Chapter 391: Karmic Fire (Part 1)

Translator: RaidenTL

Chapter 391: Karmic Fire (Part 1)

On the other side, across the Flesh Plain covered in blue-black fascia.

Freya withdrew her gaze from somewhere in the distance, her smile as steady as ever as she looked back at the group. "Alright, we’ve had enough rest. Let’s keep moving."

She stood up and continued walking forward.

Behind her, Annie—the little flower atop her head swaying back and forth—once again crept stealthily to Margarita’s side.

"Hey, have you noticed something’s off with Freya?"

"Spill," Margarita muttered, glancing at her while suppressing the urge to reach out and pluck that flower.

"She feels... weak. It’s been less than two hours and she’s stopped to rest three times. Even mages aren't that frail."

Annie crossed her arms, her small face scrunched in thought. "The time-wasting strategy I spent so much effort brainstorming has no room to shine because Freya herself is the biggest bottleneck in this group!"

"True enough." Margarita looked at the slender back ahead of them.

This most famous Saintess Candidate... no, former Saintess Candidate, was currently displaying an irrational level of fragility. She had to stop every so often to catch her breath; her physical stamina was worse than an ordinary person's.

She didn't seem to be in any hurry at all. Rather than someone about to orchestrate a world-shaking event, she looked more like a tourist on a casual stroll.

Though this "tourist destination" offered absolutely nothing in the way of scenery. In fact, it was utterly revolting.

"Come to think of it, we’ve never actually seen Freya fight," Margarita mused, rubbing her chin. "Even back when we faced the Prisoner, she chose to discard precious artifacts rather than lift a finger herself."

"You mean..." Annie’s eyes lit up, and she began rubbing her palms together. "Freya is actually a weakling for some reason? We have a chance?"

"...Even if she is a weakling, you won't have a single chance until you break her control over you." Margarita ruthlessly punctured the arrogant loli’s fantasy, though her gaze couldn't help but linger on the swaying flower on Annie’s head.

The source of the control was the flower. What would happen if she just pulled it out? Would they be free?

No, Freya wasn't that stupid.

But it was strange... many of her actions were indeed contrary to common sense. For instance...

"Move."

A cold voice rang out. Margarita turned to see a face that was exceptionally pale.

It seemed Freya wasn't the only strange one.

Margarita sighed softly, her eyes drifting toward the abdomen of the former God-Attendant Knight. The wound Freya had inflicted earlier had not healed, nor had it been treated. Blood continued to seep from it as if it would never run dry.

Brian himself seemed to have become extremely weak because of it. Despite being a practitioner of both magic and martial arts, his movements were even slower than Freya’s, and he frequently lagged at the back of the group.

Of course, he might have been doing that on purpose to keep an eye on them.

"Move," Brian repeated, his tone icy.

Margarita said nothing and silently stepped aside.

However, perhaps due to excessive blood loss, Brian suddenly stumbled as he passed her, nearly falling. Margarita instinctively reached out to steady him, but the moment she touched his arm, he violently shoved her away.

"Don't touch me, you stinking woman!"

"..."

A vein throbbed on Margarita’s forehead.

Stinking? She was a princess of a nation. Even if she slaughtered a hundred magical beasts, she would still smell like roses. How could she possibly be stinking?

But Brian ignored her after his outburst, limping along to catch up with Freya. Freya turned to say something to him, and a clear, melodic laugh drifted back every now and then.

"Pfft..." The stupid loli beside her didn't hesitate to mock her.

Margarita gave her a cold glare. After a moment of thought, she lifted the hand she had used to steady Brian and brought it to her nose, taking a light sniff.

In an instant, her willow-like brows furrowed tightly. She stared at her hand, her expression turning vacant.

"This is..."

As if afraid she had misjudged, Margarita endured the physiological revulsion and brought her hand to her nose again, taking a deep... breath.

"You've got to be kidding me..."

Once she confirmed exactly what that scent was, Margarita looked at the black-clad figure ahead, her expression becoming incredibly complex.

*

"Alright, everyone, we’ve arrived."

After a trek that wasn't particularly long, Freya stopped. Like a professional tour guide, she enthusiastically introduced the sight before them.

