Глава 14

There is not a shred of that worthy to be... perfect.

Qui'sartuštaj. Your true self died thousands of years ago.

The white horned King of Sarkaz who defeated countless enemies, the legendary hero who built an everlasting Kazdel under the day and night—is long dead.

What stands before me now is but a despicable man who lives in the shadows, a coward who sacrifices the lives of innumerable innocents to prolong his own.

Who is it that tarnishes the soul of that original hero?

It's you, King of Usurping Kings—You got so twisted seeking longevity. You are no longer worthy of that crown.

...Perhaps.

Qui'saršinnag... Sister.

I, who was born with all my memories intact... know better than you, the history Qui'sartuštaj bears with his life.

The Confessarius Leader takes a step down.

He calmly looks at Shining, and holds her hand trembling in rage.

I know all too well the blood that is on my hands, as I remember all the love I have received.

It was you who picked me up from the blood into your trembling arms when mother died.

We are a true family, sharing the closest of blood, and sharing the closest of relationships.

The nature of my soul may change, but the facts remain the same.

How could you... talk about that like so...

Who was it...that killed my brother?

Who was it, that turned him from a child who should have received his mother's love... into a non-existence from the very beginning?

It was me.

For millennia, Qui'sartuštaj has... died time and time again from betrayal, from his closest kin.

You may see this as a punishment if you wish it so.

However... what does that matter?

You call me unworthy of that crown, but who else but me could possibly lead the Sarkaz on a path to our survival?!

Qui'lon brought our people on a wandering path of no return, and Yliš's retreat into hiding would only make us weak.

Even that pair of siblings, all they did was push Sarkaz into futile conflict, and let the crown slip into outblood hands!

The Sarkaz... need a true King, an eternal King.

I will reach our starting point, and together with the sins of Qui'sartuštaj and his blood, purge all of the Sarkaz's sins!

Sin.

The word intensifies the ire in Shining.

Her father and brother were both possessed by this undying monster—while she and her mother lived under the madness of his shadow.

To let him live, to kill him—both are afflicted with the curse.

She has no path to go.

She has nowhere to retreat.

But there is no way she can stay here as is.

...Ugh!

You... made your move.

Very good... Qui'saršinnag...

...I'll kill you.

And then...

Kill yourself?

Is this what you call severing the bloodline's curse?

The same stupidity I see.

Qui'sartuštaj grips Shining's sword with hand.

Blood trickles down the pure white blade and stains her hand.

A shudder rises from the depths of her soul.

—Ugh!

An overwhelming force flings Shining onto a crystal tree.

The sharp black branches pierce through her abdomen.

Fresh blood gushes down, and converges with Qui'sartuštaj's blood.

The ancient tree long crystallized into Originium bursts a sudden pure white glow.

In just a moment, countless little moons rise to the top of the tree.

Every Confessarius begins to sing—

The myriad souls lie prostrate.

Howling knocks on the door from beneath, tangible usurps the intangible.

The Black Crown imprisoned, the offender perpetually innocent.

Because kings are born before immortality.

Look, even injuries as grievous as this will not infect you—this is the power of the blood you resist.

Qui'saršinnag... I have been patient enough with you.

But you stay stubborn, unwilling to accept all that belongs to you—your duty, power, glory.

It's alright, just be good and stay aside, while I... complete the ceremony myself.

A crown woven of thorns appears in his hand.

Moonlight shines onto the crown as it illuminates the crystal tree at the end of the steps.

In that spot lies a stone bed lined with dead branches, and a curled up figure Shining knows too well atop it.

Liz...

...Wake up.

Don't bother.

Her consciousness is not where you think it to be.

She's inside the crown.

Correct.

I promised you that I would mend her soul.

You need only wear the complete crown, and you can be together forever.

Together forever... in your cage?

Shining shuts her eyes.

She strains to imagine... the time she spent together with Liz.

They run in the woods, hand in hand.

They cross the ice-cold creek together.

With Liz worn out on her back, she walks the road home.

Liz makes a small flower wreath and places it on Shining's head.

A small blue fowlbeast follows them the whole time, chirping a cheery tune over their heads.

It hovers, searches—and lands next to the sleeping white demon.

It does not know why Liz is sleeping, and anxiously pecks at her cheek with its little beak.

Until a black arrow pierces it.

The fowlbeast vanishes, leaving only a blue feather that lands on Shining's shoulder.

Enough.

You know very well those are not her dreams.

Even if those memories were fabricated...

They <i>are</i> fabricated, so why not accept your own power, and reshape her memory once more?

Liz... is Liz.

She should be free. I will never shape her soul as I please ever again.

Wishful thinking... Qui'saršinnag, my fragile child indulging in fantasy. You are that blue fowlbeast, thirsting for freedom, yet imprisoning yourself.

I prepared everything for you, a perfect body, an ancient power, all you needed is to accept—

But you betrayed me, you abandoned everything that belongs to you, and then? What did you gain?

You sorely disappoint me.

...A new life.

I was reborn into a new life after leaving you.

Not as the Confessarius Qui'saršinnag, nor a puppet of my bloodline...

But as Shining...

...As a member of the Followers.

Blue feathers prick her wounds.

The slightest of stings momentarily rouses her from her bloodline-induced paralysis.