"Choice always exists," she whispered."And you chose wrong."
Realizing that all explanations were futile, Adam took a step forward, only to freeze the moment he noticed Cassia tense up, like a predator ready to strike. He understood this maid far too well. One more movement toward the Altar—and she would sink her teeth into him, without caring about status or honor.
Fight her now? No. One mad Sky-Dweller in the form of Catherine was more than enough for him.
The ruler of the Province of Light could physically feel the weight of the divine command pressing down on his shoulders.
One wrong move. One careless step could lead to a bloody massacre. A very bloody one.
"My dear," Adam called out to his wife, hoping to continue his explanations.
"Shut up, bastard! DON'T YOU DARE address me like that!" Catherine was on the brink of madness.
At that moment, she didn't care about the nonsense her former husband was trying to force on her. All his arguments blended into meaningless background noise. Only the body of the dying child deserved her unwavering attention.
Tears, one after another, streamed from her eyes, leaving salty trails on her alabaster skin. Her hands trembled, yet did not stop. Healing spells replaced one another, again and again. She moved mechanically, as if someone else had taken over her body.
Magical seals flared and faded, the green glow of her hands growing dimmer with each attempt…
"Son, don't die, I beg you! Open your eyes, I'm begging you! Live, baby, LIVE! Don't leave Mommy…" —her voice broke into a rasp, her mind plunged into complete chaos.
"You promised you'd always be with Mommy. Gray, please, wake up! Don't die, don't die, don't die!"
But the blood kept flowing without end. Hot, sticky, terrifying.
Catherine could only watch in horror as her palms were stained crimson. Her consciousness blurred. Reality simply refused to fit inside her head. Her mind rejected the information outright.
And then, in a state of half-madness, she caught fragments about "Gray," the "Prophecy," and the "Divine Will." As if someone had poured gasoline onto the fire of her unstable state.
"THIS IS MY SON! MY BOY!" she screamed.
Her body shook with sobs. She realized that her son had not been breathing since the moment she arrived. Already thirty seconds. Maybe more.
Something inside her snapped. She howled like a wounded animal.
"Sob, No… no… no…" she whispered, shaking her head as if she could undo fate itself.
She felt his body growing colder with every passing second. To her, such a fate was worse than death.
Her palms—hot and sticky—pressed her son tightly against her chest. She listened. If only a faint thump. If only the slightest heartbeat.
But no.
Even with the heightened senses of a Sky-Dweller, she heard only silence. Hollow and deafening.
Her eyes, filled with bloody tears, darted between despair, hatred, and desperate prayer.
As if in accelerated motion, the few happy memories of her life flashed and ignited before her:
…The moment of his birth… The first, clumsy "Mama"… His eyes—so clear, so full of adoration and love… Little mischief meant to draw attention… Carefree laughter… A meaningless argument with his sister just moments before the tragedy… She remembered everything.
But most of all, she remembered those eyes. His final look, filled with fear and regret, before leaving her forever.
Her lips trembled, her body curling into itself. She clutched the child as if trying to absorb his body into her own. She was afraid. Afraid as she had never been in her life. Afraid to see his lifeless eyes.
No words could convey the pain and despair she felt in that moment.
Catherine felt betrayed. By her husband, by a god, by this cursed world that wanted to take her child from her. Even by Gray himself, who had promised to always stay with Mommy. And yet here he was—her three-year-old baby—lying there, not breathing. Her only son. Her beloved child. His heart refused to beat, and she was powerless to change anything.
It was all her fault. She wasn't careful enough. She let her guard down. She failed to protect him. A stupid, useless mother.
Catherine's world was collapsing at terrifying speed. Her heart was literally tearing itself apart. She was drained and began to cough, spitting out a clot of bloody foam, yet she continued to whisper:
"Sif, don't go, my dear, I beg you! No, I'm begging you!""Son, come back, come back to us. Sob""You need me! You need your sister! You need MOMMY!""Please, please, please…"
========
{Somewhere in an unknown space filled with silent darkness}
A small body lay in stillness. No tremor. No pulse. Not even the faintest trace of breath.Around it—only impenetrable darkness.