"Ta-da! This is our destination... an altar!"

On the ground made of pink flesh, a black circular platform suddenly protruded. It was carved with profound, mysterious patterns. It was unclear what material it was made of, but it seemed to possess a strange magic capable of sucking away one's soul.

"An altar?" Margarita forced her gaze away from the platform, breaking the sensation of her soul being drawn out. Her face was grim. "You aren't planning to sacrifice us to an Evil God, are you?"

Beside her, Annie and Paul were equally pale, staring fixedly at Freya.

"Don't look at me with such scary eyes. How could I do something so terrible? I am a Saintess Candidate, after all, aren't I?" Freya clapped her hands and giggled. "Now, without further ado, would you two please step up?"

With that, Freya was the first to step onto the altar.

Under the forced control, Annie—no matter how unwilling—had to shuffle her feet forward inch by inch.

As for Margarita, threatened by the sword Paul held to her throat, she could only give him a look that promised a future reckoning before reluctantly walking toward the altar.

"Quick... quick, if you have any way to escape, use it now," Annie whispered through gritted teeth as she forced her body closer to Margarita. "If you don't use it now, we’re finished!"

"If I had a way, I would have used it already," Margarita said expressionlessly. "Give me another half hour and I might be able to clear the spores from my body, but I’m still helpless against the control over you two."

"In half an hour, the roast turkey will be cold! I saw you thinking for so long—do you really not have a single plan?"

"I'm sorry, but thinking is one thing; getting results is another."

"Useless!" Annie fumed. "People say big chests mean no brains, but yours is so small—can't you be a bit smarter?"

"Heh, right back at you."

"..."

"..."

The two, having dealt each other true emotional damage, finally stood on the altar with no other choice. Opposite them stood Freya, watching them with a beaming smile.

"Alright, now, could you please slit your wrists? I need a bit of your blood."

"Blood?" Annie’s face went white. "Can I say no?"

"No."

"I faint at the sight of blood!"

"Even if you faint, it’s a no."

"Then can you just take more of hers?" Ignoring Margarita’s icy glare, Annie sold out her companion without hesitation. "She weighs much more than me; she definitely has more blood to spare."

"Giggle... Don't worry, Miss Annie. It won't take too much blood—at least not enough to be life-threatening. So..." Freya looked into Annie’s eyes and said meaningfully, "It’s best to stop trying to stall for time by playing pathetic. It’s meaningless."

"Tch." Seeing that her act was useless, Annie’s expression turned arrogant again.

However, her body was clearly not as tough as her expression or her mouth. She had already pulled out a sharp dagger and slit her wrist. Blood tinged with a faint golden glow flowed out, merging into the altar.

Margarita followed suit with a sigh.

Once both had slit their wrists, Freya did the same, cutting her own fair wrist. The blood of the three women meandered across the altar.

"This is..." Observing the path of the blood and the patterns on the altar, Margarita’s pupils suddenly constricted. "Coordinate positioning? This is a Coordinate Altar!"

"What’s a Coordinate Altar?" Annie asked quickly.

"An altar frequently used by cultists. Its sole purpose is to... provide a coordinate for an Evil God in this world, where their true bodies cannot reach..." Margarita looked at Freya in horror. "Your goal... no, the Love God’s goal, is to have an Evil God descend here?"

"...As expected of the Platinum Princess, Miss Margarita. Your knowledge is indeed vast." Freya lowered her eyelids, watching the threads of blood begin to gather in the center of the altar, forming a small crimson pool. She spoke softly, "Yes, this is a Coordinate Altar. Its purpose... is indeed to position a certain existence."

"Then why use our blood?" Margarita asked, puzzled. "We have no connection to the Evil Gods."

The prerequisite for positioning was that the sacrificed items had to be related to the Evil God—either their residual power or something they had corrupted. Only with those as a catalyst could an Evil God be summoned.

But what could their blood summon? Magical girls?

Freya didn't answer directly. Instead, she suddenly leaned down and stroked the altar. "The original purpose of this altar wasn't positioning. It was... prayer."

"What?"

