Chapter 44
{ And so, the people came to the Prophet and asked:
‘Prophet, how shall we know when the Saint has come?’
And the Prophet answered:
‘You will witness great miracles and wonders beyond understanding, yet above all, you shall know him by this:
He will stand with those who bear the world’s suffering and weep with them.
He will stand beside the weary and the broken, carrying their burdens as his own.’
‘So draw tears as your symbol, for he will behold the pain and sorrow of the world, and he will weep for the weak and the shattered.’
‘And you shall call him the merciful one—Eleos (ἔλεος).’
(Book of Grace, Chapter 19, Verses 19-20) }
When the curse erupted—
The Emperor summoned his Captain of the Royal Guard immediately.
“Activate the miracles and spells in the secluded palace! Do it now!”
If the curse within Iomene fully awakens,
The entire empire will fall.
No—
Wherever the curse spreads,
Souls will be devoured, leaving behind neither life nor death.
The secluded palace had been fortified with countless safeguards,
Prepared precisely for this worst-case scenario.
And now—
That worst-case scenario had arrived.
If the divine spells were activated,
Iomene would die.
But there was no choice.
If the curse had already begun seeping into their skin,
It was already too late.
There was no saving her now.
The Captain of the Royal Guard hastily pulled out the artifact he always carried—
And activated it.
But—
The curse’s presence didn’t change.
There was no pulse of miracles or spells.
Something was wrong.
“Did it activate properly?”
“It did, Your Majesty! The artifact is functioning! But— The miracles and spells inscribed in the secluded palace aren’t responding!”
“Damn it! Of all times!! What are the on-duty priests and mages doing?!”
As the **Emperor cursed in frustration—
The Captain flinched.
A black aura slithered around his body, sinking into his skin like a serpent.
But as a seasoned knight, he suppressed the pain by circulating mana through his body.
“Your Majesty— You must leave at once. We don’t know when the curse will take hold of you.
Leave me behind and escape now.”
The Emperor could hesitate no longer.
He rushed to Almeine’s chambers, where he found the Empress, awake and horrified by the curse.
And there—
The husband and wife beheld a nightmarish sight.
Almeine was seizing violently, foam spilling from her mouth.
The magic circle glowing on her left eye was flaring wildly—
A desperate, final attempt to keep Iomene’s curse from consuming her too.
But it was only a temporary defense.
It was only a matter of time before she collapsed.
“Almeine!!”
The Emperor grabbed her, carrying her in his arms.
Together, the three of them fled.
The uncursed knights and imperial mages surrounded them, forming a protective barrier as they ran.
As he escaped,
The Emperor wept.
In the end—
The worst had happened.
He had done everything in his power to prevent this outcome.
But—
He had failed.
History would remember him as the Emperor who ruined his empire.
If—
If anyone survived at all.
Because no one could escape this curse.
“Gods…”
The Emperor shut his eyes.
Why?
Why did it come to this?
What have I done to deserve this?
He was not a tyrant.
If anything—
He had been the leader who brought prosperity to the empire.
His hands were stained with blood, like any ruler—
But only with the blood of Evil God worshippers and demon cultists who plotted against the empire.
He had led the Industrial Revolution—
Advancing technology and progress.
Yet—
His own people suffered in the factories,
Died in poverty,
Fell to illness and hunger.
And because of his wars,
The Evil God worshippers became more aggressive,
More desperate for vengeance.
Was that his sin?
Had the Pantheon forsaken him for this?
The pain was unbearable.
To know—
That his empire would fall because of his failure.
That his own daughter, whom he tried to save,
Had suffered only pain,
Only to disappear forever.
But no matter how much he grieved—
There was nothing left for him to do—
Except run.
They raced through the secret passage and climbed into a waiting limousine.
As they sped toward the outer city—
The Emperor and Empress gazed through the car window—
At the figure hovering in the morning sky.
Black wings spread wide.
Bathed in the golden light of dawn.
Iomene.
Or rather—
What used to be her.
The Emperor and Empress watched helplessly.
Staring up at their daughter, lost forever.
In the end—
They had saved no one.
The Empire.
Iomene.
Almeine.
Everything was lost.
A crushing weight of guilt and despair pressed down on him, making it impossible to breathe.
And at that moment—
He saw him.
A figure in white appeared beside Iomene in the sky.
Familiar.
Saint Amael.
“Stop the car!!”
The **Emperor commanded.
The driver hesitated.
“Your Majesty! We cannot stop! We must reach the safe house!”
“It won’t matter.”
The Emperor’s voice was steady.
“If the curse spreads, whether I am in the palace or in hiding, it will make no difference.
Stop the car.”
The car stopped.
The Emperor, carrying Almeine in his arms, stepped out.
The Empress followed, as if entranced.
The driver too.
The knights and court mages, who had accompanied them for protection, followed suit.
Even the citizens, who had been fleeing from the curse,
Stopped.
And watched.
Bathed in the golden light of dawn,
The Saint and the Evil God’s Fragment battled in the sky.
As if under a spell,
No one made a sound.
All eyes were locked onto the battle.
“O Saint… Save us.”
Someone whispered through quiet sobs.
The silence was so profound,
Everyone heard it.
And then—
One voice became two.
Then—
A chorus.
“O Saint! Chosen One of Grace!”
“Saint of Healing!”
“Saint Amael!”
“Save us! Please, save us!!”
The voices grew louder.
A prayer.