He felt no pain and no fear. He felt nothing at all. He could not move. Could not scream. Only a weak, sluggish voice echoed inside his head—perhaps a thought, perhaps the remnants of memory.
'Darkness. Again.' 'So familiar. So native. So calm.' 'There is nothing here. Only the absence of light.'
Fragments of memory surfaced and vanished, like air bubbles:
'Where am I? Who am I? Did "I" ever exist?' 'I remember being pierced by a dagger.' 'Wait. Where is the dagger? Where is my chest?'
He tried to move—by thought, by impulse, by anything at all—but the darkness smothered everything.
'Ah, yes… Darkness. There is only darkness.' 'It has always been this way, and it always will be.' 'I was born here and raised here. I will remain here.'
Chaotic thoughts kept appearing at the edge of his consciousness. A feeling of helplessness wrapped around him. But Gray tried to resist—unconsciously, almost instinctively:
'What was that? What kind of memories?' 'I remember the smell of hair. Warm hands. Such pleasant sensations.' 'Was it delirium? Madness?' 'Did I imagine all of it?' 'And now it's time to return to reality?' 'Yes, that's right. None of this can be true. I must return to the darkness…'
"Son, come back, come back to us…" —Gray heard a quiet, indistinct whisper that made him flinch.
'No! No! No! I don't want the darkness. I don't want to go back. I want to go to Mom. Into her warm embrace.'
He tried again and again. To do at least something. But the darkness was absolute.
He realized it was all useless. Every attempt was doomed to fail. Then why try so hard? Why strive for something that was simply impossible? Wouldn't it be better to just give up and drift along with the current?
He couldn't even see his own hands, couldn't feel his body. So what could he possibly change?
And then, just as he completely surrendered, something awakened in the depths of the darkness.
A furious roar tore the silence apart, and the entire space was stained crimson:
"DON'T YOU DARE, YOU LITTLE SHIT. DON'T YOU DARE GIVE UP!"
Gray felt a piercing gaze upon him—ancient, otherworldly, and filled with hatred.
Everything around him changed.
The ground beneath him split open—the desiccated stone cracked apart. Streams of blood seeped from the fissures, reeking of iron, rot, and sulfur.
Dozens—no, hundreds—of human silhouettes rose from beneath the earth. They reached for him.
Faceless people. Twisted shadows with empty eye sockets. Rotting mouths whispering calls of death. Fingers overgrown with lumps of flesh.
The creatures jerked like marionettes, shaking with convulsions and fear. Their knees cracked with every step. But they kept walking.
Walking toward him. They were afraid. But they walked.
"They pray for you, Gray." "Their steps are for you." "Their pain is your call." —the distorted voice thundered in his head as he looked around.
From beneath the boy's feet, directly above him, a humanoid creature woven from smoke and shadow began to form. Its hunched, mangled body slowly straightened, as if after eternal imprisonment.
He was bound.
Thick chains, glowing with divine light, wrapped around his chest, neck, wrists, and jaws. They hissed as they touched his skin, leaving burns of light upon the darkness.
And yet…
He moved, and he spoke. Directly inside Gray's head.
"FIGHT, SNOT-NOSE. It doesn't matter how, it doesn't matter why! FIGHT."
With every word, something deep inside the boy responded, as if this creature were an inseparable part of him. It was him. And yet—at the same time—something alien, like a parasite.
"Want to see your mom? Maybe your sister?" "You must fight." "Or… maybe you don't love them at all?"
The voice showed no mercy. Every word carried poison. And as if in mockery, Gray heard his mother's painful sobs.
"Don't go, my dear, I beg you, no, I'm begging you, Gray, come back, come back to me, come back to your sister. I need you, son, please, please, please…" —her voice broke with pain, and Gray could not fail to recognize it.
Such a familiar voice, yet at the same time so distant and illusory. It caused far more suffering than the taunts of the humanoid demon.
"AAAAAAAH!" —Gray screamed, surrendering to madness— "MOM!"
That cry finally awakened his soul.
The boy's eyes turned black, becoming bottomless abysses. Chains of light stretched from the demon straight toward him, but Gray completely ignored them.
Like a madman, he rushed in the direction of the voice. He tore apart and shoved aside the creatures that rose in his path. The very world trembled from his rage.
