Deborah's POV
I slowly regained consciousness, my head throbbing, shrouded in a foggy haze.
The air around me felt cool and fresh, unusually still.
When I opened my eyes, I found myself lying in a forest.
Above me, the night sky sparkled with stars, and shadows of trees swayed gently under the moonlight.
Night had fallen.
Suddenly, a small face appeared in my line of sight, looking both worried and a little guilty—Sol, watching me with wide, tear-brightened eyes.
He leaned closer, his expression full of remorse. "Deborah, are you okay? I'm sorry! I messed up."
His tiny voice was filled with regret, soft and earnest.
Despite the dizziness in my head, I couldn't help but smile.
His innocent face softened my heart.
I glanced at the bandage around his forehead. "Is your head okay?"
He shook his head, displaying a hint of childish pride mixed with a hopeful plea for forgiveness. "I'm fine. Will you forgive me? Cora said if you don't forgive me, she won't cuddle me tonight."
He pouted, his little voice pleading, "Please forgive me? Forgive me, forgive me! Pretty please?"
Watching his comical yet sincere expression, I stifled the pain in my head and managed a smile. "I forgive you."
"Hehe!" He beamed, turning to shout, "Cora! Deborah forgave me! So you have to cuddle me tonight!"
Satisfied, he snuggled into my arms like a little, clingy puppy.
My head still swam, so I closed my eyes, hoping to ease the nausea in my stomach.
It felt as though my insides were churning, leaving me close to being sick.
Noticing my discomfort, Sol quieted for a moment before speaking softly. "Did you know? You've been out for two days. David says we're close to Conscien—"
My eyes opened abruptly, murmuring in surprise, "Conscientia?"
The dizziness hit me again, and I shut my eyes, trying to remain calm.
Sol continued, "Yeah, Conscientia. You got hit on the head by that big fish that fell from the sky, and you've been out since then."
I faintly smiled, keeping my eyes closed as he went on.
Then, his voice lowered. "Then Matthew saved you."
My eyes widened as I looked at him. "Matthew?"
He nodded proudly. "He was really worried about you, you know. He even killed the big fish, and this whole time, he's been carrying you."
"Really? He's been carrying me?" I murmured, trying to suppress the flutter of happiness in my heart.
Sol nodded firmly, his expression serious. "I think he's forgiven you, just like you forgave me."
"Really? I hope so…" I replied softly, my tone full of longing.
My head still ached, but a strange, hopeful warmth grew within me.
He saved me and carried me all this way—he must still care, right?
I opened my eyes slightly, scanning the area, hoping to catch a glimpse of Matthew, even if it was just a passing glance of concern.
But for the entire night, he never appeared.
Disappointment washed over me, drowning the hope that had bloomed in my heart, leaving only a cold, heavy emptiness.
I couldn't stop the sadness that crept in, like a flame of yearning doused with ice, leaving only chilling ashes behind.
I'd thought he still cared, but maybe I was wrong.
I only wished he would give me one smile, even a small, comforting glance.
To avoid slowing the group's progress, I pushed through the lingering discomfort the next day and set out with everyone else.
We were heading to Conscientia—a mysterious place rumored to judge the soul of everyone who enters.
***
We traveled onward toward Conscientia, the sunlight still bright, the weather unexpectedly clear.
Although we were drawing closer, no one truly knew Conscientia's exact location or its boundaries.
It was as though this land remained cloaked in mystery, its truths obscured from sight.
Everyone was filled with curiosity and reverence for Conscientia.
The word "judgment" felt initially heavy and frightening.
Would the judgment be fair?
Would it affect our fate?
What, exactly, would it judge?
Those harboring guilt or remorse, in particular, seemed to carry a quiet tension.
Even the children from Tirnanog appeared worried, as if merely stealing a single piece of fruit might provoke Conscientia's rebuke.
A familiar scent drifted through the air.
This time, I detected a hint of sour bitterness within it.
"What is that smell? Why is it so bitter?"
"What are you talking about? It smells sweet to me!"
"Really? I smell something so strong it's choking me! Cough, cough…"
Only then did I realize—each of us was sensing a different smell.