"The people of this nation once stood upon this altar, praying day and night to the Goddess they believed in. They prayed for salvation, for forgiveness. Unfortunately, there was never a response. Do you know why?"

"Because..." Without waiting for Margarita to answer, Freya continued on her own, "This nation was exiled. It was exiled... by the First Generation Saintess herself."

"Exiled? Is that the origin of the Lost Homeland?" Margarita was stunned. "But why? Why would the First Generation Saintess exile this place? Weren't the people here all believers of the Goddess?"

"It’s the opposite."

"The opposite?"

"Yes. Similar, yet opposite." Freya looked up at the quiet, pale moon and sighed. "This is truly the darkest joke in the world."

"Similar... yet opposite..."

Countless complex thoughts surfaced in Margarita’s mind. Looking out at the nauseating land in the distance, she felt as if she had grasped the end of a thread.

But right now, she forced herself not to think deeper. Even if she knew the answer to that question, it would be useless in their current predicament.

"The First Generation Saintess... so, that’s why you’re using our blood?"

"Yes. Only the blood of a Saintess can penetrate the 'Wall' and send a coordinate to the outside."

"But we aren't Saintesses yet."

"Close enough," Freya said softly. "Having been raised as Saintess Candidates since childhood and having undergone several Holy Light Baptisms, Saintess blood has long been flowing through our veins. We’re only missing the final ceremony."

"So, since the quality isn't enough, you’re making up for it with quantity?" Annie interjected, glaring.

"Exactly." Freya praised her, "Miss Annie is so clever."

"Hmph." Annie gave a reserved snort, asserting her presence.

Margarita lowered her head, looking at the wound on her wrist. Freya had said not to stall, but she didn't seem to care about the small tricks they were playing. Consequently, the wound wasn't large, and the blood wasn't flowing too quickly.

This way, they wouldn't lose too much blood in a short time.

Margarita took a deep breath and suddenly looked up at the girl who had pushed things to this point. She said seriously, "Freya, stop. It’s not too late."

"Oh?" Freya seemed surprised that Margarita would say such a thing. "Why?"

"Because I know... you’re actually still a good person."

"..."

A brief silence fell over the area. Everyone stared at Margarita with expressions that said, What kind of nonsense are you talking?

Even Freya couldn't help but tilt her head, showing a trace of girlish confusion. "What are you saying? I’ve done such terrible things."

"Exactly!" Annie nodded vigorously. "This person has done such awful things, making so many people lose their heads. How can you say she—"

"Yes, many people lost their heads because of her backstabbing and the Death Contract Documents. But then what?" Margarita asked suddenly.

"Then... then the teleportation scrolls were triggered, and those people were sent out, and then..." Annie suddenly stopped talking as she realized a certain fact.

"And then... their injuries were healed by the Church," Margarita finished for her. "Freya, didn't you say something like this to Muen Campbell before? With the Church’s power, even a severed neck can be healed if treated quickly. So, those people looked like they met a miserable end, but in reality... just like everyone else, they were simply eliminated."

At this point, Margarita couldn't help but sneer. "A grand believer of an Evil God, painstakingly plotting all this, and in the end, not a single person died. Miss Freya, your destructive power isn't even as good as my eighty-year-old grandmother’s. At least she still goes into the forest to crush a magical beast or two for fun."

"..." Freya fell silent.

"Now that we’ve covered that, let’s talk about something else," Margarita continued. "We mentioned the Love God’s goal. Now, let’s talk about... your goal, Freya."

Freya’s expression finally shifted slightly.

"Your goal is..." Margarita stopped looking at Freya and turned to look at the person beside her... Brian. "To save, or rather... to resurrect your knight. Am I right, Miss Freya?"

"Resurrect?" Annie, feeling completely unable to keep up with the conversation, felt the flower on her head sway so hard its petals almost flew off. She asked in confusion, "What resurrection? This guy is standing right here in front of us, alive and well."

"No. Brian is indeed in front of us, but that doesn't mean the current him is alive."

The shocking words were like a thunderclap, jolting everyone’s senses.

Paul was the first to react, recalling some of the earlier oddities. "Could it be..."

"Yes, it’s exactly what you’re thinking."

From the beginning, the most abnormal person wasn't Freya, but her God-Attendant Knight, Brian.

