By the time Nuri slowly regained consciousness, he was already outside the ruined temple. Soft sunlight fell directly against his face, the gentle warmth making his eyes twitch as he struggled to adjust his vision.
For several moments, his mind remained completely blank. Then, suddenly
"Nuri!"
"Where were you?!"
The surrounding knights rushed toward him. Several grabbed his shoulders in relief while others frantically questioned him all at once. One knight even threw his arms around him in a tight hug before quickly stepping back in embarrassment. Their voices overlapped endlessly around him, worried, relieved, loud.
And at that moment, the dam broke.
Nuri burst into tears. It wasn't a quiet cry; his entire body shook violently as heavy sobs escaped his throat one after another. The sheer terror, the confusion, and the suffocating pressure he had just endured all erupted at once. He was alive. He had survived.
A soft wind brushed against his face. Unlike the heavy static of the void, this breeze carried no dreadful atmosphere. It felt completely ordinary. Comforting, even.
It took several minutes for Nuri to finally steady his breathing and take in his surroundings. The once glorious, ancient temple had completely collapsed. Nothing remained but shattered stone and broken debris scattered across the grass like remnants of a forgotten past. An enormous sanctuary, reduced to rubble in mere moments.
How absurd.
Fortunately, nobody else appeared injured. The surrounding forest remained untouched, and even the village further downhill showed no signs of damage. It seemed the violent distortion had remained entirely confined to the temple itself.
"What happened to you?" one knight finally asked, helping Nuri sit down on a nearby stone. "Why did you go in there alone? That was an unbelievably stupid thing to do."
Another knight sighed heavily, wiping sweat from his brow. "The captain is definitely going to skin you alive for this."
Nuri instinctively lowered his gaze. "I... I sensed something strange," he mumbled, his fingers unconsciously tightening against his knees. "So I went inside to investigate. But then the temple suddenly started shaking... and I couldn't escape in time. After that, everything went blank."
The knights exchanged glances.
"I see..." One of them exhaled deeply, clapping a hand on Nuri's shoulder. "You're incredibly lucky, you know that? Apparently... the Heretic was inside."
The moment that title hit his ears, a cold dread pooled deep in Nuri's stomach.
The Heretic.
The word felt so small. Hollow. The Order used that label for rogue sorcerers, political outcasts, and people who defied church law. But what Nuri had just witnessed, the impossible white void, the absolute silence of his god, the glowing chains, and a writhing mass of flesh screaming with the voices of his own comrades, could not be explained away by a simple title. Calling Lucien a "Heretic" didn't make sense of the nightmare. It just proved the Order had absolutely no idea what they were actually dealing with.
Nuri quietly stared at the dirt. "I see..." he murmured, his voice sounding hollow even to himself. "I really was lucky."
The knight patted his shoulder one last time before standing up. "I'll leave you alone for now. Get some rest."
Soon, the surrounding knights returned to their duties, leaving Nuri sitting alone beside the ruins. But rest was impossible. His thoughts were a disordered mess, and everything he believed until now suddenly seemed uncertain.
Why did the gods exist? What purpose did they serve if they simply vanished the moment reality broke apart? Had he made the right choice by hiding what truly happened in that void?
Nuri slowly placed a hand over his face, his chest tightening. What exactly was right anymore?
Meanwhile, far away from the ruined temple, Lucien had already retreated to his sanctuary.
It was a silent room swallowed by darkness. The windows had been completely sealed shut, blocking out even the slightest trace of afternoon sunlight. Only a single candle illuminated the space with a faint orange glow, barely revealing the chaos surrounding it. Books lay scattered everywhere, loose pages filled with frantic scribbling covered the floorboards, and stacks of research notes leaned dangerously sideways atop crowded desks. Nothing inside appeared organized, yet the mess itself felt intensely lived in. This was Lucien's home.
The moment the door closed, Lucien collapsed heavily onto the edge of his bed, clutching his head tightly. His black umbrella slipped from his fingers, striking against a nearby cupboard with a sharp *clack*.
Pain twisted his face, yet despite the obvious agony, not a single cry escaped his lips. He simply curled inward, like a wounded child attempting to endure the torment alone.
"This wasn't supposed to happen..." he whispered hoarsely.
Slowly, Lucien turned his gaze toward the darkened charm attached to the handle. "What even are you?"
For several seconds, a dense, heavy silence filled the room. Then, a fractured, uneven voice emerged from the metal itself, its tone unstable, humming with a strange static.
"I... don't know," the voice whispered. "Born from pain... theirs. I don't understand... what I am supposed to be."
Lucien pushed himself upright against the mattress. Sweat covered his face, strands of golden hair sticking to his skin. Even now, his hands faintly trembled from the consequences of forcing unnatural magic far beyond its limits.
The black charm swayed gently against the wood of the cupboard.
"Law... broken," the voice hissed, clearer now, but still carrying an alien detachment. "Look at you. You violated it."
"Shut up." Lucien's voice immediately turned to ice. "You're no different from me. Your existence itself already defies the laws established by those gods."
Silence followed. Then, quietly: "...You're right. I suppose I have no right to judge."
A tired sigh escaped Lucien's lips. After several moments, his breathing gradually stabilized and the phantom pain in his mind began to lessen. Without another word, he lifted a hand toward the nearby desk. A thick book immediately floated through the air, landing directly within his grasp.
The charm quietly observed him. "What is that?"
The curiosity in the voice was unmistakable now, innocent, like a newborn attempting to piece together the world around it.
"My logbook," Lucien answered calmly, flipping open the worn pages. "I record events that interest me."
The scratching sound of a pen quietly echoed through the dark room. Yet as Lucien continued writing, his trembling fingers remained impossible to miss; the aftereffects of the distorted magic still lingered deep in his veins.
"Does this always happen?" the charm asked softly.
Lucien stopped writing, his expression darkening once more. "Just because I answered one of your questions," he said softly, "doesn't mean I intend to keep doing it."
His golden eyes shifted toward the umbrella.
"Especially not to something like you. You're most likely connected to those gods somehow."
Closing the book, Lucien stood up from the bed. Without another glance toward the charm, he turned away.
"Wait..." the charm whispered into the quiet room.
Lucien didn't answer. He walked forward, his silhouette fading entirely as he disappeared into the heavy darkness beyond the candlelight, leaving the small black charm completely alone.