Quietly sitting in a simple bedroom, a large man sat on top of a wooden stool with his legs spread wide to make himself comfortable.
His chest was as big as a wrecking ball, perhaps even tougher than steel, with how it bulged beneath his black sweater visibly. Compared to a regular human, he would be like a bear who does not care for personal hygiene.
In his bulky hands was a steaming bowl of soup, its contents unknown, but floating atop the ginger broth were what looked like a handful of diced potatoes and sliced carrots decorated with herbs.
The man held up a metal spoon in his fingers, which appeared tiny when it was almost swallowed between his index finger and thumb.
He blew on it gently despite his size, letting the steam calmly dissipate in the air, and brought it to the boy's face, which flushed red.
Looking at the spoonful, he pursed his lips. "Can't you just place the bowl on my bandages? I can manage to eat with one arm."
Sunday shook his bushy beard with a smile.
"No, you cannot."
"Aw, come on!" Val groaned. "I... don't feel well with you feeding me."
"How so?"
Valentine contemplated for a second on how to explain it, but he couldn't just say, 'You reek, and I don't want you to come any closer to me!' This would be bad manners towards someone who saved his life and provided free food along with shelter.
"It's just weird, okay?" The boy swallowed his words, but Sunday did not let go of it.
"But what is it that makes you so bothered?" He put the bowl on the nightstand and his hands on his knees, leaning back on the shaky stool slightly. "Despite having one of your arms restored, you are not in the right condition to exert any strength, even if it's something as little as lifting a spoon."
He jabbed Val's bandaged chest with his index finger, tapping it a few times to hear a hollow sound beneath it.
"Do you feel this?"
"Yea-"
"No." He cut him off abruptly. "You cannot feel this because I am the only one to know what is hidden under those bandages."
"I..."
"I understand what you are going through. The curse is not an easy thing to overcome, and many people have lost against it. You don't look like someone who would survive even a day with it, seeing how death is just around the corner waiting to take your soul."
Val closed his eyes tightly, looking up at the dark ceiling.
The smell of beer was awful today, penetrating his nostrils like never before.
Sunday looked at him from the side, watching his expression change from frustrated to confused, even... disgusted? He somewhat understood why he would act like this. The boy woke up in an unfamiliar place with a complete stranger taking care of him.
"Still, for what reason do you refuse to trust me?"
Valentine kept his eyes closed, not sparing a glance for the old man.
The soup on the nightstand had stopped steaming already, getting cold.
Looking at it, he let out a long sigh.
"Well then, let me answer one of your questions." The boy's ears perked up at his sudden words. "Ask me anything you want, and I shall answer truthfully."
He turned his head to the side, watching Sunday move a step away on his little stool.
...Anything?
"Why?"
Sunday fell into thought for a moment before flashing him a warm smile. "That's the least I can do for you at this moment, so ask away, little one."
Like before, he could not understand the man's intentions in the slightest. Why would he offer it to him all of a sudden?
But passing up on an opportunity like this... would be a great waste for Valentine, who kept seeing something new with each day.
Licking his dry lips, he asked the man curiously.
"Who... is that Victoria you keep talking to?"
Sunday's eyes lingered on him for a moment before tilting his head. "That's it?"
Noticing the boy's stare, he chuckled, his voice heavy with liquor.
"I'm sorry, It's just that... I did not expect you to ask about her this soon."
His posture shifted on the stool, seemingly closer to the boy even when he had not moved.
Rubbing his chin, his tone took on another change, sounding educated and trustworthy, like that of an experienced professor or a priest.
"I can't tell you what she is, but I can tell you who she had once been."
He raised his hand, igniting a tiny spark that crackled over his index finger.
"A crazed king who loved things of transcended beauty once lived hundreds of years ago, ruling over all lands and all races."
A fairytale?
Valentine furrowed his brow, not wanting to look like a little child in front of Sunday as he recited childish stories for him.
But he decided to bear with the embarrassment for a while, as his curiosity kept him somewhat focused on his next words.
"He had no name, or title, or anything of sorts."
"He was a simple man who rose above all."
"Alone, he traveled throughout the wide world, stepping through continents like his lawn, soaring above mountains as if they were mere stones and crossing the sea with a single leap."