For example, as the renowned and notoriously brutal Shadow Ghost, he only hid in the back and cast spells.

For example, his face was so pale he didn't look human, and he always hid in Freya’s shadow, unable to even touch strong light.

And for another example, though he looked weak, he had been bleeding steadily for several hours. No matter how strong a martial artist was, that should have been impossible.

And the spores drifting from his blood... what is the most suitable breeding ground for spores?

The answer was—a corpse.

"...When did you see through it?"

"Not long ago. I smelled the scent of decay on him."

"But I used so much floral fragrance to cover it up..."

"Scents can only be masked, not eliminated. And as it happens, perfume appreciation has been a mandatory course for me since childhood."

"I see..." Freya rubbed her temples. Her brows drooped as she let out a long, weary sigh. "But even knowing this, what does it change? This secret won't have any impact on the ending."

"I don't understand why you’re doing this. Turning to an Evil God to save him? You could have relied on the Chur—"

"It’s useless."

"Eh?"

"The Church cannot save Brian," Freya said gently. "I know the limits of the Church better than you, Margarita. They can cure most ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠diseases in this world, they can replace the organs of the dying, and they can even save someone whose head has been cut off if they act quickly. But... even for the Church... they cannot save a soul on the brink of shattering."

"So you placed your hopes on an Evil God?"

"Yes. That’s what I thought." Freya nodded.

"I still can't understand!" Margarita said sharply. "Discarding the position of Saintess that was within your reach, discarding everything, even staining yourself with the crime of betraying humanity, just for... for... is it worth it?"

"Of course it’s worth it," Freya said, looking into her eyes.

"..."

In that moment, Margarita understood that no matter how much she tried to persuade her, it was useless. This woman’s eyes told her that much.

"Then what about you?" Margarita turned to Brian. "Freya discarded everything for you. Are you truly willing to bear this sin?"

"I..." A low growl came from Brian’s throat. His entire body was trembling, and his lips moved as if he wanted to say something. But in the end, only meaningless sounds came out. Brian said nothing.

He only wore an incredibly complex expression. Pain, confusion, regret... it was so complex that Margarita couldn't understand it. At least not now.

"It’s okay, Brian. It has nothing to do with you. This was my personal choice, so you don't need to suffer." Freya gently stroked Brian’s face. "It’s okay. It’ll be over soon."

She stood up and walked forward. She walked to the center of the altar, to the small pool where the blood had gathered.

She looked down. Her shadow was reflected in the blood. Her hands were folded over her abdomen, her back straight—dignified, elegant, and holy.

Then, the reflection suddenly changed. The slight curve of the lips twisted into an exaggerated, incredibly eerie grin. And those gentle eyes turned pitch black.

At that moment, an ethereal holy hymn began to play. From the sky, from the earth, and from the pool of blood, a grand, majestic, and bizarre language suddenly rang out. it didn't sound human, yet everyone could understand it.

[Freya, is it finished?]

"Yes. Only the final step remains, Lord Love God."

The other three froze simultaneously, their faces turning deathly pale.

The Evil God—Corrupted Love God! He had actually appeared before them.

Fortunately, this seemed to be only a weak remnant shadow.

[You have done well, Freya.] The reflection laughed in an exaggerated, hideous manner. The cold laughter was hair-raising. [Then, let us begin. The final step.]

"Yes," Freya answered respectfully. Then she leaned down and slowly reached her hand toward the pool of blood.

At this moment, all sound of breathing vanished. Everyone understood that when that fair hand touched the blood, something terrible would happen. Even the reflection in the blood pool showed a look of anticipation.

But...

When her hand was less than a centimeter from the blood, it suddenly stopped. Freya lowered her eyes, staring presumptuously at the deity. "Lord Love God, according to our agreement, before I complete the final step, shouldn't you... fulfill your promise?"

[Are you teaching me how to do things?] The reflection’s gaze was cold.

"I wouldn't dare. I simply feel that even humans have the concept of keeping promises. As a supreme deity, surely you will fulfill yours as agreed."

[Of course.] The reflection suddenly laughed. [Of course I will fulfill my promise.]

