After parting ways with Lisandra and Sylvia—after so very long—Amael soared through the vast expanse of the Realm of Eden, the domain of gods themselves.
He seldom visited this place. Not because he was unwelco, but because the Realm of Eden was not a land one entered without purpose. And today, he carried purpose and he wasn’t accompanied by his father.
He needed answers—answers that would shape not just his choices, but the very course of his existence.
The flight was long, the horizon endless, until at last, a structure broke through the divine white skyline: a castle.
Beautiful.
Immaculate.
White as new snow, its walls shimred faintly as if made from light itself.
"It should be here," Amael muttered under his breath.
Though it had the face of an ordinary palace, he knew better. This was no palace—it was a prison. A prison crafted not for a criminal, but for one of the most powerful and irreplaceable figures in Eden.
Laima.
Or rather, Nevia—her true na.
By Eden’s decree, Nihil himself had confined Nevia here. Not out of cruelty, not out of hate. Nihil loved his daughter, in his own cold and divine way. But he believed that seclusion, this eternal ivory cage, was the only way to keep her safe—from the grasping hands of gods and mortals alike.
Because everyone wanted Nevia.
Everyone.
Her gift, her uniqueness, was beyond envy.
It was dangerous.
Amael pushed open the tall gates and stepped inside. The halls glowed with a sterile brightness, pure and unblemished. His footsteps echoed like whispers against the flawless white floor, carrying him deeper and deeper until he reached the throne room.
And here—here the air itself seed different.
It was thick with divinity, dense with a purity so sharp it almost hurt to breathe. Even Amael, no stranger to divine realms, felt his chest tighten as though the place itself judged him unworthy.
The throne was empty.
Amael frowned, glancing around.
Then, in the blink of an eye, she was there.
A woman sat upon the throne.
She wore a flowing gown of untouched white, and upon her face rested a mask of the sa color, veiling her identity. Yet Amael didn’t need to see her face. He knew.
It was Nevia.
She said nothing. She did not move. Even her gaze, hidden behind the mask, was unreadable—an eternal stillness that pressed on his mind.
Amael sighed slowly and inclined his head. "Laima, I presu. I am Amael, if you recognize ."
It was their first eting, though to call them family would almost be an insult to the word. He was her half-brother, yes, but they were worlds apart. Bound by blood, separated by divinity.
Nevia remained silent.
Amael pressed on. "I think you may already know, but Edward Falkrona is here. He cos from a future that even Father fears. A future shrouded in uncertainty. Father has commanded to kill him before Nesis can fully take hold of him."
Still silence.
Amael took a step forward—and was imdiately stopped by a barrier. Invisible, but unbreakable. A safeguard, most likely placed by Father, to keep anyone from drawing near to her.
He sighed and stepped back, his eyes softening with resignation.
"I don’t have much ti before Father notices I’ve co here. I don’t know the full scope of his designs, but I do know this: you will play a role in Edward Falkrona’s fate. And yet..." He paused, his gaze steady on her. "Since you are not with him in the present—this Edward from the future—I can only assu you are dead."
The words fell heavy in the white silence.
Amael’s expression shifted, a faint smile touching his lips. "To change and rewrite a past... it must have cost you dearly. Seeing prophecy after prophecy, carrying the burden of so many fates—it must have broken your body, driven you into frailty even gods could not heal. However..." He tilted his head. "Knowing Father, he has already chosen soone else. Soone to beco the next Goddess of Fate. Likely a mortal. Fragile. Easy to bend. Born in the sa age as Edward Falkrona himself."
His voice dropped lower.. "I doubt I’m telling you anything you don’t already know. The question isn’t if you’ve seen it, Nevia. The question is... how far were you able to see?"
Nevia didn’t answer.
Instead, the world around Amael shifted abruptly, leaving him montarily off guard. The endless white walls dissolved, replaced by the fragrance of blossoms and the sound of rustling leaves.
A garden.
Not just any garden—Amael recognized it instantly. This was no doubt a place within the legendary Garden of Eden itself.
"Samael! Look!"
The voice was bright and childish.
Amael turned—and froze.
