattered the false heavenly silence.
Then, as if this miniature universe were keeping time, fifteen moons—silver spheres of light—appeared and took turns revealing themselves across the misty sky.
Fifteen pairs of crashing waves echoed from every direction, as though all creation were drawing breath in and out.
Fifteen eruptions of mountainous force rumbled from beneath the ground, affirming the turbulence of the power being summoned.
And finally, ten beams of pure light—each with its own hue, from milky white to gold—speared down from the heavens, forming ten magnificent pillars that encircled the open area before the gate.
At the center of that circle of pillars, on a tall chair turned away—showing only its vague, unreadable back toward Aldraya—a figure began to condense from light and vibration.
It was not the complete Quil-Hasa.
It was not.
It was merely an avatar, a manifestation that perhaps held only one percent of His presence, or even less.
Yet even the smallest trace of the Source was overwhelming.
The air quivered violently, divine pressure filled every corner of space without resistance.
The chair and the figure seated upon it radiated an aura so complex—
Power undeniable, sorrow immeasurable, and a loneliness so profound it felt colder than the vacuum of outer space.
Aldraya's request had been granted.
God, or at least a tiny fragment of Him, had arrived—with all His mystery and distance still preserved.
I've seen dozens of Quil-Hasa's avatars in the game.
From almost abstract forms to near-human silhouettes, from pure light to collapsing fragments of energy.
But what's appearing before Aldraya now is nothing like anything the scenarios ever described.
From behind the thicket veiled in golden mist, Theo's eyes caught every detail of the manifestation.
Though he had watched countless avatars of Quil-Hasa on a monitor—ranging from the terrifying war-god form of early arcs to the silent, grief-ridden figure near the finale—witnessing it directly struck all his senses with a reality no graphic or narrative could imitate.
First, the Form.
This avatar was a visual paradox.
It was not perfect, yet in that imperfection radiated a higher perfection that could not be processed by the logic of shape.
The figure was never truly complete.
It was an endlessly postponed process.
Its silhouette shifted—one moment humanlike, the next angelic, then dissolving into clusters of light attempting to form something undefined.
Its body resembled a sentence being written and erased at the same time, its edges trembling, blurring, shimmering.
In some places, faint cracks appeared like fractures on crystal, but the shards never fell.
They hovered around the form, circling before reintegrating, an eternal cycle of destruction and renewal.
Its beauty was not harmonious beauty, but the beauty of unrealized potential—wounded yet radiating, striking Theo's soul with a mixture of reverence and pity.
Second, the Presence of Sound.
The avatar was silent.
Not a single word left it.
Yet its presence alone was a symphony of cosmic pressure.
Wind—or something like wind—swept through everything, not from any direction but born directly from its existence.
And in that breeze, Theo heard echoes.
Not a single echo, but layers of echoes arriving simultaneously from every place.
From the past, from the future, from folded space, and even from nothingness beyond nothingness.
Each layer carried a different emotion.
One whispered with soothing calm, another thundered with ancient wrath, another sighed with endless sorrow, one was neutral like physical law, and one was utterly empty.
This was undeniable proof that what stood there was not a personality, but a fraction.
A piece of an impossibly vast and complex whole, where even a fragment carried echoes of the full spectrum of the Source's emotions—too vast to unite into one coherent identity.
Third, the Gaze.
What struck Theo the most was when that gaze, brief and fleeting, settled on Aldraya.
It was not the gaze of a wrathful God toward a rebel.
Not the gaze of a Creator toward a cursed creation. It was far more complex, far more wounding.
The gaze of a Creator pained by His creation's errors—but not out of hatred.
There was no punishment in it, yet no forgiveness either.
No burning hatred, but no warm reverence.
Only an acknowledgment of an unbridgeable gulf.
A gaze that seemed to say, "I see you. I see all your wounds and sins. I wish to understand your despair, yet at the same time, I know I cannot save you from yourself, from the consequences you chose and that I allowed."
It was the gaze of a consciousness bearing the weight of wounded love and inescapable responsibility—looking upon its lost child with a sorrow too vast for words or mercy.
"This smallest fragment demands a clear answer.
For what purpose have you come, Aldraya, former Bearer of the First Light who abandoned destiny to shoulder the sin of your twelfth Brother?"
Oooooh!
"Explain a single reason without deviation, for if your intent feels obscured, the punishment upon you shall be increased by this form."
In the sacred silence filled with multicolored echoes, Theo's awareness roiled.
He was the only hidden witness to this impossible meeting, and every nerve strained to sense the vibrations unfolding before him.
Then, without any prelude or softening, the voice was heard.
The voice of Quil-Hasa—or rather, the voice of the unstable form on the chair.
It was neither thunder nor melody, but a pure vibration resonating directly inside the soul, flat, clear, empty of emotional color, devoid even of acceptance or pleasure.
Those words struck straight to the core of the matter, a question that dug into the heart of this encounter's true motive.
The small fragment of Quil-Hasa demanded the purpose of her arrival.
What business could require a fraction of the Source to meet Aldraya, the former Highest Angel who fled and willingly took on the burden of her twelfth sibling's sin?
The question hung in the air like a perfectly balanced blade.
And within that question was a threat—cold and absolute.
If her answer later was deemed meandering, unclear, or unsatisfactory, then the punishment already upon Aldraya would be increased.
No mercy, no negotiation.
This was a supreme tribunal held in silence and trembling light.
"I beg forgiveness for my disrespect, O You Who Begin and End All Things.
I thank You for granting me this audience, though I am no longer worthy to stand in Your light."
To be continued…