A faint crimson light suddenly shot out from the pool of blood and entered Brian’s body. Brian’s body convulsed, and then, a visible flush of color returned to his face.

Freya joyfully took Brian’s hand and stroked his cheek. She could feel the warmth of a living person slowly returning to his once-cold body.

But...

"Lady Freya..." Brian stared at Freya, his lips trembling violently as if he were fighting something. His eyes were filled with immense pain.

"Brian?"

He was clearly coming back to life, so why did his eyes look even more pained?

[Ah, right, Freya.] The reflection in the blood pool suddenly spoke. [In light of your diligence, let me tell you a secret.]

"A... secret?" Freya turned her head, her body stiff.

[Yes, a secret.] The reflection suddenly leaned close to the surface of the blood, as if whispering in Freya’s ear. [I did indeed temporarily repair his soul, but in truth... his soul has long since belonged entirely to me.]

"What...?" Freya’s eyes widened, her pupils shrinking. She looked down at the reflection. "What did you... say?"

[That man made an exchange with me a long time ago. I granted his wish, so his soul now belongs to me. Otherwise, did you really think that just by stuffing your own mana and origin into that body, you could make a nearly rotted corpse move so successfully? I am the one who has kept him going until now.]

Each word was like a knife carving into her heart.

Freya turned her head again. She had never turned her head so slowly, as if the sound of every joint grinding was clearly audible in her ears. "Brian, what... what wish did you make?"

"I..." Brian’s expression was sorrowful. "I wanted to help you, Lady Freya... to become the Saintess."

Freya’s mouth hung open. She said blankly, "So, that’s why you had that expression back then?"

Brian nodded. "I'm sorry, Lady Freya. I wanted to tell you then, but I... I couldn't say it."

Of course he couldn't say it. That was exactly the Evil God’s twisted sense of humor.

"I see..." Freya’s delicate body trembled. Her once-straight back gradually curved, as if she were being crushed. She leaned against Brian’s chest and whispered, "But my wish was to save you."

Brian’s face was covered in tears.

*

[That’s it... that’s it!] In the pool of blood, the reflection twisted and writhed frantically, as if performing a bizarre, ecstatic dance. [How... wonderful!]

Love. Separation. Hatred. Pain. Regret. Despair. Heartbreak. Agony. Unrequited longing. Gaining only to lose again.

Like a crystal flower blooming in the light, only to be shattered at its most beautiful moment.

This was—Twisted Love, Corrupted Love!

"Lord Love God, you seem very happy."

At some point, that slender, fragile figure had returned to the edge of the blood pool, looking down ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at the reflection.

[Hmm?] The twisted reflection instantly smoothed out. That holy yet eerie face met another identical, beautiful face. [Why? Why are you still smiling?]

Freya sat cross-legged by the blood pool, no longer elegant, her back somewhat hunched. But on that face, on those lips, there was still that holy, gentle smile that seemed never to have changed.

Yet she had just experienced the most cruel pain in the world.

"Of course I have to smile," Freya said softly. "There is already so much pain in this world. Why should I add even more to it?"

[You...] As if sensing something, the reflection in the blood pool suddenly turned hideous. [You still want to resist? Impossible! At this point, I can easily contaminate your soul!]

The blood ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pool surged, and countless crimson threads spread along Freya’s body, eroding into her flesh. But soon, those threads recoiled, turning back into the impotently raging reflection.

[How is this possible? Your soul... where is your soul?]

"My soul is right here." Freya smiled faintly and pulled out a dark golden cone. "Ancient Artifact: Sealing Spike. I hid my soul inside. This body is also just an empty shell."

That was why she was so weak.

"After all, you are the famous Love God. How could I not make extra preparations when dealing with you?"

[Impossible! Stripping the soul and hiding it in a dead object—no human could endure that pain! Impossible!] the reflection roared.

Placing a soul in a dead object was a torture so agonizing that even the Prisoner, who had endured countless ages of tempering, couldn't help but ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cry out in pain and beg for salvation. Not to mention the pain of actively stripping one's own soul.

"It was very painful," Freya said, clutching her chest. "But compared to the moment I lost him, it was nothing."