"Riches filled his pockets until the weight of gold and jewels crossed the weight of his own people; animals that had never been discovered were living in his castle, there in a paradise made of the finest magical tools he himself had kept closed behind those unbreakable gates."
"A legend once said that he had thought there was nothing of beauty in the world for him to seek, only the emptiness in his hollow heart that could not be filled with his present riches."
"He desired something raw, a new feeling that could replace the void in his chest once and for all."
"And then, one day, a girl ran up to his golden throne, asking for her land to be saved from starvation."
"The king lost his mind that very evening, capturing the girl without a word and locking her inside his treasury along with the rest of his prized possessions."
"But he, unlike with the rest of his treasures, kept visiting her in that lonely place."
Sunday looked at the boy whose mind was already gone; he looked like he had stopped caring about the story halfway and was focused on tracing lines across the ceiling. Still, he continued.
"In three days and two nights, he wrote a thousand poems to her name. He fed her the most precious delicacies he had to offer, gifted her over half of his treasury, and even bowed down to her when he never looked up to another living being."
"The most powerful being in the world, ruthless beyond compare towards anyone greedy for his hand, fell to his own knees when the girl refused it."
"Yet the irony of it all was that she was not as charming as the king described."
His finger moved, caught in Valentine's gaze.
He started drawing with the spark, leaving a line of smoke wherever it crossed.
Sunday chuckled.
"Of course, she looked stunning, but there were countless women who could be better."
"It was her radiant smile that captivated anyone who looked in her direction, a smile as bright as the sun, adorned in a light fiery dress made of flowers. She was the kindest person in the world, sharing life with whoever crossed her path."
His finger stopped, shaking, and then continued drawing. Valentine focused on him intently, watching smoke form into the shape of a small girl with a crown of flowers on her head.
Sunday looked as if he were struggling to remember something, a memory? Perhaps something only he had known for so long.
It sounded like a simple children's story: a king fell in love with a common girl and lost it all for her love. Though it seemed that these things cannot be bought with a handful of gold.
"She was but a simple girl, and yet the sun blessed her soul, making her the purest of them all."
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He continued with his casual smile.
"Perhaps the king was right; she was indeed the most beautiful treasure in the world."
He finished the drawing, looking at it with a caring gaze before blowing it away, dispersing it into a cloud of dim smoke.
"Because of that, people say... that when a lost believer like you gets lost, she will save them, lighting up a path forward."
His voice turned distant as if remembering something from the past. His expression seemed too complicated to understand, but in his eyes was a flame, a flame that did not go out even as the spark in front of him was gone.
"Towards a goal forever unknown..."
The smell of beer was faint.
***
Alone in the dark.
A small figure drifted through the void.
His mind was void of thoughts while looking through the empty darkness with a hollow gaze.
Through the murky shadows, his body drifted atop the calm river of dusk, lifeless and broken like a used doll no one wanted.
His body ached all over, watching his dry blood mix with the shadows below; getting consumed by the desolate world around him felt weird and uncomfortable even when he had no other choice.
His head hurt. A lot.
It felt like something was clawing at the insides of his bones, eating away at his flesh and marrow while he lay submerged beneath a viscid shadow.
A raspy breath escaped his cracked lips.
Am I dead?
Noticing his current state, it was unlikely that he was dead; otherwise, he would be in heaven flying with angels... or in hell.
Valentine wanted to roll his eyes but found himself unable to move his head; he could only breathe and watch everything get sucked out of his limp body.
His clothes were torn from his body, only scraps of them remaining over his cold skin. His arms were riddled with holes, pierced by the charred nails of strange hands.
On Val's legs were red finger marks where he was dragged by the hands the first time he almost got swallowed, as well as on each of his arms and his neck, which strangely itched.
As bad as it seemed, he did not really mind that.
Why would he try to fight against some gigantic beast that can topple buildings in a single step?
He's just a human; he can't do anything about being born that way.
Though he still hoped Sunday's story was right.
He remembered it quite well because he could not control himself at all, listening to more than he could fit inside his mind.
For some reason, he thought about it.
It was all he could think of in this lonely place.
Drifting through the void, he sighed inside his mind.
She never came...
He could have considered becoming a believer like Sunday and entrusting his life to the goddess Victoria, but it seemed that he could not do that when dying inside a monster's belly.
