The Trial
I was the one who was supposed to face the trial.
Noah must never take it.
She must never learn the truth of this world.
When we finally reached the end—before Lilith’s divinity could settle into my body—I would die by the hand of the Adversary, Noah.
That was the decision I had made from everything I had seen, heard, and felt.
I was nothing more than a vessel crafted to hold Lilith’s divinity.
I would never escape the fate of becoming Lilith.
I could never change that future.
I would burn this world with my own hands.
I would lose everything.
I would forget every memory of the past.
I would even forget the face of the one I loved.
And as Lilith, I would enter “Paradise.”
That was why I had to cover Noah’s eyes.
I had to keep her far from the truth of the world.
The only one who needed to be sacrificed was me.
It would hurt when she drove the blade through my heart—but after that, a happy world would be waiting.
Friends who cherished her would still be there.
If, far in the future, a world remained where she could smile in happiness… then my life was a small price to pay.
So I had to die.
I had to.
No matter what, I had to.
And yet—
Why?
How?
Why was it you who entered the trial… instead of me?
“Lady Rubia… what… what is going on right now?”
Ser’s trembling voice reached me.
“Answer me. Why has the temple collapsed, and why are you still here?”
“Noah… Noah had the same plan as me…”
“Y-you mean… Lord Noah was thinking of, and planning, the exact same thing we were…?”
Clink—two bracelets that had been clamped around my arms rattled and took on human form.
…Hah.
“Ca… Lady Cartia. What… what on earth is happening? Why did Noah go to face the trial—”
That bastard Noah. He knew everything.
“What…? Knew what?”
That you, Rubia, had to die by Noah’s hand. He already knew.
I couldn’t understand.
If he had known I was going to die, that I could accept. According to the legends of this world, the priestess always had to die.
But that he had known I had to die specifically by Noah’s hand…
That was impossible.
Noah did not know the truth of this world.
She should have no idea what role her own existence was meant to play.
And yet—
“How… how in the world did she…”
That… I don’t know either. She just… knew. Fuck. Always grinning like a halfwit and stuttering, so I figured she didn’t know a damn thing. Cocky little shit.
Cartia dropped heavily onto the ground, raking a hand through her hair as she spat the words out.
If you want to know what state Noah’s in… try using that collar. She was wearing it when she left, right?
“Ah…”
I closed my eyes and reached for Noah’s presence.
A thread bloomed from my hand and settled into my grasp—
and Noah’s emotions flooded into my chest—
Just like everyone said.
I.
Should have.
Died.
Instead.
Then.
Die right now.
You fucking idiot.
A woman who had grown up alone in an orphanage, without parents, gave up everything for her livelihood and her dreams. She built a foundation and saved money.
Then, the year she turned twenty-three, she was raped on her way home from work.
She became pregnant with an unwanted child.
The criminal who had dragged her into hell was brought to justice by the law—but the woman never escaped that hell.
She resented the neighbors who had heard her screams and done nothing.
She hated the world that had never offered a helping hand.
The strange looks. The terrible rumors that spread. All of it filled her with disgust.
She wanted to rewrite the past.
She wanted to erase every trace of the rape.
She wanted to erase the child in her womb.
She wanted to end her own life.
But she could not return to the past.
She could not wipe away the curse branded deep in her heart.
And she could not kill the living child inside her alone.
But if they died together… perhaps it would be a small comfort to that tiny life.
So she decided to kill herself.
Somewhere no one would see.
In an abandoned warehouse.
The very place where her parents had abandoned her.
She held her breath in silence, apologized to the child in her belly, and prayed that someone—anyone—would reach out a hand.
Please, she begged, save me from this hell.
Then she lit the fire.
And she met a man.
A firefighter.
A man who, no matter how much she cursed him, hit him, or hated him, always apologized first.
In spring he climbed the mountain because the wild greens were delicious and brought back plants she couldn’t name.
In summer he caught a chicken and made her samgyetang.
In autumn he roasted chestnuts himself.
In winter he peeled tangerines one by one and fed them to her.
A man like that.
A man who found even her terrible burn scars beautiful.
A man built like a mountain who cried harder than anyone at sad movies.
A man who felt thorns grow in his mouth if he didn’t drop money into the Salvation Army kettle every Christmas.
A man who was afraid to pet small puppies because he thought he might break their legs.
A man who wore his scars with pride.
A man who found true happiness in saving people.
He made her forget her terror of men.
He erased her hatred of people.
He stopped the nightmares.
He pulled her out of hell—and at last made it possible for her to love the child in her womb.
