Looking at the fallen leaves in autumn, her eyes darted towards the old, dried tree that once again met winter. A girl in a white robe was kneeling on the altar as she prayed desperately for a salvation that seemed so far and unfounded, yet her faith remained strong.
The grand cathedral was bathed in twilight, its stained glass windows casting faint glimmers of fading light onto the cold, marble floor. The air inside was thick with the scent of incense, the silence broken only by the echoing footsteps of a single man.
Noah, the once-proud Hero of Tersia, now knelt at the foot of the altar. His armor, once gleaming with the promise of salvation, was tarnished, dulled by the weight of countless battles and the burden of guilt. His dark hair clung to his sweat-soaked brow, and his eyes—once full of hope—now brimmed with desperation and madness.
Before him stood Emilia, the Saintess.
She was the embodiment of grace, standing beneath the towering statues of the Gods. Dressed in the pure white robes of her order, Emilia looked every bit the holy figure the world believed her to be. Her soft black hair cascaded down her back, and her pale skin glowed faintly in the dim light. Her eyes, usually distant and serene, now carried a deep sorrow as she gazed down at Noah.
But beneath the surface, behind that gentle facade, was a soul that did not belong to this world.
Emilia's thoughts raced, panicked. Why did it have to be now? Why did the system activate when I was facing him? She cursed inwardly, but her expression remained perfectly calm. The system that controlled her every action had locked her into this role—this fake serenity, this holy grace—no matter how much she wanted to scream, to curse, to tell Noah that he was suffocating her with his pleas.
Her voice, soft and sweet like a lullaby, cut through the silence, "Noah, the southern lands... They will fall next. The creatures born of black mana have begun their invasion. The towns will be overrun in a matter of days."
Noah's head snapped up, eyes wide with disbelief. "No... no more, please." His voice cracked, raw with emotion. "Stop. I don't want to hear it anymore!"
He lurched forward, his hands trembling as they reached out, clasping the hem of her robes. His grip was tight, as though by holding onto her, he could stop the words from spilling out of her mouth. As if by clinging to her, he could somehow save her—save himself—from the horrors of the future.
But Emilia, bound by the system's chains, could only smile that same soft, serene smile. Her heart ached, yet her expression remained gentle. She could not react as she truly wanted. Even as the metallic taste of blood pooled at the back of her throat, the words continued to flow.
"The invaders will reach the capital within a week. The defenses will fail. Only—" Her words were cut short by a sudden, violent cough. Her body convulsed, and a crimson stain bloomed on the sleeve of her pristine robes as she pressed a hand to her lips.
"Please... stop!" Noah's voice was hoarse as he lowered his head to the ground, pressing his forehead against her feet. His voice trembled as he begged. "I can't bear it anymore. You don't need to do this! You don't need to see the future. It's killing you!"
Emilia's gaze softened as she looked down at him, her heart-wrenching in a way she couldn't express. I know, Noah. I don't want this either. But the system didn't allow her to say those words. It never let her reveal her true feelings.
Instead, her hand moved gently, as if on its own, resting lightly on his bowed head. "Noah," she said softly, her voice as calm as ever, though it felt like poison in her throat. "This is my duty. I must guide the heroes of this world."
"You're not guiding us—you're sacrificing yourself!" Noah's shoulders shook, his voice breaking with anguish. "You cough blood every time you speak of the future. You're getting weaker. How many more times, Emilia? How much longer before it kills you?"
Another soft cough escaped her lips, more blood staining the hand she raised to conceal it. But even as the blood dripped down her fingers, her face remained composed, serene, as if it were nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
"The people... need hope," she murmured. "The heroes... need guidance. And I... am the Saintess chosen by the Gods." The words came out as if rehearsed, the system's script forcing her into this unyielding role. She wanted to tell Noah to stand, to stop pleading, but the system wouldn't allow it.
Noah lifted his head, his eyes full of grief and something darker—an emotion that had been brewing ever since that day. The day he had lost everything.
"To hell with the Gods!" he spat, his voice trembling with rage. "To hell with your role as Saintess! You don't deserve this—you never did!" His voice cracked again, tears brimming in his eyes as he stared up at her, his face contorted with agony. "Emilia... just... stop. Please."
She felt the system tightening its grip, forcing her to remain calm, to smile gently even as her heart screamed in protest. She wanted to shout, to break free, to tell him the truth—that she wasn't a Saintess, that she wasn't some divine being who chose this path. She was just Emilia, an outsider trapped in a world that wasn't hers, playing a role that she couldn't escape.
But instead, she said, "Noah, this is my purpose. I cannot turn away."
The pain in Noah's eyes deepened. He buried his face in his hands, shaking with silent sobs. "You're killing yourself... for nothing."
The weight of his words hung in the air, suffocating, and for a moment, Emilia thought that maybe—just maybe—the system would grant her mercy. That it would allow her to break free of the chains that bound her, to speak her true feelings. But no, the system's hold on her tightened, and the words that came out were as false as ever.
"I am here to serve... and to guide you," she said softly, her voice unwavering, though her chest burned with the effort to suppress the pain.
Noah looked up at her again, his expression twisted with a mixture of fury and helplessness. He reached for her hands, clasping them tightly in his own. "Then let me serve you," he whispered, his voice broken. "Let me save you. I'll destroy them—the invaders, the dungeons, the humans, all of it. I'll cleanse this world if that's what it takes to free you from this curse."
Emilia's breath caught in her throat. His words, the darkness in his eyes—it was too much. But before she could react, before she could say anything, the system forced her to respond in the same calm, gentle tone. "Noah... you mustn't speak like that. You are meant to protect this world, not destroy it."
Noah's grip on her hands tightened, his knuckles white. "Then what's the point if you die, Emilia? What's the point of saving this world if you won't be in it?"
Another cough wracked her body, blood splattering the floor between them. But the system didn't care. It forced her to smile once again, as if nothing were wrong as if she weren't breaking apart in front of him.
"I will not die," she whispered, though the words felt like a lie.