It was a waste to watch Sunday spend his time healing him while knowing he would have died soon after. Though maybe the giant man had forgotten about him already, treating their encounter as something trivial and not worth coming back to...
His body sank deeper into the murky waste; the black water was slowly starting to flow down his half-closed lips and nose.
It felt like a heavy load was placed on him, dragging him into these unknown depths.
He grimaced.
Noah, as well as his friends, would probably curse at his corpse for being so weak and wasting their time; even in death, he could picture others watching him with disappointment.
I'm just a waste of space... I should have died a long time ago...
He wanted to cry, but found himself unable to.
Why did he... even think he could do this?
Why was his head suddenly filled with countless fantasies after seeing this world?
Those flames were too beautiful for him to understand.
They were sacred.
Something out of this world.
Yet simply knowing is not the same.
He knew it; deep inside, he knew that this was what would happen if he kept on dreaming instead of taking things seriously.
Why did he ever think that everything would be given to him on a silver platter?
He had no idea what others could have gone through to obtain those powers, and here he was thinking why it was so unfair that he had none.
Why was he so arrogant?
Why did he think that... that this would be so easy?
Why?
Why?
Why?... Why?... Why?...
Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?Why?
Why?
It echoed inside his mind.
Endlessly.
Empty.
Like the only way to comfort his lack of struggles against the inevitable.
And suddenly...
"Why?"
From another's caring lips, that question appeared within the world like a tiny spark being lit up during the darkest night.
The voice whispered into his ear quietly in the dark, not showing its owner but letting his ears feel its warm breath over his skin. Like a calm breeze.
It was the same word with the same tone, but it sounded so different with another meaning entirely.
It wasn't a question.
It was... a prayer...
"Why?" It asked gently, getting closer to him.
Slithering into his dying corpse, it echoed in his mind coldly.
"Is your life worth less than that of others for you to give up on it so soon?"
He wanted to look at it; the voice, it was so close to him that he could feel a person standing behind his back and looking down at him.
Its tone held no gender behind it, no pitch, no sound. It was like ringing in his ears, yet he could hear it beyond the simple windy chimes.
It was so warm...
Then, in his chest where his heart was slowly coming to a stop, a tranquil warmth had settled in, spreading across his limbs like a lazy creek.
His wounds were boiling from within, with blood in the form of stardust and translucent skin made from pale moonlight overlapping his own.
A veil made of light caressed him gently.
The cracks were slowly filled perfectly, restoring him to what he previously was.
The murk under his fingers was trapped beneath, trying to escape from his touch.
Shrieks of agony reverberated through the void while the world around him tried to reject his existence.
Slowly, he staggered to his feet. Color returned to his calm, seaside eyes.
Behind his ear, it whispered in a firm tone. "That's right. Stand up."
Valentine looked back, but all he saw was darkness above and below; his blood had vanished.
"Don't look back..."
He followed the voice, looking in all directions, filled with nothing but murky shadows.
His clothes were restored along with his body, standing tall within the lightless void.
"Go on." The moment it spoke, he looked back, following the voice directly.
Ah...
He gasped.
It wasn't fear or surprise. He felt familiar with the sight in front of him even when it was the first time he saw it.
Because across from him... a simple white dress was standing with its arms crossed behind its exposed back.
...Victoria?
Kicking the shadows below it with its corners.
It turned to him, turning his mind blank for a moment.
The dress kicked the shadows with its corners and watched them disperse into tiny tendrils.
No...
He did not know what had happened.
He did not understand who it was.
But Sunday's story about Victoria saving those in need.
It's bullshit.
Pursuing his lips, his hand, which was outstretched towards the simple white dress, halted.
Sensing his hesitation, it stopped.
Turned to him directly.
And in a playful manner, bowed before him with a single simple move.
That move, as soon as its shape bent down, turned it into a flurry of luminescent sparks that rang across the void, turning it into a clear white space.
Valentine covered his eyes, wincing.
He outstretched his arm forward, trying to catch that dress before it ran away from him.
The light blocked his sight and vision, but as soon as he reached for it.
"Valentine?"
Something solid was caught in his hand.
Valentine blinked once, and the world changed around him.
He was lying on solid ground, holding onto Noah's metal armour that felt cold to the touch.
He was back.