Why… Have You Not Answered Me?
Valdemar spat out the breath he had been holding back, ragged and uneven. The private sacrifice he had offered alone had just concluded.
His gaze, resting on the corner of the altar, swept across the golden tray filled with offerings. Ripe fruits and grains gleamed beside a goblet of fresh blood, already beginning to cool in the night air.
He still had received no response this time. Anything— even a curse— would do; he would be satisfied with just one word. Yet the gods remained silent. Only the terrible, cruel, unbearably stifling quiet clawed at him.
“You have never loved me, have you?” he demanded, voice low.
Bloodshot eyes fixed on the empty air. The gods were supposed to be fair. No— the absolute had always been utterly partisan. Roman had claimed everything without even trying: superior divine power, the High Priest’s favor, and the gods’ own affection. Valdemar, by contrast, had clawed his way up through sheer effort, yet remained forever in the shadow of that one man.
“And so… I became twisted.”
Valdemar ground his teeth. He did not wish to recall the past, but the memory was merciless. When Roman had prayed, the air in the temple had always shifted— candles dancing, incense smoke rising as if alive, gently caressing him, as though the gods themselves were stroking his head.
“Since you never once graced me with a glance, I have had no choice but to look elsewhere. Had you not showered him with so much love, I might never have dared touch the forbidden magic.”
Standing before the one who knew everything, he voiced the betrayal he had committed. Roman’s death, the dark rituals he had tested to seize control of the sacred island— all of it, he now blamed on the gods. Yes. If the gods had not ignored him from the start, he would never have been forced to borrow their power to claim the island.
“Watch. I will show you what I make of this island.”
Valdemar gathered the remaining offerings from the altar, his hands trembling as he swept the debris into his robes. He had boasted loudly, yet he was, after all, only human. The moment when he received no answer at all terrified him. The silent god seemed about to cast him into flames, and an unease bloomed within him like a dark weed.
For days, a horrifying doubt had clung to his mind, refusing to let go. The island was changing. Plants were erupting in violent growth. Suddenly, night-blooming flowers were in full bloom.
Every phenomenon felt as though the very thing he had declared dead— Roman— was strangling him. No matter how often he repeated that the man was gone, that he could not possibly be alive, the ominous suspicion still sprouted like a poisonous mushroom.
How could he have survived the fall from that cliff? The mere fact that his corpse had never been found proved nothing. He had died. He had to have died. But what if he had somehow returned? Could the gods, who had favored Roman so, have hidden him in the deepest part of the forest? Now, to silence the prophecy by killing him, would they bring him back?
No… no. Calm yourself.
Valdemar struggled to steady his ragged breaths. Roman was dead. The real game was only just beginning; he must keep his wits about him.
Adjusting the hem of his robe, he pushed open the temple door and stepped outside. The entire vista of Credo Island spread out beneath his feet. His eyes traveled from the nearby rocks to the distant horizon. He carefully examined the jagged cliffs that filled the mountain he stood upon, then swept across the dense, verdant forest. Finally, beyond the shoreline, his gaze lingered on the deep blue sea stretching endlessly beyond.
Once everything was complete, would he truly be able to govern this land as High Priest? At that moment, the gods might abandon him. But it no longer mattered. He would pray to another god now.
The temple of Credo would offer its sacrifices to a far stronger god— the god of discord and curses. And all at his own hands.
Valdemar’s eyes darkened as he gazed at the horizon. “That day” was coming. When the ship from Igninof appeared on the far side of the sea and reached the island, he would borrow their swords and spears to ignite utter chaos.
He walked deliberately, one after another, recalling the ten trainees in his mind. He could no longer tremble at the thought of Roman’s ghost. There were more urgent matters to attend to.
He must find out— quickly— which of these brash youths would claim ownership of the island. He had chosen the most naive among them and assigned them to dormitory duties, yet Titus and Tilly had proven utterly useless.
It seemed Seneca was reaching out. Whenever he encountered the man recently, a thorn had lodged in his throat; the irritation was unbearable. Ex-soldier, was he? They should have excluded him from the training competition in the first place— yet there had been no excuse.
Lost in thought, his steps unconsciously took a longer route, deliberately avoiding the sharp cliffs where Roman had once fallen. Valdemar could not bear to look back at that place; he forced himself to descend the long detour.