A hero.
And when a new spring arrived, a new life came to the two of them.
The name was Shin Noah.
Like the figure who, even when everyone called him a fool, built an ark and saved people.
Like the man who had saved a dying woman.
A name that meant: become a hero who saves others.
“Hey, you! Get up!”
Thump—thump—
An ordinary morning. Familiar footsteps shook my shoulder.
“Hurry up! We gotta do it while Mom’s out!”
Thump—thump—
“Uuuugh… do what…?”
“Hey, damn it… you already forgot? Day after tomorrow’s Mom and Dad’s wedding anniversary, remember?”
Oh. Right.
I forced my hazy mind awake and sat up.
And there he was—grinning from ear to ear with a face full of mischief.
“Who the hell do you take after, drooling all over yourself like that while you sleep?”
“I take after you, Dad…”
“What?! I don’t drool like you!”
Heheh—that familiar laugh.
“Go wash your face and wake up properly, then eat. Hurry out.”
He ruffled my messy hair roughly and left the room.
Why does he always mess it up so hard…
I half-heartedly smoothed down my long, thoroughly tangled hair and hopped off the bed.
But… something felt off.
What is it?
Am I just not fully awake yet…?
“Mmm… something… something-something… uweh…?”
—Hurry up and come wash your face, you!
“…Coming.”
I roughly fixed my tangled hair and turned the loose doorknob.
Creeeak—
The sound of old hinges. And a familiar smell.
“Oh, is that soybean paste stew?”
“Yep. Dad’s special doenjang-jjigae. I even threw in some thinly sliced beef—Mom doesn’t know. Eat quick before she gets back.”
“Ooh… beef… okay.”
My legs moved faster than before as I scurried to the bathroom and opened the door.
Whoosh—! A blast of cold air swept over me.
“Ugh… cold. Dad! Close the window already!”
“If I close the bathroom window mold grows. Just deal with it!”
I clicked my tongue and shuffled inside, turning on the faucet.
Then I sat on the toilet for a moment, waiting for the water to warm up. When steam finally rose, I jumped up and nudged the handle a little to the right.
I carefully tested it with my hand… mm! Perfect temperature.
I cupped both hands, gathered the water, and splashed it onto my face.
“Pffft!”
Again.
“Pbbbt—”
I repeated it several times, and something wet soaked my pajamas, flinging water everywhere.
“…Hair?”
My hair was completely drenched from the water running down.
Why… did I wash my face with my hair this messy?
“Mmm… something feels weird…”
I pushed the nameless unease aside, roughly dried myself with the hanging towel, and stepped out of the bathroom.
“Ahh, ahh, hot.”
Dad was already eating.
“Ah! We should eat together…!”
I tossed the towel into the basket and dashed over, plopping down in front of the table.
“Kh… damn, this is good. Try some, kid.”
With a face that said he was dying from the heat, Dad flicked his chopsticks and piled a big chunk of tofu, potato, and bite-sized meat onto my rice bowl.
“Thanks for the food.”
I blew on the steaming potato and popped it into my mouth—
“Ahhh! H-hot! W-water!!”
“You idiot! Who told you to eat it right away, dummy!”
“Hurry, hurry! Water!”
Looking resigned, Dad gulped down the tofu still in his mouth with a “Kraaaaah!” and rushed to grab the kettle.
Glug-glug-glug—he filled the cup beside me with barley tea.
“Damn it. If it’s hot, spit it out. Why keep it in your mouth?”
I gulped down the lukewarm barley tea—neither cold nor hot—and shuddered.
“You were eating it even though it was hot too… ah, I burned my whole tongue…”
“Dad’s a firefighter, so it’s fine. You’re weak, so you can’t do that.”
“Firefighters aren’t people…? We’re all the same people.”
“Hey now. How many times have I told you? Your dad’s not an ordinary firefighter. Same league as Captain America, that guy.”
“Well… the size is similar.”
I giggled and stood up.
“What, where you going? Not tasty?”
“No. My hair’s annoying. Gonna grab a hair tie.”
“Oh, I thought you got up ‘cause it tasted bad.”
“It’s really good.”
I gave him a bright smile and dashed into my room.
When I opened the door, the first thing I saw was my reflection in the full-length mirror we’d bought recently from a secondhand furniture store.
Snow-white skin.
Long, messy hair that reached my hips.
A small height that looked under 140 centimeters.
Soft-looking arms and legs.
Innocent-looking eyes.
Red irises.
“Uh…”
Was I… always like this?