A plea.
Even the Emperor and Empress whispered the same words.
Everyone—
Prayed for a miracle.
The Emperor wept.
Tears streamed down his face as he held Almeine, convulsing violently in his arms.
Desperation.
A prayer more fervent than any before.
“Please…”
He choked on his sobs.
“Please, grant us a miracle…”
And then—
At that moment—
A light burst forth from the Saint,
Brighter than the rising sun.
So blinding, everyone shut their eyes.
And when they opened them again—
They witnessed a miracle.
Shimmering fragments of light rained gently from the sky,
Cascading toward the earth.
Each fragment descended upon the cursed.
Those who had been writhing in agony,
Stood up.
Those who had been paralyzed by fear,
Now gazed in awe at the sky.
“A miracle!”
“A miracle has been granted!”
“Saint Amael, glory to you!”
“Blessed be Lilia of Grace!”
Cheers erupted across the city.
But the Emperor and Empress had already begun running.
Desperate.
Frantic.
What about Iomene?
Was she saved?
Fear and hope clashed violently in their hearts as they rushed back toward the palace.
They ran past the astonished servants and shocked knights—
Until they reached the secluded palace.
And then—
They witnessed it.
A vision of divinity.
Saint Amael, descending from the sky.
With Iomene in his arms.
Tears streamed down the Saint’s face as he touched the cursed princess’s forehead.
And then—
A miracle unfolded.
The monstrous black wings on her back began to vanish.
The bruises—
The wounds—
Faded away.
The light continued to fall gently from the sky—
Two small fragments drifted toward Iomene and Almeine.
And as the light touched them—
The twin princesses stirred.
Their eyes—
Opened.
“…Father?”
Almeine whispered.
Still dazed, she looked up from the Emperor’s arms.
The Emperor clutched her tightly.
And for the first time in what felt like eternity—
He held his daughter in his arms and wept.
“The pain I always felt from Iomene… it’s gone.
How… how is that possible?”
The Emperor and Empress said nothing.
And Almeine—
She no longer sought an answer.
Instead—
She turned her gaze toward the same direction as her parents.
Toward the Saint,
Who wept as he held Iomene in his arms.
Slowly—
The Princess stirred.
She lifted her body from the Saint’s embrace.
Her tattered dress,
Torn along the back where her wings had once been,
Exposed her bare skin.
But no one—
Not a single soul—
Cared about her appearance.
The priests and holy knights guarding the secluded palace.
The imperial guards .
The mages and witches .
The maids and butlers .
Every single person held their breath,
Their eyes fixed on Iomene.
She took a hesitant step,
Her balance wobbling.
But she steadied herself.
Then, she looked up—
At her father.
At her mother.
At Almeine.
“…Fa… ther?”
The Princess spoke in a faint whisper.
Halting.
But clear.
A voice clean and pure, understood by all.
“…Mother? Almeine?”
It was not the voice of a beast, screaming in agony.
It was not the wretched, distorted cries she once made.
Still uncertain, still trembling—
But undeniably human.
The very voice the Emperor and Empress had dreamed of hearing for so long.
Tears filled the Empress’s eyes as she reached for Iomene.
The Princess hesitated—
Then, she took a step forward.
And fell into her mother’s embrace.
The Empress, who had stared blankly at the sky,
Suddenly began to weep.
“My daughter.
My daughter, Iomene.”
“M… Mother.”
“Oh, gods… thank you.
Thank you…”
She held Iomene so tightly,
As if she would never let go.
Then—
Almeine and the Emperor stepped forward,
And embraced them both.
And then—
They wept.
The four of them,
Their family,
Held one another and cried.
They wept for the 19 years they had lost.
They wept for the suffering Iomene endured.
They wept for the unbearable guilt of parents who had tortured their own child.
And all around them—
Everyone watched in silence.
The priests.
The imperial mages.
The royal guards.
The servants.
Not a single person spoke.
Not a single person interrupted.
For they, too, had been saved.
The morning sun bathed the secluded palace’s gardenin its golden light.
No light had ever been holier.
Then—
One by one—
All eyes turned toward the Saint.
He stood bathed in divine radiance—
A halo of light so brilliant,
It was impossible to look upon directly.
Among the silent crowd,
A priest—
Overcome with awe—
Fell to his knees.
And he whispered in reverence.
“Eleos (ἔλεος).
The merciful one.”
His voice carried through the air—
And soon—
Others repeated his words.
“Eleos.”
“The one who sheds tears for the weak and the broken.”
The Emperor, still crying,
Murmured the words himself.
“The Redeemer. Eleos.”
And as if caught in a trance—
Everyone began to chant.
“Eleos!”
“The Redeemer! Eleos!”
“Eleos!”
The name resounded through the garden—
A frenzied, ecstatic cry of hope and salvation.
And in the midst of it all—
The Saint closed his eyes.
Silent.
Yet—
Tears streamed down his face.
A scene so grand, so sacred,
That no artist—
No painter in the world—
Could ever capture its divinity.
The Saint wept.
As if to console this broken world.
He wept.
And in that moment—
Everyone saw hope.
Everyone saw salvation.
“Eleos! The Redeemer!”
“Eleos!!”
“Eleos!!”
No one cried in sorrow anymore.
Now—
They smiled.
Tears of joy.
Laughter of gratitude.
Filled the gardens of the secluded palace.
And among them all—
Only one person still wept.
The Saint of Healing—
Amael.
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