Kain's father took a deep breath, the kind of breath that came from somewhere deep in his chest, from a place where memories had been stored and forgotten and then remembered again. He looked at Kain, and there was something in his eyes now that hadn't been there before, clarity, maybe, or the weight of knowledge that had been buried for too long.
"I remember the game," he said. "I had forgotten about it for years, but it's coming back now. It was called Game of Crown."
"Game of Crown," Kain repeated, and the words felt different now, heavier, more real.
"Yes," his father replied. "And no matter what you did, no matter how many times you tried, the demon queen would always win. Always."
Kain leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together, and he listened. He didn't interrupt this time, didn't ask questions, just let his father speak, let the words wash over him like water over stones.
"The game starts like this," his father continued. "There are many human kingdoms living in this world peacefully. Eagerly. They don't know what's coming. They don't know that the demon queen is watching, waiting, planning."
Kain nodded, his mind racing, but he kept his mouth shut.
"But that's just the beginning," his father said. "That's not where the real story is. The real story, the thing that makes the game impossible, comes later."
Kain couldn't help himself. "Wait," he said, holding up a hand. "Why are you telling me all the lore all of a sudden? I need to know how to survive, not the history of the world."
His father's face twisted with indignation. "How can you interrupt me like that? Do you know that a true gamer always starts with the lore? The lore is everything. The lore is the foundation. How can you understand the game if you don't understand the world? How can you beat the demon queen if you don't know why she's winning?"
Kain stared at him, his mouth hanging open. "Dad, we're in a dying situation here. I'm literally in the middle of a trial. The demon king is watching us right now. I don't have time for."
His father picked at his nose, completely unbothered. "What are you talking about? I'm already dead. It's not like things can get worse for me."
"Ehh?" Kain blinked, unsure if he had heard correctly.
That was when his mother's hand came down on the back of his father's head with a force that echoed through the church. The slap was loud, sharp, and final.
"Idiot!" she screamed, her face red with fury. "What are you doing? Can't you see he's serious right now? Your son is in danger, and you're picking your nose and talking about lore like it's a book club meeting?"
His father rubbed the back of his head, his expression wounded. "But the lore."
"Lore?" His mother's voice rose even higher. "Lore? Put the lore in your ass and tell him what he needs to know. Now."
His father looked like a defeated man, his shoulders slumping, his proud gamer spirit crushed beneath the weight of his wife's anger.
"Okay, okay," he said, holding up his hands in surrender. "I'm sorry. I'll get to the point."
Kain suppressed a smile, despite everything. His parents were arguing about video game lore in a magical church in the middle of a demon's trial, and somehow, it was the most normal thing he had experienced since waking up in this world.
"In order to beat the game," his father said, his voice serious now, "you have to kill the Seven Sin Children."
Kain's breath caught. "Seven Sin Children? What are you talking about? I've never heard of anything like that. Not in the café, not from the players, not anywhere."
His father shook his head. "That's because no one knew, Kain. I didn't even know until I started digging. The game doesn't tell you. It hides it. But I spent months, years almost, trying to figure out why I kept losing. And then I found it."
Kain leaned closer, his heart pounding.
"The demon queen only wins because of the Seven Sin Children," his father continued. "Without them, her army crumbles. Without them, the humans have a chance. But with them." He shook his head. "With them, she's unstoppable."
"What are they?" Kain asked, his voice barely a whisper. "Who are they?"
His father's face grew dark. "They're children, Kain. Slaves. Treated worse than any being in the world. Beaten, tortured, exploited for their power. And out of all that pain, all that suffering, they went berserk."
Kain's stomach turned.
"During the battle," his father said, "the Seven Sin Children were killed. But not before they took down the strongest aura users humanity had. Those warriors, the seven strongest in the world, lost their limbs or died entirely. And because they were absent, because they weren't there to help the hero in the final battle, the demon army was able to invade easily. The humans lost. Every time."
Kain sat back, his mind reeling. The Seven Sin Children. He had never heard of them, never seen them mentioned in any of the fragments of lore he had picked up from the café, from the players, from anywhere. But if what his father was saying was true, if these children were the reason the demon queen always won, then, then the game's unbeatable reputation made sense.
Without those warriors, the hero was alone. Without the hero, humanity was doomed.
Kain's father was still talking. "In the last war of humanity, the seven strongest warriors should have been at the hero's side. But they weren't. They were dead or dying because of what happened to those children. And because of that, because of that one missing piece, we lost every time. The game became impossible to beat. No one ever figured it out."
Kain felt something shift inside him, something click into place like a key turning in a lock. He understood now. Not everything, not the whole picture, but enough. The game was unbeatable because the children died. The children died because they were mistreated. And if they died, the warriors died with them. And if the warriors died, the hero fell. And if the hero fell.
The demon queen won.
It was all connected. A chain of events that stretched back to before the game even began, a wound that festered until it poisoned everything.
Kain hugged his father tighter than he had ever hugged anyone in his life, his arms wrapped around the man who had left him, who had tried to save him, who had died trying to reach him. The tears came hot and fast, streaming down his cheeks and soaking into his father's shirt, and he didn't try to stop them, didn't try to hide them, didn't try to be strong anymore.
