Halfway through his reply, the boy's voice paused, as if he had remembered something. Then he continued, "And now that the only obstacle between you is gone, our Lord can set aside his final misgivings. You can't miss this chance again."
The Saintess patted her little chest and answered with complete confidence, "Of course. Leave it to me. You can count on me."
"If only that were true, we wouldn't have had to wait until now." The other boy sighed helplessly, sounding utterly worn out.
What had Trina missed? And what opportunity were they talking about? More importantly... why could he hear both Trina and Miquella at the same time?
Nolan's mind was full of questions.
A breeze carrying a faint, sweet fragrance brushed gently across Nolan's face. He slowly opened his eyes, and the moment he saw that familiar figure, all his confusion and worry faded away.
This did not seem to be the place of slumber Nolan remembered. A boundless sea of purple flowers stretched before him, the delicate blossoms swaying softly as pain and unease drifted away with the wind.
Yet the ground was still covered in dense layers of horned corpses. Above him hung a dim yellow sky, and from the soft earth, the peaceful scent of slumber mingled with the flowers and reached his nose.
Nolan had come to keep his promise. He was the Lord the Empyrean and the Saintess had been waiting for. When he raised his head, he saw two dreamlike, ethereal figures.
Still full of questions, Nolan was just about to speak when one of the figures suddenly filled his vision. Trina threw herself at him and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck.
There seemed to be tears shimmering in the Saintess's pitiful, wide eyes. Nolan held her small body close and gently stroked her long hair. "You've been waiting a long time, haven't you?"
Those watery eyes seemed answer enough. As Nolan looked into the Saintess's eyes, he realized Trina was different from before.
She was still tiny, but the tips of her long silver hair now carried a faint purple tint. Even her body had become a soul-like form, and the white crown on her head resembled burning flame.
Nolan was perhaps the greatest expert in soul magic in the Lands Between. A change in the very nature of one's existence could not escape his notice.
Trina and Miquella no longer had physical bodies. They now existed as spirit forms, much like Melina.
They had still done it. They had abandoned their bodies.
Miquella, this Empyrean, understood the bloodshed and sin his mother had stained herself with in order to ascend to godhood.
He hated that sinful flesh, that body inherited from Marika, and so he had wanted to cast it aside.
Now, in this land of death, they had finally done what they had always wanted to do.
"It hasn't been long at all. There are still three hours before it reaches eighteen hundred days. I've only missed Nolan for seventeen hundred and ninety-nine days."
The soft, delicate Saintess leaned against Nolan's shoulder and silently glanced at the four-armed ugly thing still sleeping there. Then she sniffled faintly.
Nolan noticed her gaze. Though he had no idea what the Saintess was saying about his sister in her heart, he could not help feeling a little moved.
If Ranni could say something like that, their child would probably already be walking by the time he came to find Trina. Then again, could a doll even have children?
Meeting Trina's gaze, which seemed to hold no one but him, Nolan immediately pulled his scattered thoughts back from the doll research topic beginning to form in his mind.
He was just about to say a few words of comfort, but Trina spoke first.
"I'm finally separated from that annoying Miquella."
"So... Nolan, become my Lord!"
The girl's request came suddenly, but Nolan did not refuse. Or rather, he had no time to refuse.
Trina gave him no chance to do so. Her lips pressed against his, warm and soft.
The golden-haired Empyrean turned and left, his body passing straight through the high wall without lingering for even a moment. Before long, only the two people fulfilling their promise remained in the purple flower field.
In this moment, from the past to the future, even unto the end of the world, the Saintess's love belonged solely to the Lord who had made that promise with her.
...
After the joy, exhaustion swept over Nolan and Trina like a tide, drowning them both. They held each other and sank into deep sleep, as if even time itself had stopped.
Nolan did not know how long had passed when he slowly woke, only to find himself within chaos.
He could not tell whether it was morning or dusk. The sky around him remained dim and lightless, as though covered by a heavy haze.
He slowly opened his eyes. The space beside him was empty. There was no warm embrace from Trina, only the cold bed keeping him company. It was as if the whole world had been reduced to this spotless white space, so silent it felt faintly frightening.
"Another dream? Is this the restful sleep Trina brought me?" Nolan murmured. His voice sounded especially clear in the vast silence.
The world was empty and quiet, but in the next instant, the once-flat, boundless ground began to shake violently.
An enormous city rose from beneath the earth at an astonishing speed. Towering walls, resplendent palaces, and bustling streets appeared just outside the room, while the wind howled endlessly beyond the window.
At the heart of that magnificent city, in its highest chamber, stood an incomparably ornate throne.
Upon the throne sat a white-haired old man. He wore a golden robe and a brilliant crown, his gaze sharp and majestic.
For no apparent reason, the old man lowered his head and fixed his eyes on the man below.
"When did you become so weak? You cannot even withstand this much turmoil! As a Lord, how can you afford even the slightest negligence?" The old man's voice boomed like thunder, echoing throughout the entire city.
"Dead men shouldn't be so fond of lecturing people."
The man addressed by the old man sounded rather casual, as though he knew him well. Even the lofty majesty of a Lord could not make him afraid.
The man said, "You actually look pretty convincing when you're not burned. I still don't know what's so great about turning yourself into a pile of charcoal."
"And yet, in the end, you walked the same path as I did."
Hearing this, the old man on the throne burst into laughter, the corners of his mouth lifting in an exaggerated arc, as though mocking the man for saying one thing while meaning another.
"My final heir."
"Yes, yes. I burned like an idiot too, all for the title of Lord. But in the end, the world was still destroyed." The man spread his hands. "Don't even think about brainwashing me. The facts prove that your pursuit was meaningless."
The man's tone was unusually calm, but that very flatness somehow made people feel inexplicably irritated.
The old man could no longer stand his cold indifference and cut him off without ceremony. "If it was meaningless, why did you persist until the very end, until you were swallowed by the Chaos?"
At the old man's question, the man froze slightly. He instinctively curled his lip, as if he wanted to say something in rebuttal, but for a moment, he found himself at a loss for words.
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