Chapter 187
And in the midst of that inescapable siege of silence, there was only herself and the drops of her blood.
A final rhythm of devotion that ended in wounds.
A lament without tears, without words, witnessed only by the dust, the sky, and the wounds on her hands that were slowly beginning to stiffen.
The surroundings did not intervene, because there was nothing that could be done.
The universe—or at least this desolate corner of it—could only remain silent, watching the final fall of an Angel officially reduced to a former one, stranded upon unwanted ground, with a future darker and lonelier than the night that wrapped around her.
'Why is it that when my hatred reaches its peak, my memories suddenly veer toward something irrelevant?'
Within the frozen basin of silence, an unexpected intrusion split the focus of her blazing hatred.
It was not a voice from the heavens, nor a demonic whisper, but fragments of warm, human memories, utterly opposed to all the rigid divinity she had endured.
Suddenly, behind her exhaustion-closed eyelids, the image of Theo Vkytor unfolded.
Not his exalted form as a god, but the worldly figure of a samurai, flashing flirtatious smiles at women and bright-eyed delight at piles of coins.
Their conversations—once felt as mere diversions, interruptions to her existential seriousness—now replayed with startling clarity.
Every word Theo had ever spoken about freedom, which she had once heard with half-dismissive ears or even contempt, now echoed through the hollow space of her soul with an entirely new resonance.
Theo's relaxed voice, sometimes accompanied by the touch of paper edges or the act of writing lines, rang out in a tone utterly unlike the sermons and dogmas that had long filled her mind.
"Freedom isn't about having no master," he might once have said with a small laugh, "it's about choosing which master you want to serve—or even choosing not to serve at all."
Those words had once felt like cheap philosophy from a hedonist.
Now, within the context of the total collapse of her devotion, they felt like keys rattling the locks of the chains in her mind.
The memories pushed deeper, revealing moments when Theo had questioned her unconditional obedience.
"Are you sure all this is your will, and not a will imposed on you?" or, "Faith that is never questioned is fragile faith, my friend."
She had once dismissed those questions as temptation, as tests from a lesser god who could not comprehend the sanctity of her commitment.
Now, amid the ruins of her beliefs, those questions became light illuminating cracks that had existed from the very beginning.
Theo, with his love for yellow books and writing, appeared freer than she ever had been—the Highest Angel confined within pavilion and dogma.
The samurai who openly claimed to love money and women had never seemed enslaved by them; he enjoyed them by conscious choice.
Meanwhile, Aldraya, who devoted herself to the highest form of love, found herself the least free of all.
Her contemplation shifted, no longer focused on killing or forcing recognition.
She began to reinterpret all of their interactions.
Perhaps what Theo had tried to convey was not an invitation to be wild and irresponsible.
Rather, it was a principle that the true value of a belief lies in the choice to hold it, not in coercion or fear of abandoning it.
'It offers no guarantee of salvation, nor absolute truth.
There is only the willingness to walk beside me—without power, without divinity, without demanded roles.'
Fuuuh!
'Everything is a choice. Everything is a step.'
That realization emerged not as a loud voice, but as a conclusion seeping through every joke, every nod, and every meaningful glance Theo had ever given her.
After replaying endlessly within her now-shattered consciousness, all those ordinary interactions suddenly assembled into a mosaic with a clear and vivid message.
Theo, the samurai who always seemed unserious, had in fact been trying to convey a fundamental truth.
He hid it behind discussions of wine, within sparring matches, or in the silence after watching sunsets, because he knew Aldraya—the rigid, disciplined teacher—would outright reject a direct sermon.
That message was both an offer and a declaration of belief.
"Do not be afraid of leaving comfort."
Those words now burned away the final layer of Aldraya's illusion.
What comfort had she ever possessed?
Not luxury or ease, but the false comfort of certainty.
Her silent pavilion, her scheduled rituals, even her status as a Highest Angel and respected teacher—all of them were velvet-lined cages.
It was the comfort of a prisoner who had spent so long in her cell that she mistook its walls for the entirety of the world.
Theo, with his transient life and fleeting choices, was the living antithesis of that static comfort.
He invited Aldraya to fear stagnation, not change.
"Destroy what makes you feel confined."
That sentence resonated with her bloody blows against the ground, but now gave them meaning and direction.
What needed to be destroyed was not the earth, nor herself.
What needed to be destroyed was the cage itself.
The blind dogma imprisoning her thoughts, the unconditional loyalty binding her soul, and the self-image of "teacher" or "Angel" that demanded perfection and forbade questioning.
Quil-Hasa may have been the source of that cage, but she herself had built it, brick by brick, with fear and obedience.
Theo gave her legitimacy to shatter it—a permission she had never received from anyone, not even from herself.
And finally, "I will follow you until you reach your true meaning."
This was the part that struck deepest and dissolved her last defenses.
She had always believed she must seek meaning alone, or wait for it to be bestowed by Quil-Hasa.
But Theo, without claiming to be a savior or a god, offered only himself as a companion on the journey.
A simple yet profound promise.
I will not give you answers, but I will stand beside you while you search for your own.
This was a form of acknowledgment utterly different from what she had sought from Quil-Hasa.
Not recognition of loyalty, but recognition of her freedom to seek.
Theo trusted the process, even when Aldraya herself no longer believed in anything.
Amid the wreckage of her hatred and disappointment, this thread did not immediately extinguish her desire to kill Quil-Hasa.
But it offered something else.
A path that was not mere revenge.
It shifted the narrative from "destroying the tyrant" to "freeing oneself from the cage."
Theo, in all his bluntness, had seen the chains she herself could not, and had tossed the key into her cell.
Now it was up to Aldraya whether she would take that key, shatter the cage she had long mistaken for a palace, and step out—where a boastful samurai might already be waiting beyond the door, smiling and saying, "You took your time in there."
'If I were to deliver every insult, every expulsion, every drop of blood from my hands to his ears, what would he do?'
Aldraya's hands, still damp with traces of tears and dust, gently brushed over her eyelids.
There was no moisture left to restrain, only a dried sting and skin sensitive to touch.
Within the silence that still enveloped her, the question floated in her mind—not so much as sincere doubt, but as a test of her own understanding.
To be continued…