Freya gripped the Sealing Spike, her expression dazed for a moment. She remembered the question Muen had asked her not long ago.

"A believer of the Love God? No, Mr. Muen," Freya murmured to herself. "What I believe in... is love."

Without hesitation, she plunged the cold spike into her own heart.

"With all that I am, I invoke the power of sealing from you." Freya recited the incantation.

At the same time, Brian suddenly spoke, "And me. Take everything of mine as well."

Freya looked at him with adoration and did not refuse.

Blood flowed, and the end of the spike suddenly fanned out like a blooming black lotus. In the center of the lotus, a crimson eye turned, locking onto the reflection in the blood pool.

[No! No! Mere ants! You cannot! You cannot!] The reflection roared and struggled frantically, turning into a twisted crimson sphere as it tried to flee.

But it was useless. What was here was only a weak remnant shadow.

When the lotus closed again, both the blood pool and the reflection had completely vanished. Between heaven and earth, the moonlight was bright and clear, and all was silent.

*

"Cough, cough..."

Freya, with the spike still embedded in her chest, looked to the side and said apologetically, "I'm sorry you had to witness such a farce."

"No..." The others, who had regained their freedom, looked at each other, suddenly at a loss for words. After a long time, they all bowed their heads in respect.

"I haven't done anything worthy of respect. On the contrary, I almost got you killed." Freya gave a helpless, bitter smile, then spoke faster. "Time is short, so I’ll be brief. This isn't over yet. You need to go to that high tower."

"The high tower?" Margarita frowned, looking at the giant tower looming in the blood mist. "To the base?"

"No. Mr. Muen and Miss Liya have already gone to the base. You need to stay outside and protect the tower."

"Protect it? Who is the enemy?"

"You’ll find out soon enough." Freya looked up at the moon. A faint, nauseating stench was already beginning to drift through the air. "The Abnormal Mutation is about to begin. Go, quickly."

"...Alright." The group no longer hesitated and sped toward the giant tower.

Freya lowered her head again and looked toward a certain spot. "One more thing. I might not be the only cultist who came here. I previously encountered someone who was killed before their teleportation scroll could even trigger. It was likely that person’s handiwork. So... be careful."

*

After everyone left, silence returned once more.

With nothing else to look at, Freya could only look up at the bright moonlight again.

"It’s so beautiful, just like when I first met you."

"Yes, back then, there was just as much blood around us."

...

"You seem to be hurt. Do you need me to treat you?"

"No? Hmm, you’re clearly about to die... what a cold person."

...

"Wow, you actually know how to cook? Great, I’ll leave this grand task to you from now on."

"It’s so strange. I can brew excellent medicine, but I can't even make porridge. Is this proof that the Goddess is too fair? No talent for cooking? I won't admit to such a thing."

...

"I'm going to the south. I heard a plague broke out there. Are you coming?"

"Oh my, you said you weren't coming, yet you’re still secretly protecting me. What a tsundere man."

...

"Rest? I get a good two hours of rest a day."

"I’ll definitely rest once I’ve finished researching this medicine. But right now, many people are waiting."

...

"Great, the plague is cured. Want to go to the beach together? I heard the beaches here are beautiful."

"The beach is so lovely. But why do you have to hide in the shadows even at a time like this?"

...

"You’re asking what my dream is? Hmm... to become the Saintess, of course. I’ll tell you a secret: I’m a Saintess Candidate. Don't tell anyone else."

"You say you want to help me? Fine. From now on, the job of protecting me is yours. I’m not very good at fighting, and I’ve felt like someone’s been trying to harm me lately. My personal safety is all in your hands."

...

"You really... protected me well."

"My Brian."

*

The moonlight gradually blurred, and her body grew cold. The things she had promised away were being taken back bit by bit.

"It’s so dark, Brian. Are you still there?"

A warm hand touched her cheek. "I'm here."

"It’s so warm. In my memory, you’ve never been this gentle." The girl affectionately stroked the large hand and whispered, "I'm sorry. Even though I saved so many people, I still couldn't save you. Even so, will you stay by my side like this forever, my Brian?"

"Of course," that voice said firmly. "I will stay with you forever, my... Freya."