The surrounding mist began to thicken.
This time, I felt fully alert, not drawn into any visions.
But as I looked around, others seemed to be slipping into something strange—each of them immersed in their own private illusions, as though pulled into an invisible nightmare.
Their faces contorted with emotions foreign to their usual selves.
I looked up and noticed Matthew standing at a distance.
Our eyes met, and a wave of guilt washed over me.
It had been so long since we shared even a glance.
But within seconds, we both looked away, as if afraid to let the other see our hidden truths.
And because of the dense mist, I couldn't use Telepathy to discern his thoughts.
People around me grew more absorbed in their illusions, the scenes surreal and bizarre, shifting between tragedy and absurdity.
I couldn't help looking at Cora, who had fallen to her knees, weeping bitterly.
Her fists pounded against the ground as she cried, "I'm sorry, Father… I'm sorry I couldn't save you… Don't leave me. Stay with me…"
Her expression was torn with anguish, gasping for breath as she continued, "Mark, I'm so sorry. It's my fault… Why did you save me?"
Throughout our journey, Cora had walked ahead with strength, but her inner wounds were clearly far from healed.
She had lost her father, lost Mark, lost the women and children of Tirnanog, and even many of our Murias companions…
She had been losing, one after another, all those she had tried to protect, taken by this cruel reality.
She had been walking forward with a heart burdened by guilt.
Beside her, little Sol held a dry branch in his hands, waving it like a heroic sword as he shouted, "Murias, here I come! I'm the great hero here to save you!" His face shone with pride and excitement, as though he were the world's only hope.
Not far away, David stood tall, his face solemn.
He barked orders, as if back on a battlefield, "Attention! Stand at ease! Report to the major! Brothers, charge!"
His gaze was fierce, his posture rigid. In that moment, he was no longer a weary fugitive, but the lieutenant who had once guarded Murias, his stance straight, his eyes blazing.
Turning to another side, I saw a man on his knees, his voice trembling as he begged, "I'm sorry… my wife, my child… I just wanted to survive so badly… I stole your blanket, I'm sorry… please forgive me…"
He wrapped a tattered blanket around his shoulders, clutching himself as if it could shield him from his guilt and fear. Slowly, he curled up and slumped to the ground.
I also glimpsed the man who had strangled a companion to take his blanket.
He knelt with his head bowed, pounding his forehead against the ground, muttering, "I'm guilty… truly guilty… please, punish me… I can't bear this torment any longer… I killed my friend to survive… I'm a sinner."
Finally, he threw himself onto the ground, his body twitching briefly before he fell still.
Further away, a man crouched in a corner of the bushes, shivering as he hugged his arms tightly over his face, sobbing softly, "I'm afraid… I was too scared to go to the cave entrance to fight off the monsters… I'm a coward… I didn't want to die… does being a man mean I can't feel fear? Does being a man mean I have to be brave?"
His voice trembled with despair, like a small animal lost in darkness, full of fear.
Each scene blended into the next, revealing the rawest sides of each person—the fragile, the sinful, and the hidden aspirations.
Conscientia's judgment laid bare the truths in everyone's hearts, uncovering kindness, remorse, and deeply rooted sins.
Perhaps good souls will find guilt and remorse here, suffering as they revisit their past, seeking solace within.
But those who had committed wrongs were trapped in endless torment, reliving their sins until their spirits withered, and they collapsed onto the barren ground.
Farther away, some men had drawn their weapons, locked in unconscious battle within their illusions, as if old hostilities had never ceased, until they fell lifeless in each other's blood.
Every scene was both absurd and hauntingly real.
Conscientia's judgment was absolute and unwavering—a force that guided the righteous down a path of introspection and a yearning for true understanding.
For those whose hearts were untainted, it offered a mirror, a chance to reflect upon their choices and deepen their wisdom.
Yet, for the wicked, Conscientia was merciless. It condemned them to the depths of despair, stripping away illusions and exposing them to their own corruption, until they were left with nothing but the hollow remnants of their own malevolence.
In the end, they would perish, forsaken by the very light they once ignored.