One event followed another, fitting together like the gears of a gigantic machine, unbelievable to behold.
How could there be so many coincidences? It was always fate silently pushing the waves and aiding the wind, weaving an invisible net that covered everything.
Elias momentarily did not understand. Fate had clearly abandoned him, causing him to face the Evil God directly, lose his physical body, and turn into this miserable appearance he had now. Why then did it have to help him revive in this way?
Actually, he knew the answer. Without a doubt, everything boiled down to one word: Authority.
Just as he was the Angel of War who held the authority over war and the powers arising from war such as the fires of battle, conflict, and fresh blood, the Angel of Fate Uriel held the supreme authority, which was a series of powers closely linked to the word "fate" and arrangement.
Authority was greater than an Angel; it was the operating law of the world.
Elias stood up, the sound of bones colliding echoing.
He could not blame Uriel. If fate had truly arranged it this way, there was certainly a deep intention behind it that he could not yet see through.
And in reality, it was so. Before completely restoring his power and breaking the curse, he feared he could not leave Alex. Their existences were now tied tightly together.
And the human teenager before his eyes clearly did not realize the severity of the problem. Because of the invisible thread of fate, he had been pulled into an extraordinary world full of danger and madness where mortals could not easily set foot.
*I only hope no more trouble arises; protecting him is also protecting myself.*
Elias thought, the red light in his eye sockets fluctuating slightly.
Alex waited for Elias's answer, but the angel who had turned into white bone did not explain anything further. He only extended a hand bare of everything but bone segments, gently patting the boy's head, a strange but powerful gesture of comfort.
These were also things Alex could not know, or it was not yet time for him to know.
Alex read this message from Elias's silent action.
He thought, perhaps this was the reason the extraordinary world became so attractive and mysterious, always hiding things beyond human understanding.
...
Alex did not know when he had fallen asleep. After a night of soul-stirring terror, fleeing from monsters and facing divine spirits, his body was actually very exhausted. Every fiber of his muscles ached; it was just that his spirit was too excited and tense, so it had not revealed itself.
When he woke up, he was lying neatly on the bed. The blanket was pulled up just right to his chest, bringing a rare feeling of warmth in the cold room.
The faint light of dawn slipped through the cracks in the wooden door, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. In a dark corner of the room, a dry skeleton was sitting silently, its tall body curled up to save space, completely lacking any of the majestic and awe-inspiring posture that a god should have.
Sensing Alex's breathing rhythm change and that he had woken up, Elias turned his skull to look in this direction. At his feet, beside the bone segments, were a small corpse and a faint soul.
That was the little tail that had followed Alex home, the pitiful boy who had been run over by the rail carriage yesterday.
Alex had promised to shroud the body for the boy, helping him leave peacefully, but last night was too dangerous and chaotic, so he had to postpone it until this morning.
The extraordinary characteristic of the lamp, Karamor's Tear, was that when the sun rose, its magical light would automatically extinguish, giving way to natural light. The oil lamp turned off, the protective membrane disappeared, and the soul could freely approach the house without being burned.
Alex rubbed his eyes, scrambling up, feeling the cold of the floor seeping into his feet.
"Good morning, Alex." Elias greeted Alex, his voice resonating in the boy's head. He did not move to avoid disturbing the quiet space, his frame of pure white bone filling a corner of the cramped room.
"Good morning." Alex bent down to put on his shoes, the laces frayed at the edges. "Why do you have to squeeze in there? You look truly miserable."
The image of a powerful entity having to huddle in the corner of a poor person's house looked incredibly funny and ironic.
Elias moved his skull, emitting a small crunching sound.
The soul boy hovering nearby immediately flew up a little higher.
"This little kid said he wanted to find you." Elias said, pointing his hand toward the soul. "You were resting, sleeping very soundly, so I chatted with the boy for a while to kill time."
Elias spoke very gently, as if communicating with the dead was a daily occurrence in the district. It took Alex a moment to react; Elias truly possessed no self-awareness of an angel at all, being excessively simple and approachable.
Shouldn't angels be high and mighty, looking down on mortals and weak souls?
Alex stood up, stretching his body once. "You can understand what the boy says?"
The boy was born deaf and mute. While alive, he could not hear sound nor speak, only able to emit sounds like 'ah ah uh uh' with no clear meaning. Alex could not communicate with the boy and could only guess his meaning through gestures, but Elias seemed unbound by that language barrier.
"I can," Elias said. "The language of souls does not lie in sound but in intent. The boy asked me to pass on a message; he is thanking you for bringing his body back."
The soul of the boy seemed to understand the dialogue between Alex and Elias at this moment. He flew up, bowing deeply toward Alex, his innocent face exuding sincere gratitude.
"Hmph, it's just a small matter." Alex mumbled, trying to appear indifferent, but the corners of his lips quirked up a little. "What use is saying thank you with your mouth? It would be better to offer some practical action, for example, pointing me to a place where money has been dropped..."
Alex muttered pragmatic words, but his hands and feet were still agile as he walked to the front of the old cupboard, taking out half a loaf of dry, hard black bread left over from yesterday. He skillfully lit the stove, placing the dented copper kettle on the stove to boil water.