Chapter 9

Lightning cracked through the night sky as rain poured relentlessly. With his face glistening from the downpour, Damon approached Azriel, a malevolent grin on his face, blood trickling from a wound on his head.

"How dare you strike me?!" Damon's hand stretched toward her as he drew nearer. "Damn it, I won't let this go unpunished."

A looming shadow, as oppressive as despair, cast itself over Azriel's petite frame. Every blink seemed to conjure forth a nightmarish creature from the depths of her forgotten memories.

She stepped back until her spine met the icy stone wall of a well, her breath caught in her throat. And then, in that heart-pounding moment, something white materialized behind Damon—it was him, the enigmatic wizard Rhema Reshith.

When Azriel realized his presence, a shriek escaped her lips.

"Help!"

It was as if time itself had paused. No, it wasn't an illusion.

Azriel stared in bewilderment at the raindrops that had frozen in mid-air, droplets like glistening beads suspended around her. The single raindrop clinging to Damon's outstretched finger had also halted, as if it were solidified.

The lightning that had streaked across the sky hung motionless, like a frozen sketch of tree branches. Even the shadows of people reflected in the castle, the flickering lamplights, the blades of grass bent by the wind—all had stilled, transformed into motionless paintings.

Only Azriel's breath escaped her lips like a wisp of white fog in the midst of this surreal tableau.

Rhema Reshith approached her with measured steps, casting no shadow, and knelt to meet her at eye level.

"Azriel."

"Th-this, did you… did you freeze time?"

"Yes, but only for a brief moment."

Azriel unconsciously dropped the honorific and called his name. It felt strangely familiar, as if she had been uttering his name for eternity. When she spoke his name, his stoic expression seemed to soften ever so slightly. He spoke in his characteristic unhurried manner.

"I wish to help you, Azriel. May I intervene in your life?"

"What does that mean?"

"I made a vow not to interfere in your life. One reason for this vow was to shield you from me."

"Shield me… from you?"

"I am a being with near-omnipotent power, Azriel. If you permit my intervention, your life could be irrevocably altered. I want you to find happiness, but my involvement may bring you misery."

Describing oneself as "close to omnipotent" might sound arrogant, but at this moment, with raindrops frozen like glistening jewels suspended in the air, it didn't seem arrogant at all.

His immaculate snowy robe, his silver hair flowing like a river of silver, his unimaginable ability to halt time—a being with near-omnipotent power. One thought flashed through her mind: the legendary being who, against all odds, still walked the earth.

Azriel murmured in a daze.

"The Wizard of the Horizon…?"

"That's a name I'm often called."

"You are… the Wizard of the Horizon?"

"Yes."

A dizzying sensation overcame Azriel. She used both hands to wipe the rain-soaked hair from her face.

"Why did you make such a peculiar vow? Why do you insist on helping me? And why do you think I might be unhappy if you do help me?" Questions tumbled from her trembling lips.

Rhema fell silent for a moment before responding in his unhurried manner.

"It's because you are someone who can perceive what I do."

"What do you mean?"

"It's not easy to explain simply. It's a long story."

Azriel gazed at his unwavering countenance, something elusive shimmering just beyond reach. Yet, her exhausted, wounded, and drenched body left her unable to think clearly. She was utterly drained, and a day more arduous than the last was far from over. She weakly inquired,

"Then tell me one thing. Is there a way for me not to be unhappy, even if you help me?"

"There is."

"Then… help me."

A sense of release washed over her, as if a knot that had bound her entire being had finally unraveled. She repeated, her voice stronger,

"Please help me, Rhema."

She felt a sensation as if invisible shackles that had confined her body had snapped and dissolved. Her vision swirled, and suppressed emotions surged, filling her entire being and spilling over.

Then, the rain that had been suspended began to fall once more. Rhema rose to his feet and extended his hand. Damon was taken aback by the sudden appearance of a man and froze in place.

Rhema's hand made contact with him, and in an instant, Damon vanished as though erased. Azriel, still bewildered by the surreal experience, struggled to speak.

"Rhema… what did you just do?"

"I transported him elsewhere," Rhema replied, casting a glance at the sky.

The rain abruptly ceased, revealing a clear night sky in an instant.

He then placed his hand over Azriel's injured leg.

"Reshith."

With a soft incantation, the wound on her leg rapidly healed.

Azriel could hardly bear to witness it. She didn't even feel her wound mending. What had been blocked inside her all along was now surging through her entire body, awakening her senses.

