Chapter 171
Theo, from a distance, watched the terrifying change in that figure.
Aldraya froze completely.
It was no longer tense silence or deep contemplation, but total paralysis.
His chest did not rise or fall; there was no sign of breath at all.
His body, which usually radiated a cold authority, now resembled a forgotten statue standing in the middle of the golden field—motionless, without resonance.
Even his blinking stopped, leaving those stone-like eyes fixed on a single empty point in the air, or perhaps staring directly into his own collapsing existence.
Theo narrowed his eyes, trying to catch even the smallest detail from afar.
The constant divine illumination around them granted an almost cruel clarity.
And there, within the wide-open, unblinking frame of Aldraya's eyes, Theo saw it.
A foreign glimmer—a thin layer of clear liquid gathering at the lower eyelids, reflecting the surrounding golden light in a different way, sharper and more painful to witness.
His eyes were watery.
It was not ordinary moisture, nor part of his divine aura.
It was something organic, mortal—something profoundly un-angelic.
A sign of the most fundamental fragility, ready to overflow.
Theo held his breath.
His analytical mind, which had been busy observing and recording, suddenly fell silent.
He realized how monumental this moment would be.
In all his knowledge of Flo Viva Mythology, in hundreds of hours of exploration, theories, and community speculation, there was never a single record, a single easter egg, or even a hint suggesting this.
Aldraya—the Former Bearer of the First Light, the immovable stone, the architect of a betrayal shrouded in gray motives—was about to shed tears.
These would not be mere tears of sadness or disappointment, but the crystallization of existential suffering, millennia of regret, and now, the deepest humiliation delivered directly by the very source of his meaning.
It would be the first, and perhaps the last, tears in the long cosmic history.
The tense seconds before the drop fell felt longer than the lifespan of several stars.
"After the Second Celestial Betrayal, is Your hatred for me truly so deep that You no longer acknowledge me as Your creation—You, the one who remains my very first love until this moment?"
Fhhh!
"Have my every step only erased me from Your design?
Tell me—do I still have a place in Your sight?"
The voice that finally escaped Aldraya's mouth was nothing like the one known before—flat, cold, calculated.
This one was cracked, trembling, broken, as if every word had to be pried out from the depths of a severely wounded soul.
A subtle tremor—not born from fear, but from crushed pride—crawled from his clenched fingertips up to the slight lift of his shoulders.
A body that had moments ago been rigid as stone now moved with fragile, uncontrollable trembling—a sign that the absolute control he had maintained for thousands of years was finally shattered.
His question drifted out, simple in structure yet carrying the depth of an indescribable wound.
In that moment, he questioned—with a tone almost like a hurt child—the very core of their relationship after the darkest event between them.
The Second Celestial Betrayal.
Had hatred crystallized so fully within the Creator?
Was it so absolute that Quil-Hasa no longer recognized Aldraya as His own creation?
Behind those stammered words hid the most primal fear of any conscious being.
The fear of being rejected and denied by the very source of one's existence.
This was no longer a question of law or forgiveness, but the cry of a soul wondering whether it still had the right to exist in the eyes of the Giver of Life.
The question hung in the air, far more piercing than any plea or defense before it.
It stripped bare Aldraya's most fundamental need, long hidden behind claims of rights, acknowledgment, and self-woven narratives of redemption.
The need to still be loved—or at least, not entirely hated and forgotten—by his first love.
His glassy eyes now seemed to stare straight into the paradoxical light atop the high throne, searching—not for legal judgment—but for a sliver of acknowledgment of the bond that once existed, however fractured it had become.
The raw, unfiltered emotional tremor radiated from him, turning the false heavenly air into a space that felt more human, more fragile, and more heartbreaking than ever before.
'It's almost here.'
"Throughout your reincarnations from one life to the next, has the notion of loyalty in your mind ever meant anything more than serving and endlessly serving?
Especially toward Me?"
Hooo—fooooosh!
"Has it never occurred to you that loyalty can hold meanings far broader than simply surrendering your entire being without understanding the meaning it should contain?"
'Devotion is indeed the highest form of trust.
But on the other hand, devotion can also become the most extreme form of belief.
And Aldraya seems to know only that extreme.
He does not understand the boundaries or nuances that should accompany true loyalty.'
Uuuuh!
'That is why I understand why Quil-Hasa asked such a question.
His punishment for Aldraya—erasing his record as one of the Thirteen Highest Angels—was the greatest opportunity for Aldraya to learn the true meaning of devotion.
But the truth is, Aldraya has shown no sign of change.
He still clings to the most extreme form of belief he possesses.'
Theo held his breath until his lungs burned.
Every muscle in his body tensed, as if sharing the weight of anticipation for the crushing blow that would shatter what remained of Aldraya's spirit.
In the suffocating silence, the second exhale from Quil-Hasa sounded.
Shorter this time, but heavier—like a readiness to deliver something bitter.
Then, the question came.
The Creator's voice returned flat, colorless, yet sharp with surgical precision.
The question pierced directly at Aldraya's definition of loyalty across his endless cycles of reincarnation—even in the Berkeley cardinal sense.
In Aldraya's mind, did "loyalty" simply mean "to serve"?
And specifically—to serve Quil-Hasa?
The question sounded simple, but to Theo hiding behind the bushes, its meaning was blindingly clear.
In his mind, divine logic formed sharply.
Blind devotion—extreme and uncritical—was not true loyalty.
It was empty obedience, a mechanism that stripped away the essence of the relationship between Creator and creation.
Theo grasped it immediately.
The punishment of stripping identity and exile, in Quil-Hasa's eyes, was not merely punishment.
It was an opportunity.
A forcibly created void in which Aldraya could experience existence without the label of "Highest Angel," without structural obligations of devotion.
Within that emptiness, Aldraya should have found a new meaning of loyalty—one born from understanding, conscious choice, and perhaps even from the experience of being "nothing."
But from everything seen and heard, Aldraya showed the opposite.
Amid all his suffering and searching, he only hardened his definition of loyalty into its most extreme form.
Total, blind devotion as the only path.
He had not changed.
He had only dug his own grave deeper by clinging to the very paradigm that was the root of his downfall.
'Even in his flatness, untouched by any outward reaction, that small movement—lowering his head, turning his gaze to the ground—was louder than any scream.'
To be continued…