"I love you, Dad," he said, and his voice cracked on the words, broke apart and came back together like waves crashing against a shore. "I love you."
His mother watched them, her own eyes glistening, a smile trembling on her lips like a flower in the wind. She exchanged a glance with his father, one of those looks that married people have, that holds entire conversations without a single word being spoken.
"Kain," his father said, his voice gentle, teasing, but soft around the edges, "are you a kid? Why are you crying?"
Kain pulled back just enough to look at his father's face, really look at it, the way he hadn't let himself look since he was small enough to believe that parents could fix anything. His father's eyes were wet too, though he was trying to hide it, and there were lines around his mouth that hadn't been there in Kain's oldest memories, lines that spoke of years of worry and regret and longing.
"You don't know how difficult this was," Kain said, and his voice trembled like a leaf in autumn. "It terrified me, Dad. It shook my very soul. The wolf, the tree, the palace, Cassian, everything. I was so scared all the time. I didn't think I would make it. I didn't think I would ever see light again."
He wiped his face with the back of his hand, smearing tears across his cheek, and laughed, a small, broken sound that was half sob and half relief.
"But now I can see it. Now I can see light. Now I have a path."
His father's arms tightened around him again, pulling him close, holding him the way he had when Kain was small and scared of the dark and needed to know that someone was there. "I'm sorry, Kain. I'm sorry I can't do more for you. I'm sorry I wasn't there. Please forgive me."
Kain shook his head against his father's shoulder, pressing his face into the warmth, breathing in the smell of him, something like woodsmoke and paper and the faint trace of cologne that Kain had forgotten he remembered. "No, Dad. You did everything you could. You tried to come back for me. You died trying to save me. I'm not angry anymore. I don't have any anger left. There's no room for it. There's only room for." He paused, searching for the word. "For this. For missing you. For wishing things had been different. But not for anger. Never again for anger."
His mother moved closer, wrapping her arms around both of them, her body pressing against Kain's back, her chin resting on his shoulder, her breath warm against his neck.
"We're sorry, Kain," she whispered, and her voice was like a lullaby, soft and sad and beautiful. "We're so sorry for everything. For leaving. For not being there. For all the birthdays and the school plays and the nights when you must have wondered if anyone in the world loved you."
Kain turned his head, resting his cheek against hers, feeling the tears on her skin, feeling the way she trembled against him like a bird preparing to take flight.
"No, Mom. If I were in your position, if I had children and I had to make the choice you made, I would do the same thing. I would run. I would try to save them. And I would spend every day after that hoping they would understand." He paused, and the words came then, soft and quiet, heavy with a forgiveness that had been building in his chest for years. "I'm happy that you realized. I'm happy that you didn't abandon me out of stress or because you stopped caring. You came back. You tried. That's more than I ever let myself believe."
His mother kissed his cheek, her lips soft and warm, and Kain closed his eyes and let himself feel it, really feel it, for the first time since he was a child.
"I forgive you," he said. "Both of you. I forgive you."
The words hung in the air like a prayer, like a blessing, like the final note of a song that had been playing for far too long.
The candles flickered.
Not from wind, there was no wind in this church, no air moving at all, but from something else, something softer, something that felt like the world itself was holding its breath.
Kain looked up at his parents, and they were glowing.
Not like lightbulbs or flames or anything harsh or sudden. It was gentle, like the first light of dawn spreading across a quiet field, like sunlight filtering through leaves in a forest. Soft. Golden. Warm. Particles of light drifted away from their bodies, floating upward like dandelion seeds carried on a summer breeze, like snow falling in reverse toward a sky that had opened its arms to receive them.
"Dad?" Kain's voice was small, fragile, the voice of a child who didn't want to understand what he was seeing. "Mom? What's happening?"
His father looked down at his own hands, at the light streaming from his fingers, and his expression was not afraid. It was peaceful, almost relieved, like a man who had been walking for a very long time and had finally reached the place he was meant to be. He looked at Kain with eyes that were soft and warm and full of something that looked like pride.
"Looks like our time has come, Kain," he said, and his voice was steady, certain, the voice of a man who had made peace with his ending.
The system's blue screen flickered into existence at the edge of Kain's vision, but he barely saw it. His eyes were fixed on his parents, on the light that was consuming them, on the way they were becoming more beautiful with each passing moment.
USER HAS COMPLETED THE SECOND TRIAL. FORGIVENESS ACHIEVED. USER MAY PROCEED TO THE THIRD TRIAL.
"No." Kain shook his head, backing away from the screen, from the words, from the truth that was pressing in on him from all sides. "No, what is this? What's happening to you?"
His mother reached out and cupped his face in her hands, and her touch was warm, solid, real, even as her fingers began to dissolve into particles of golden light. She looked at him the way she had looked at him when he was small, like he was the most precious thing in the world, like she couldn't believe she had been trusted to care for something so fragile and so beautiful.
