Bara's consciousness drifted endlessly in a vast, dark void. There was no sky, no ground—just an infinite abyss stretching beyond his comprehension. It felt like he had been falling forever, weightless yet bound by something unseen.
Then, without warning, light pierced through the darkness.
It wasn't blinding, nor was it harsh. Instead, it was warm—welcoming. Bara felt his body gently pulled toward it, like a moth drawn to a flame. He didn't resist.
As his feet touched solid ground, he realized he was no longer in the void.
Instead, he stood in a white expanse, endless and pure.
Bara stood in the white expanse, blinking in confusion. The air was still, almost too perfect—like it wasn't air at all but something else entirely. His thoughts swirled in a mix of exhaustion and wariness, but before he could make sense of anything, he heard it.
A voice.
Soft. Enchanting. Beyond human comprehension.
"Are you just going to stand there and stare?"
The voice was teasing, warm yet carrying an undeniable authority. Bara turned his head in the direction of the sound, his steps hesitant but drawn by an unseen force. As he walked forward, the stark whiteness around him faded, replaced by something completely different.
A garden.
No, not just any garden—the most beautiful place he had ever seen. Lush greenery stretched endlessly, intertwining with golden vines that shimmered under the sunlight. Strange yet mesmerizing flowers bloomed in colors he had no words for, their fragrance carrying an almost intoxicating effect. The sky was a soft, ethereal gold, glowing as if the heavens themselves had descended.
Under the shade of a grand tree—so large it could dwarf castles—sat a woman.
And she was breathtaking.
Long, silky hair cascaded down her back, blending between platinum and gold as if reality itself couldn't decide which was more fitting. She wore an elegant white dress, embroidered with gold patterns that seemed to shift and dance on their own. Her eyes—piercing yet kind, ancient yet youthful—watched him with amusement.
A porcelain teacup rested in her delicate fingers as she took a slow sip, her expression calm, expectant.
"Come," she gestured toward the small table before her, filled with an array of delicacies. "You must be hungry."
Bara, despite the overwhelming situation, felt his stomach growl. He wasn't sure if it was real hunger or something else, but damn it, food was food.
He moved cautiously, then sat across from her.
The moment he picked up a piece of honeyed bread, all hesitation disappeared.
He devoured it.
One bite turned into another, then another. The flavors were unlike anything he had ever tasted—sweet yet savory, light yet fulfilling. It was as if the food wasn't just nourishing his body but something deeper.
All the while, the woman simply watched him, smiling.
After finishing what must have been the best meal of his life, he finally leaned back, exhaling.
"Dying isn't easy."
He muttered the words with a wry chuckle, wiping the crumbs from his lips.
The woman laughed—a sound so gentle yet powerful it sent shivers down his spine.
"No, it isn't."
There was understanding in her tone, as if she knew exactly what he had gone through. Bara looked at her more closely, suddenly realizing how unnatural her presence was. Not in a bad way, but in the way something divine stood before a mere mortal.
"Who… are you?" he asked.
She placed her teacup down and met his gaze directly.
"Eva."
And for some reason, the name sent a pulse through his very soul.
Bara sat back, his mind still processing the impossible garden and the being before him. Eva, the woman whose presence felt like it stretched beyond his understanding, had invited him into a conversation that felt too real for the bizarre setting. The food had been indescribable, but now it was her turn to pose the questions.
She looked at him, her gaze measuring, wise, and, in a tone that wasn't quite probing but intimately curious, she asked,
"How did you die?"
Bara hesitated, feeling the weight of the question in his chest. He wasn't sad about his own death—not really. It was a release, a freedom from the pain and battles he had fought. But as he thought of Ify, of her face when she saw him go down, the sorrow settled in his heart.
"I was beaten," he said softly, his voice trailing off as he looked down, "by a group of hellspawn, I fought as best as I could, but... I knew the moment they got me, it was over. It wasn't the fight I was worried about... it was Ify."
Eva listened closely, never interrupting, as he continued. He wanted to say more but stopped short. The raw vulnerability he had never shown anyone else felt strangely right here, in front of this mysterious woman who was more than human. He wasn't just mourning his death; he was mourning the pain that would live on in Ify's heart.
After a long silence, Eva broke it.
"What do you want?"
Bara's response came almost instinctively, his voice soft but firm.
"I want Solmiel to protect her, to keep her safe. To comfort her."
His statement seemed to carry the weight of his soul, but he didn't realize how deeply it affected her. Eva's expression faltered for a brief second. Her eyes flashed with something like sadness, but it was gone before he could pinpoint it. She composed herself, her face returning to its serene, almost ethereal composure.
"Are you a devout worshiper of Solmiel?" she asked, her voice measured, her gaze locked with his.
Bara nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He had never really thought about his devotion before, but in this moment, it felt like the only thing that could give him peace.
"I pray three times a day," he said. "I face where the grand temple of the Fellowship of the Seven Stars is located, in Olysia. I've always believed in him."
Eva watched him, her expression unreadable for a moment, and then the air between them thickened. She leaned forward slightly, her gaze piercing but gentle.
"I see," she said, almost to herself. After a brief pause, she asked, "So, you want to know the truth?"
Bara was caught off guard by her question.
"What do you mean? The truth about what?"
Eva's smile remained as she regarded him, but there was a flicker of something ancient in her eyes.
"About what happened three thousand years ago," she said, her voice lilting slightly as she dropped the question like a stone into the pond of his thoughts.
"Bara," she said, voice softer than before, "what if the history you know is a lie?"
His smile faded. His brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"
Eva leaned back against the tree, her golden-adorned white dress flowing like liquid light.
"What if I told you that everything you've been taught about the war three thousand years ago—the war where Solmiel 'saved' humanity—is a fabrication?"
Bara blinked, his mind scrambling to make sense of her words. "That's impossible. Solmiel came down with his army, fought the Cursed One, and granted humans power to protect themselves. That's what happened."
Eva chuckled, shaking her head. "That's what they wanted you to believe."
Bara felt a chill run down his spine. Something about the certainty in her voice made him uneasy.
"Then what really happened?" he asked.
Eva looked up at the sky for a moment, as if debating how much to say. Then, locking eyes with him, she spoke.
"Three thousand years ago, a war was waged—but not the war you were told about. It wasn't about saving humanity. It was about control. Power. And the truth was buried beneath centuries of rewritten history."
Bara's fingers curled into his palms. His entire belief system, everything he had ever known—it suddenly felt like fragile glass, ready to shatter.
"Then tell me the truth," he demanded. "If the history I know is a lie, then what really happened?"
Eva smirked slightly. "I could tell you… but that knowledge comes with a price."
Bara hesitated, but his curiosity was stronger than his caution. "And what's that price?"
Eva leaned in, her golden eyes gleaming.
"I want you to defeat Solmiel."
Silence.
Bara's breath caught in his throat. Of all the things she could have said, this was the last thing he had expected.