"Ugh…"

She began to perceive something akin to shimmering dots originating from a single point. Azriel blinked her eyes a few times, rubbed them, and then widened them again.

The shimmering dots grew clearer and multiplied. Soon, they filled her surroundings like a sky full of stars. Enthralled, she gazed at the dimly shining, spinning, and flowing stars, each with its own colors and sizes.

In the night sky, the swaying grass leaves, the air, the stones that formed the well against which she leaned, her own body, Maylie's body beside her, and Rhema's body in front of her—all the way from her feet to the distant horizon—everything was comprised of stars. She felt as though she had plunged into a sea of stars.

The sensation was so invigorating that it approached ecstasy. It felt as though something had been obscuring her vision, and now, the lost sensation had returned.

This world, where stars twinkled and flowed, was her natural domain. It was something only she could perceive. She felt a profound sense of enlightenment on an instinctual level.

Azriel reached out her hand toward the nearest cluster of stars, as if possessed. Rhema grabbed her hand abruptly.

"Don't touch that," Rhema cautioned, taking hold of her hand.

His touch was cool. Azriel finally realized that her eyes were hot, as if she had a fever. Tears had welled up in her eyes.

Still covering her eyes, Rhema whispered, "Since you've forgotten how to look at them, I'll shield your sight for a while."

As soon as he removed his hand, the fantastical stars disappeared. Everything returned to its usual appearance. She felt a profound sense of loss. Even though she had glimpsed it only briefly, the beautiful sight felt strangely familiar, like well-fitted clothing.

"What was that I just saw…?"

"That was mana."

"Mana…?"

"It's something only you and I can see in our time," he explained as he lifted her into his arms.

Azriel was still disoriented by the lingering sensations. She wanted to ask more questions, but as his arm brushed against her back, she involuntarily let out a low groan.

"Ahh…" Azriel winced.

"…My apologies, Azriel," Rhema muttered and swiftly turned her around, seating her.

He then grasped the hem of her clothing and tugged it down, despite Azriel's attempts to pull away instinctively. He examined her back, and for a long moment, he fell silent. Her fragile back was covered in wounds—old scars and fresh ones, resembling a chaotic doodle.

"Wh-what are you doing?!"

Azriel, who couldn't move freely due to exhaustion and dizziness, was brought to her senses by the chill of his touch. She yelled as she attempted to pull her clothing back up, but Rhema didn't respond. Suddenly, something soft landed on her. It was the white robe he had been wearing.

Adjusting the robe around her, he spoke in a hushed voice, "Please wait here for a moment."

"What? Where are you…" Before she could finish her sentence, he vanished from sight.

Buried beneath the oversized robe, Azriel stared emptily at the spot where he had disappeared.

Rhema Reshith reappeared in the place where he had left Damon. It was the guest room where he had transformed Tarbo Tameion into sand. Damon, still frozen in the same position as before, appeared to be in a state of shock. When Rhema materialized, Damon's eyes darted around in fear.

"Do you have any inkling of whose path you were about to cross?"

Rhema's question, while uncharacteristically laced with sarcasm, was not meant to elicit a response. It was a query to extract answers from Damon's mind rather than his lips. In response to the question, Damon involuntarily recollected related memories. Rhema meticulously sifted through those memories.

Unearthing Damon's memories was excruciatingly painful. Damon yearned to scream and thrash about, but he couldn't move a muscle. Foam formed at the corners of his mouth.

After assimilating all the information he sought, Rhema withdrew his hand. Damon's eyes were half rolled back, and his gaze was lifeless. Damon's body lay crumpled like a discarded sheet of paper.

He opened his mouth wide, but no scream emerged this time. As his lifeblood began to flow, Rhema placed his hand on him. He abhorred messy corpses and the residue of bloodstains. Damon's crumpled form soon turned into sand, cascading away.

Staring at the pile of sand, Rhema contemplated the scars on Azriel Esthera's back and Damon's memories of his intentions toward her.

It wasn't enough. What wasn't enough? Within him, dried and crumbled emotions converged to form a monstrous figure that surged forth, screaming. Rather than quelling it, Rhema allowed it to lament.

The vibrations emanating from his feet spread like an earthquake, sweeping through the entire Colte Castle. Any place touched by these vibrations was reduced to sand. To be precise, it was pulverized into fine dust, resembling sand.

The sandcastle crumbled, and people fled, shrieking. Some were buried beneath the sand and perished, but the wizard paid them no heed. He was focused on finding someone amid the fleeing and the dying.