On her 1,000th rebirth, Serapha's flame was no longer pure.
She rose from the ashes, her wings laced with black scorch marks—scars left by giving too much, too often.
For three thousand years, she had saved too many lives, loved too many souls, and yet was always treated as an effortless miracle.
In Egypt, she gave a dying Pharaoh ten more years of life, only to be imprisoned for the rest of hers.
In Rome, she drove a plague out of an entire city, but the nobles caged her in a golden prison for display.
In WW1, she exhausted her divine powers protecting the people, yet the moment she wished for rest, they accused her of abandoning her duty when it mattered most.
And there were countless other stories.
Why had she been reborn once again?
How could she break free from this endless cycle of suffering? Had she not done enough?
If this was to be her life forever, she would rather sleep eternally, never to awaken again.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the noisy downpour. Slowly, she came back to herself and realized she was standing on a rainy night in modern-day Shenzhen, China.
She stood quietly at the entrance of a convenience store, staring at her reflection in the glass door.
A vague silhouette looked back at her—only those amber eyes were crystal clear. Yet in this moment, the flames in her eyes seemed to be fading, like something deep inside her was slipping away.
"Need an umbrella?"
A gentle male voice broke through her thoughts.
She turned and saw a tall, slender man holding a black umbrella. His eyes behind his glasses reflected the quiet curiosity of a scholar.
Normally, she would have declined such kindness from a stranger without hesitation. But today, an unfamiliar exhaustion washed over her. It wasn't just her body—it came from the depths of her soul.
She was too tired.
So tired that, for once, she wanted to know what it felt like to be sheltered by a mere mortal.
So when the black umbrella tilted toward her, she didn't move away. She let the rain patter against the umbrella, tiny droplets bursting into quiet sprays.
But the moment the raindrops touched her skin, something strange happened—they evaporated instantly, vanishing like mist under high heat.
Mo clearly noticed this. His pupils widened slightly, surprise flashing across his face.
"Your body temperature..."
She gave a faint, bitter smile, cutting him off: "You can still run, if you want."
Her voice was cold and distant, like someone who no longer trusted or hoped for anything from this world.
"Everyone who gets close to me... eventually becomes greedy."
She looked straight into Mo's eyes, as if searching for the hidden desires buried deep within his soul.
But to her surprise, all she saw in his gaze was clarity, untainted by the past or by longing.
Then, he spoke, breaking the silence.
"Take the umbrella. My home is nearby—I don't really need it."
As he turned to leave, Serapha suddenly called out:
"Wait."
He paused, puzzled.
"Would you mind... if I came over for a cup of hot tea?"
Her voice was soft, almost vulnerable, tinged with a rare hint of pleading.
A beautiful smile spread across her face, blooming like spring flowers—warm and mesmerizing.
In that moment, Mo seemed to forget how to think. As if guided by some invisible force, he simply nodded, and welcomed her into his world.