Chapter 97
Elia fell heavily to the ground, her back trembling with sacred light. One of the priests watching the scene cried out:
“…It’s the Holy Sword of Raphael!”
Pope Winter, who had collapsed beside the altar, finally lifted his head to look up at the sky. A dazzlingly radiant light flickered from above. The power of the angel, Raphael, which only the Savior’s hand could manifest.
“H-How is this possible—?”
The Pope stared in disbelief at the golden sky. In that moment, he recalled the voice of a saint now erased from history: “God places our Savior closest to us.”
“The Great Saint lives. She has become the heart of the Savior.”
The Pope’s murmured words scattered with the wind.
Elia, collapsed on the floor, gazed down at the golden sword blossoming in her hand. The blade, which had slept for thousands of years awaiting its master, radiated a blinding light.
Overwhelmed by the unstoppable heat, Elia’s heart pounded fiercely.
“Raphael’s holy sword.”
Surrounded by this strange yet mighty power, Elia clenched the sword tightly and got up to her feet. The golden wind gently lifted her weary body.
“Ugh!”
But then, Cyrone, who was looking at her with eyes swollen a vivid red, grabbed Elia’s neck. The devil, unable to flee from God’s salvation, poured out his last desperate surge of magic. Elia struggled to breathe as the crushing force pressed against her throat.
“Do you know how filthy and despicable humans are? They speak of love as if it were pure, yet in the end, only humans satisfy my desires.”
Belial’s red eyes gleamed as he chuckled, watching Elia’s consciousness fade. The devil’s face was terrifyingly beautiful, standing in the very heart of hell.
“You will never escape me.”
In an instant, the devil’s expression hardened. As he tried to clutch Elia’s neck with his final strength—
“I will, save you, Belial.”
Elia plunged the sword into the devil’s heart. The heart of the Savior was forged from perfect love.
* * *
Elia blinked several times, her lost consciousness and heavy eyelids unwilling to return. No memories or thoughts stirred. She felt powerless, as if waking from a very deep sleep.
“…”
After some time, Elia staggered to her feet. Warm breeze flowed through the window, gently embracing her shoulders.
“Where am I…?”
Elia glanced down at her body, but saw nothing unusual. No wounds, no scars. Had she been dreaming? How long had she been asleep…?
Like someone possessed, Elia stepped out through the door. Everything before her eyes was both familiar and yet unfamiliar. It was a strange sensation.
But her legs moved on their own, walking steadily toward some unknown destination.
The ceiling where angels danced, the windows pouring warm spring sunlight, and the gentle breeze flowing through. It was these pleasant sensations that pulled Elia forward.
Suddenly, her footsteps stopped. Through a slightly open door, brilliant light poured in. The light felt so warm and tender that without realizing it, Elia pushed the door wide open.
Slowly, she followed the light…
“…!”
There, standing bathed in that glow, was someone. He leaned against the window frame with his eyes closed.
“N-no way…”
Elia walked toward him as if in disbelief. Her legs felt weak, as if they might collapse at any moment, but she could not stop.
The breeze brushing against her cheek, the air, all these sensations began to surface one by one, bringing back the overwhelming feelings from that day she had so desperately longed for.
“Cyrone.”
Elia softly called the name she had never forgotten, even in her dreams. The man, leaning by the window with his eyes closed, slowly opened them.
Their eyes met. Those blue eyes she thought she would never see again. Their gazes intertwined…
“Cyrone, it’s you, right? You’ve come back?”
The man looked at her without breaking eye contact. It felt as if time itself had stopped just for the two of them.
“…Who are you?”
At those words, tears suddenly spilled from Elia’s eyes. Hot droplets fell relentlessly to the floor.
Instinctively, the man reached out and wiped the wetness from her face. Every tear that touched his hand seemed to awaken in him the pain he had felt after waking up.
The feeling of his heart dropping, the desperate ache of having lost something precious…
“It’s Elia.”
Elia whispered slowly. The chirping birds outside the window stilled. The fluttering green leaves ceased their dance in the breeze. It was as if time itself paused for just the two of them.
“…Elia.”
The man breathed out the sacred name between his lips. The sound sent a shiver through his body, tingling near his heart.
Then, Cyrone pulled Elia tightly into his arms.
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