The farther he went, the more intensely he felt pain. No—agony. But Gray ignored it.
He didn't know where he was going or what he was hoping for, but he simply didn't want to stop. He thought only of his mother's strangled cry.
'I must fight! I will reach that voice, no matter the cost. I don't want her to be in pain. I don't want to! I DON'T WANT TO!'
=========
Catherine sat there, clutching her son's bloodied body.
"Adam, Allaric, Fulvius…" —her thoughts were sharp as knives. — "I… will never forgive you…"
But those thoughts were cut short by a quiet cough.
"I DON'T WANT TO," —the wounded Gray screamed, spitting out the remnants of blood.
Catherine froze. Everything around her—even time itself—seemed to slow for a moment. As if she had been dragged from the depths of hell into paradise in a single second.
It was him. Her son. Her boy.
He was alive. He was breathing!
"Son!!! You're alive..! You're alive!" —she screamed with joy, as if she herself had risen from the dead. — "It's okay… it's okay… Mommy's here. Mommy's with you. Mommy will protect you. Listen to Mommy, don't fall asleep. Keep breathing. That's it, that's it, good boy."
Potions and magic finally began to take effect. The heart started beating again—slowly, but steadily. The blood that had recently been pouring out in an unbroken stream stopped flowing from the wound.
A smile blossomed on Catherine's face—so bright, so full of life. It seemed as if hope itself had illuminated the entire Acropolis.
However, the moment she was certain that her son would not die, her expression changed. From tender, it turned cold and cruel.
Her fingers moved with inhuman speed, drawing strange runes in the air. One by one, protective spells activated.
"His safety—above all else."
And her gaze… the gaze with which she swept over those around her was so terrifying that it could have made even the most ferocious demon tremble.
"Cassia, immediately initiate the emergency evacuation plan. Spare no one! Expose all agents!" —Catherine's voice rang like a blade striking stone—steel sang within it, blood boiled within it.
"Yes, ma'am!" —the maid snapped crisply, dissolving into the shadows of the Acropolis.
Only a second passed—and she was already behind Eva.
The strike was precise, lethal, lightning-fast. The holy daughter of Apollo did not even have time to realize the threat before she was forced to release Grace.
Although Eva was a Holy Sage (6), just like Cassia, she rarely fought for her life. Her combat experience—left much to be desired.
Cassia was a veteran. Fast, precise, merciless. For her, combat was not an exception, but breathing itself. An "expert with high development" like Eva did not stand a single chance.
Eva only managed to instinctively raise a light shield to avoid dying on the spot. But it cost her control of the situation—and of Grace.
Cassia rolled to the side and caught the princess, who was unconscious. In the very same instant, she vanished into the shadows and reappeared at her mistress's feet.
Breathing heavily, her face deathly pale, she lowered Grace into Catherine's arms.
Shadow-jumping had drained all her mana—now she was completely powerless. The maid was out of the game, but she regretted nothing. She had placed her life into her Lady's hands without the slightest doubt.
The moment the unconscious Grace appeared on the altar, Catherine raised her hand toward the sky.
A black streak split the horizon. It was a signal spell.
And in that same instant—everything changed. Several noble patricians and matrons who had been hiding behind the columns launched a ruthless attack. Their movements were precise, coordinated. One drew a dagger hidden beneath his toga. Another struck a guard in the throat. A third hurled a sharpened hairpin into the eye of the nearest centurion.
Catherine revealed all her trump cards. Agents she had planted over years. A secret network that had slept until this very day. She decided to sacrifice everything to open a path to escape.
Chaos returned to the Acropolis. No one managed to react. It was already too late when Adam's allies began to act. The numerical advantage was on their side, yet the strongest among them could not intervene. All their attention was focused on the main threat—the Sky-Dweller who had decided to go against a god.
"Catherine, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" —Adam roared. — "Did you not hear me? This child is dangerous. He is a child of darkness!!! There is none of our blood in him! Look at his hair! He is not our son!"
"Listen to me, prophecies are no joke! The Sibyls vanished in order to fulfill it. He is destined to destroy HUMANITY! Not a province. Not a country. HUMANITY. Do you want to support genocide?!"
"Heh-heh-heh, you're talking about prophecy? Empires? Humanity?" —Catherine burst into hysterical laughter.