"You forgave us, Kain," she said, and her voice was like honey, slow and sweet and full of something that might have been joy. "That's what the angel told us. That's what we've been waiting for all these years. In order to enter heaven, in order to finally rest, we needed your forgiveness. We needed you to let us go."
Kain's heart stopped. His chest tightened. The tears that had been streaming down his face came faster now, hotter, blurring his vision until his parents were just shapes of light and love and everything he was about to lose.
"No." His voice broke on the word, shattered like glass dropped on stone. "No, I don't forgive you. Take it back. I take it back. Please don't leave me. Please don't go."
His father laughed, a soft, warm sound that reminded Kain of Sunday mornings, of pancakes and maple syrup and being small enough to sit on someone's shoulders and see the world from above. There was no sadness in that laugh, no regret, only love, only the kind of joy that came from someone who had been waiting a very long time for something beautiful.
"Kain, my son. Are you not the same boy who survived all those years without us? Are you not the same man who crawled out of a wolf's belly and kept walking, who faced monsters and princes and a world that wanted to break him?"
"I was a coward, Dad." Kain was crying openly now, great heaving sobs that shook his whole body, that made it hard to breathe, that made it hard to see. "I was so scared. I'm still scared. I've always been scared. Please don't leave me. Please stay with me."
His father's hand came up to rest on his shoulder, and though the fingers were fading, the weight was still there, still solid, still real. His palm was warm, and Kain leaned into that warmth like a flower leaning toward the sun.
"Everyone in this world is a coward, Kain. Everyone is afraid. But the ones who overcome it, the ones who keep moving forward even when they're terrified, even when they don't know what comes next, those are the courageous ones." He smiled, and his face was so soft, so full of love, so full of a pride that made Kain's heart ache. "Look at you. You're standing in the middle of a demon's trial, facing your dead parents, watching us fade away, and you're still standing. You're still fighting. That's not cowardice, son. That's everything."
"No." Kain shook his head, his voice breaking, his hands reaching out to grasp at his father's shirt, at his mother's hand, at anything that would keep them here. "I don't want courage. I want you. I want you to stay. I want to wake up and know that you're somewhere in the world, even if I can't see you, even if I can't talk to you. I just want you to exist."
His mother pulled him close, her arms wrapped around him, her body pressed against his, and he buried his face in her shoulder the way he had when he was small and she was the only thing that made the world feel safe. She smelled like flowers, like the garden behind the old house, like the lotion she used to put on after her evening bath, like the pillow she had left behind when she walked out the door.
"Please, Kain," she said, and her voice was gentle, almost pleading, but not sad. "Please don't make this harder for us. We've been waiting so long for this moment. So long. We just want to see our son smile. We just want to leave knowing that you'll be okay."
His father hugged him too, both of them wrapped around him, and Kain stood in the center of their embrace, weeping, holding onto them with a grip that couldn't stop what was happening, that couldn't hold back the tide of light that was carrying them away.
"Kain." His father's voice was steady, strong, full of something that sounded like goodbye but felt like a blessing. "I don't know how you'll leave this place. I don't know what path you'll choose or what waits for you at the end of it. But whatever you choose, whatever happens, be brave, okay? Be brave for us. Be brave for yourself. Be brave for the boy who survived."
Kain looked up at him, at his father's face, at the light that was swallowing him, and he tried to memorize every detail, the curve of his jaw, the warmth of his eyes, the way his smile crinkled at the corners.
"I'll try," he whispered. "I'll try to be brave."
His mother kissed his forehead, and the touch of her lips was like a promise, like a blessing, like a prayer being answered.
"That's all we ask," she said. "That's all we've ever asked."
They smiled at him, both of them, together, and then they were gone.
The light scattered, particles of gold drifting upward like dandelion seeds, like prayers, like wishes, like the final echoes of people who had been waiting for this moment for years. Kain reached out, his hands grasping at empty air, at nothing, at the space where his mother and father had been standing just a heartbeat ago.
"Mom? Dad?"
Silence.
The candles flickered one last time and then steadied, burning low but not going out. The shadows crept back to the edges of the church, respectful, distant, as if even they understood the weight of what had just happened.
Kain stood alone in the center of it all, his arms still outstretched, his cheeks still wet, his chest still heaving with sobs that had nowhere to go.
But he was not the same person who had entered this church.
He was lighter somehow, as if the forgiveness he had given had lifted something from his shoulders, something he hadn't even known he was carrying. His parents were gone, really gone, not lost, not missing, but at peace, and Kain was alone.
But for the first time in his life, alone didn't feel like abandonment.
It felt like a beginning.
He lowered his hands slowly, watching the last of the golden light fade into the rafters, watching the church settle into silence around him. The candles burned. The cross watched. And somewhere in the darkness, the demon king waited, patient and silent, for the final trial to begin.
Kain took a breath. Then another. Then another.
He wiped his face with the back of his hand, smoothed his shirt, squared his shoulders.
And then he turned to face whatever came next.
The system's blue light glowed softly at the edge of his vision, and for the first time since waking up in this world, Kain looked at it not as a curse or an inconvenience, but as a companion, the only one he had left.
"I'm ready," he said.
And somewhere in the darkness, the demon king answered.