A young girl no older than ten sprinted toward a black-haired youth. Her hair was pure white, her eyes just as pale, brimming with innocent light.
Goosebumps prickled down Amael’s arms as his gaze landed on the young man.
Samael Eveningstar.
But not the monster the world whispered about. Not the calamity painted in legend.
This Samael looked... human. His expression carried a quiet lancholy, as if he bore sorrows too vast for his age, but when the girl reached him, a gentle smile softened his features.
Nevia. Younger, untouched by the burdens that would later weigh her down. She held out her hands toward Samael, and in them squird a tiny serpent—its scales shimring white, feathered wings sprouting delicately from its back. Its big eyes darted nervously at Samael’s piercing purple gaze.
"I saved it!" Nevia bead proudly.
Samael leaned closer, his voice calm. "Is that the snake Enigma gifted you?"
"Mm!" Nevia nodded quickly.
But Samael’s tone grew more serious. "Nevia... you didn’t look into the future again, did you? Is that how you saved it?"
Her smile faltered for the briefest second. "...Otherwise she was going to get hurt," she whispered.
He sighed softly, then crouched so their eyes t. "Didn’t your father tell you not to use Ars Fatum recklessly? It’s not a power for every whim."
Nevia lowered her gaze, shoulders shrinking. "It’s not inappropriate... She’s my companion. Enigma gave her to ... I couldn’t just let her die."
For a long mont, Samael was silent. Then he reached out and patted her snowy hair. His faint smile returned. "If that’s what you believe... then hold onto it. A companion worth protecting is rarer than any prophecy."
Before Amael could linger on the scene, wings cut through the air.
A woman descended gracefully.
When Amael looked at her, he felt his breath catch.
Elysia.
One of the Khaos Princesses.
The atmosphere changed as Samael’s expression softened in a way Amael had never seen before—open, vulnerable, tender.
"I was looking for you," Elysia said warmly, then paused when her gaze fell on Nevia and the little serpent. She crouched down. "Oh, it’s adorable. Is it yours, Nevia?"
"Um," Nevia nodded again.
"Then take good care of it, alright?" Elysia smiled before turning back toward Samael. With a single beat of their wings, the two of them lifted into the sky together.
Nevia stood silently, her white eyes following them until they disappeared. Her expression was unreadable—sowhere between awe and longing.
The mory dissolved.
Amael blinked back into the throne room, his mind reeling. "...Right. Father once hinted at it. But now I’ve seen it for myself. You loved Samael, didn’t you? Even as a child..."
Before he could continue, another vision unfolded.
One after another, fragnts of mories rushed past him like shards of glass. He could barely grasp them, but each carried the sa image—Nevia’s gaze fixed on Samael. At first innocent, admiring. Then hopeful. Then complicated, shadowed with sothing harder.
As she grew older, that gaze only sharpened, until it was no longer the soft admiration of a child, but the quiet ache of soone who longed for sothing beyond reach.
And then the visions stopped.
Amael’s chest tightened. His eyes widened. "You..."
He turned toward Nevia, still silent, still hidden behind her mask. She made no move to speak—perhaps she never intended to.
But he understood.
He understood everything.
Her love for Samael wasn’t born of chance. It wasn’t the simple crush of a girl idolizing a figure beyond her.
It was born from prophecy.
The world shifted again.
This ti Amael saw a much younger Nevia, no more than five. She was pale, frail, her small body trembling as she lay surrounded by worry. Nihil stood by her bedside, his expression rare with concern, while A-Nihil spoke solemnly.
"Her first prophecy... she has awakened it."
Nihil’s hand stroked his daughter’s hair gently, almost tenderly. "She will save us," he muttered.
The vision bled into Nevia’s first prophecy.
She was older now.
Though everything seed too bright including her features he could tell it was her.
She was walking barefoot through a garden, her gown trailing softly against the grass. Her hand cradled her swollen belly, her lips curved into a smile that was serene and full of light.
She looked forward, and there—
A figure waited.