"TO HELL WITH ALL OF IT! TO HELL WITH THE PROPHECY. TO HELL WITH THE EMPIRE. TO HELL WITH MY HATED BASTARD OF A HUSBAND. TO HELL WITH GOD. TO HELL WITH THIS WHOLE FUCKING WORLD!"
"If anything else happens to my family today, I will personally see to the fulfillment of that accursed prophecy."
"Listen carefully, Adam," —she hissed through clenched teeth.
"I swear here and now: if you do not get out of my way, I will devote my life to hunting down and destroying every piece of trash in the Province of Light. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME? Or is your vaunted humanity afraid of a cripple whose magic core you yourselves shattered?"
These words burned her lips. Calling her own son a "cripple," reminding him of the horrific tragedy, acknowledging him as a threat—it was unbearable. However, Catherine knew how to act according to circumstances.
She understood that escaping the provincial capital with two children in her arms, one of them wounded, was practically impossible. And so every word had to be calculated: not to beg, not to plead, but to command.
To pressure. To threaten. To do anything necessary, while at the same time giving a reason to submit.
Yes, she held the biggest fist here. But a Sky-Dweller is not a God. She understood her own condition better than anyone. If Adam and the Church decided to use every means at their disposal, she would not be able to save the children from the trap their home had become. That was why she declared Gray a cripple.
"Adam, I repeat this for the last time," —her voice rang with tension. — "Let me leave peacefully and live the life of an ordinary mortal together with my son. I promise I will return for vengeance much later. Perhaps you will even have time to prepare."
"Or… you can try to stop me, and I will try to escape. But I swear, along the way I will level your entire capital to the ground. You know perfectly well that I am capable of it. Choose. Now. If you do not retreat within five seconds, I will begin the slaughter."
Magical elements thickened around the woman; her slender sword was bare and ready at any moment to begin a bloody feast together with its mistress.
Adam hesitated. This day had gone completely off script. Initially, he had only intended to confirm that Gray possessed the element of darkness.
After confirming that fact, and also considering that night had fallen upon the world around the time of his birth and his unnaturally black hair, he could have stated with ninety percent certainty that Gray was a child of darkness.
His duty was merely to report the situation to the capital of the Empire and await further instructions.
But no. Apollo's intervention had disrupted everything. He had been ordered to act.
But what could he do?
The entire Church was in motion. Adam, whose position as viceroy directly depended on that Church's patronage, did not have the luxury of choice.
Somewhere deep down, he hoped that Catherine would listen to the voice of reason. The threat of humanity's extinction could not be treated lightly, right? Right?!
Adam found himself between hammer and anvil.
He saw the blazing madness in Catherine's eyes. She had already crossed the line. She was no longer restrained by divine will or fear of consequences. And that terrified him more than anything.
He knew how powerful Sky-Dwellers were, and this woman was even worse. To engage her in a mortal battle meant putting everything at risk: the capital, his reputation, his own life. Even if he won, the consequences would be irreversible—hundreds, if not thousands, dead, magical instability, and most importantly—the loss of control.
Catherine was not bluffing—if cornered, she would truly destroy half the city.
But to yield meant openly disobeying Apollo, leaving a threat to humanity alive. Showing weakness before the brothers who were already watching him like vultures.
Any decision led to catastrophe. Any mistake would be laid at his feet.
Cardinals, patricians, brothers. All eyes were fixed on him. They awaited his decision.
He cast one last glance at Catherine—searching, almost pleading. Perhaps she could still hear the voice of reason. Perhaps there was still a drop of doubt left within her.
But no.
Before him stood neither a mother nor a wife. Before him stood a natural disaster. In her gaze burned absolute determination—mad, sacrificial, and unyielding. The slightest provocation—and she would explode.
He made his decision.
"Let them go," —he forced out. His voice was even, almost detached, but it took effort. — "There is no sense in being overly cruel. A cripple poses no threat to either the nation or humanity. Allaric has already used the power of God to neutralize him."
Silence hung in the air. Adam endured the sharp, venomous stares of the crowd. He knew this decision had consequences. But better this than living with ruins in place of a capital.
He did not choose mercy.
He chose the lesser evil.