"It's all your fault!"
"I didn't mean to... I swear I didn't mean to!"
"Monster!"
"Stop... please... stop yelling..."
"She died because of you."
"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."
"You are not my grandson."
"Grandpa, please—please listen—"
"It should have been you who died!"
Silence followed those words, heavier than any scream.
In a dim, empty room, a boy no older than ten crouched in the corner, clutching his head as if trying to block out voices that would not fade. His red hair was disheveled, his small body trembling as his azure blue eyes stared vacantly at the floor.
"Please... I didn't want this..." he whispered, his voice cracking.
Those once-bright eyes, filled with admiration and dreams, were now dull and hollow. Dark circles rested beneath them, evidence of sleepless nights haunted by memories he could not escape. His body rocked back and forth, again and again, as though the motion itself was the only thing keeping him from breaking apart.
To an outsider, he might have seemed like just another grieving child.
But this was Reinhard van Astrea.
A boy blessed by the world itself.
Born into a legendary bloodline of swordsmen, showered with divine protections from the moment of his birth, Reinhard should have lived a life of admiration and praise. That was what the world expected of him.
Reality was crueler.
His family looked at him not with pride, but with resentment. His unwavering wish to become a hero like his grandmother, Theresia van Astrea, had become the very reason everything fell apart.
"If I hadn't said it..." Reinhard murmured. "If I had just stayed quiet..."
If only he had been less naive, perhaps his family would still smile at him.
If only he had not taken her power, perhaps she would still be alive.
Reinhard was an anomaly among anomalies. With the ability to unconsciously wish for divine protections, he had done the unthinkable. During Theresia's battle against the White Whale, one of the three great calamities born of the Witch of Gluttony, he had unknowingly taken her blessing.
On the morning of that battle, his father had spoken gently to him.
"Reinhard," his father had asked, "what do you want to be when you grow up?"
The boy's face had lit up.
"I want to become the Sword Saint! Just like Grandma!"
The memory twisted like a blade in his chest.
[Hearing its beloved's wish, Od Laguna bestowed another blessing: the Divine Protection of the Sword Saint.]
The world had answered.
And someone paid the price.
"No... no... this isn't right!"
"Theresia!"
"I didn't mean to!"
"Shut up," a voice had snarled. "You damn monster."
Now Reinhard stood alone, gripping a sword far too heavy for his small hands.
The Dragon Sword Reid.
A legendary blade among legendary blades, said to cut through anything and only reveal its edge to those deemed worthy. Once, Reinhard had admired it with sparkling eyes.
Now, he could barely look at it.
Theresia's body had never been recovered. The sword was all that remained. A reminder. A punishment. Perhaps even a gravestone.
The sheath gleamed with an almost holy radiance, polished to perfection.
Reinhard stared at his reflection upon it and froze.
Her eyes.
Her smile.
They were there, reflected faintly in his own face.
"I understand now..." he whispered. "Why you hated this sword."
His fingers tightened around the sheath.
"I hate it too."
The world had given him power.
But it had taken everything else.
"I just want the pain to stop..." he murmured quietly, curling in on himself once more.
[Seeing its beloved in such a state, it responded. But not with a blessing.]
Was it Od Laguna?
.
.
.
Far in the distance, a platinum-haired girl with beauty beyond compare smiled softly.
Her companion, however, looked far less pleased.
He crossed his arms, his expression twisting into irritation. "Are we done yet? Because I would like to remind you that this is a violation of my rights. Holding me in one place for this long is selfish. Absolutely selfish."
He continued without pause. "Do you have no respect? Dragging me away from my wives violates my right to freedom. My right to love. My wives need me. They adore me. And you took me away from them. How dare you—"
"Bishop Regulus Corneas," the girl interrupted quietly, her tone calm and polite.
The man stopped mid-rant.
She leaned closer, her voice barely above a whisper.
"You and your wives do not belong in this world. You've already walked through the gate."
Reality obeyed.
In an instant, Regulus and his wives vanished, erased as though they had never existed.
The girl straightened, her smile returning.
The girl let out a quiet breath, as if confirming something only she could see.
"It is done," she said softly.
The world around her remained still. No tremor. No fanfare. Just the quiet certainty that something fundamental had shifted.
She turned her gaze elsewhere, far beyond the place she stood, toward a small, fragile presence trembling in the dark.
"So small," she murmured. "And yet burdened with so much."
The smile she wore faded, replaced by something gentler. Something almost apologetic.
"Od Laguna loves you," she said, though Reinhard could not hear her.