Although he had not yet discovered any clue that would single out the protagonist of the prophecy, one name continued to prick at his mind like a thorn: Prince Arkin Seilir of Solinar.
From the beginning, Credo Island, the World Alliance, and the Solinar Kingdom had been inextricably linked. It was only logical to suspect him first.
Moreover, Arkin stood out at a glance with a composure and strength that set him apart from his peers. While Draconis dazzled with empty grandeur, Arkin was a young man whose presence was quiet yet unmistakable.
Yes. He would investigate that one first. Since he could not rely on his subordinates for information, he would have to act himself.
***
Zafiri led Nefetia through a quiet, bush-filled forest. Only after confirming that no one was around did his purple eyes pierce her.
“It seems your claim that we are fated mates is not merely a rumor. Even the island is reacting so fiercely to us.”
“Why do you think it’s because of us?”
“I know everything, Nefetia.”
Know everything? All of it? How much? Nefetia’s face flushed with confusion at Zafiri’s carefree tone.
“Th-that… Zafiri.”
Nefetia hesitated, then asked carefully.
“The… vines that connect with you… they told you? That we… shared a bed?”
“…Eh?”
Zafiri’s eyes widened. His pupils dilated so much they nearly rolled back, urging her to continue.
“Did you sleep together? You two? For real?”
“D-didn’t knowing mean exactly that?”
Nefetia’s lips twisted in a pained grimace.
“I thought we’d only kiss at most! Arkin… he actually crossed that line?”
Zafiri shot a torrent of questions at her, face alight with excitement. Really? So they both knew what sleeping together meant? Where? When?
“Kepet’s men keep their chastity, I get that— but Solinar men? They say they guard their purity for life, that they offer their bodies to only one partner. What are you going to do then? Huh? You’re supposed to be keeping him, aren’t you?”
“Th-that…”
Nefetia, tongue-tied, stood mute before Zafiri, who shook his head vigorously, as if the end of the world had arrived.
“Heavens. I thought Arkin was good at holding back— swallowing so he wouldn’t break the bed, but sleeping together?…”
Zafiri’s teasing words barely registered with Nefetia. The devout Arkin was nowhere to be seen anymore, after all…
“E-er, anyway, Zafiri.”
Nefetia’s face burned scarlet as she asked again.
“So… is it true that the island is connected to us? How did you find out? Did you touch the vines and sense it?”
“Here.”
His long finger pointed straight at the nape of her neck.
“There are lip marks all over. Be careful.”
“Ah…”
Nefetia startled and hurriedly covered her neck with her hands. Watching her face flush crimson with embarrassment, Zafiri chuckled lightly.
“Just kidding. It’s enough to pass off as a bug bite. Well, visible to my eyes, at least.”
With a playful grin, he winked. Yet the lighthearted mood did not last. Zafiri’s expression swiftly turned serious.
“Anyway, I did discover something from my vines. Because the vines are growing unnaturally fast, I’ve gained more information than before.”
His voice suddenly dropped. He pulled Nefetia closer, his eyes gazing into the shadowed depths of the forest.
“You can’t see it with your eyes, but even right now, strong pulses of life are surging violently from that part of the forest.”
“P-pulses?”
“Yeah. At first I thought they came from the Crystal Cave or the World Tree. But when I went to touch the vines near the World Tree, it wasn’t there.”
“Then…?”
“Deeper than that. I haven’t gone there yet. I only sense the center of the forest, deep underground.”
After a brief pause, Zafiri continued.
“And that wavelength… it definitely connects with you and Arkin as well. Around you two, simply touching the vines makes the palm feel burning hot— immense power. Only the two of you.”
Nefetia’s expression briefly stiffened. As the one involved, she knew nothing. All she could sense with her own hands was an extremely faint feeling.
“W-well, we’ll figure it out slowly.”
Zafiri blew out a sigh-like breath and gave her a warning.
“Anyway, the important thing right now is that no one must ever find out you’re secretly meeting. Understand?”
“Yes. I’ll be careful.”
Nefetia swallowed hard and nodded.
Though she had no details, the island’s dazzling transformation might not be something to celebrate with mere blessings. It was an ambiguous yet powerfully intuitive feeling.