Amael squinted, but the image was blurred, indistinct. The man stepped toward Nevia, his hand brushing her cheek with impossible tenderness before lifting her into his arms, carrying her as though she were the most precious thing in existence.
Nevia’s face glowed with joy unlike anything Amael had ever seen. She leaned against the man’s chest, utterly content.
As they walked away, Amael caught a fleeting detail—
A golden earring, glinting in the light as it swung from the man’s ear.
The mory ended.
When Amael returned to himself, his heart was hamring. His eyes widened in sudden realization.
It wasn’t Samael.
Nevia’s love wasn’t born from a child’s naïve affection.
It ca from this—her first prophecy.
She had seen her destined one. But she had mistaken Samael for him, perhaps because of their resemblance.
Amael swallowed. He understood now. Nevia’s silence, her gaze, the truth behind her feelings.
Her love for Samael... was never truly Samael at all.
But then a thought struck him.
Amael’s eyes narrowed as the pieces began to fall into place.
"You planned it..." He muttered, almost in disbelief. "You becoming Edward’s Legacy—it wasn’t Father’s sche. It was yours all along..."
Nevia didn’t respond, of course. She sat there in stillness, her masked face unreadable, offering no confirmation, no denial.
Not that he expected her to.
"What you’ve always wanted... was to reach that prophecy, wasn’t it? To shape the path that would bring you to that mont. Isn’t that right?" He chuckled.
Nothing.
But this ti her silence was louder than any answer she could have given.
Amael nonetheless frowning deeply still confused about sothing. "But... how? How did Father not notice? He sees everything. He would’ve known if you’d been peering this far ahead, if you’d been weaving sothing this complicated. There’s no way he could have missed it..."
And then it hit him.
Amael froze, his blood running cold as his mind caught up to the enormity of what she had done.
"...You’ve been erasing your own mories."
The words tumbled out of him in a hoarse whisper.
It was the only explanation.
Every ti she glimpsed a thread of the future, she erased it from herself. Wiping her own mind clean, leaving no trace for anyone to suspect. Again and again, endlessly, she had forced herself into a cycle of foresight and oblivion, carving out truths, burning them away, and starting over.
In that brutal repetition, she left not even Father a foothold. Not even Nihil could catch her hand at work. And in the gaps of those erased recollections, she had maneuvered herself into becoming Edward Falkrona’s Legacy.
Amael swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.
The Nevia of the future... she wasn’t a mastermind at all. She was a puppet. A puppet manipulated by her own past self, who left behind only faint imprints, just enough to nudge the right decisions, but never enough for anyone—including herself—to fully grasp her true intent.
Not Nihil. Not Eden. Not even Nevia herself.
Amael’s hands trembled slightly as he stared at her. "You... You’re on another level entirely."
It was terrifying. He could hardly comprehend her thods, let alone the cost she must have paid to pursue them. To erase oneself over and over, deliberately, until even your own mind becos a labyrinth... how much strength, how much obsession did that require?
And yet—
Amael’s lips parted, a sudden realization cutting deeper.
Wasn’t it dangerous for her to reveal all this to him? To let him see the outlines of her sches? He could tell Father everything. He could betray her right now. He could—
His thoughts stopped.
"...!"
Amael’s heart jolted in his chest.
And then, he laughed. Soft, hollow. "...Ahaha... of course. The mont I stepped foot in this place... it was already over, wasn’t it?"
She didn’t need to speak. She didn’t need to warn him.
She had already seen his future.
She knew what choice he would make, what words he would carry—or not carry—back to their father. That was why she showed him all this. Not by mistake. Not by risk. By design.
Amael felt his pulse race in his ears.
She was terryfing.
His mind spun further.
Could it be...?
What if Nevia had been the one all along, subtly guiding Father through her erased prophecies? Nudging him toward choices he believed his own? What if she had influenced him to rewrite the past where Nihil had planted Nyrel’s mories into his body.
If so, then the reason she erased and rewove everything, the reason she rewrote the very tiline, might all boil down to one thing.
When he understood it he involontarily took a step back.
"You wanted... Father to put Nyrel’s mories into Edward Falkrona’s head..."
User Comments
0 comments from readers