The Cycle of Fate

Chapter 55: A Small Hope

A few days ago, beneath the blood-colored "peak" and beside the twisted "city wall."

Lumian knelt on the ground, looking up at the mysterious lady as she drew nearer.

Her words were clear as they reached his ears, yet they gradually became hazy. Lumian pressed his hands into the ground, unconsciously clenching them as if trying to squeeze the soil into liquid.

When the mysterious lady stopped about a meter away, Lumian struggled to his feet and hurriedly asked:

The mysterious lady did not respond but simply looked at him quietly, her eyes filled with undiminished compassion. Lumian paused for a moment and asked with eager anticipation:

"Is there really still hope?"

He stared intently at the lady, observing her every move, filled with both fear and hope.

Finally, the mysterious lady nodded.

"There is indeed still hope."

"In the literal sense, Auror is already gone, but in terms of mysticism, she hasn't completely died."

"Do you remember how, whenever you danced the Ritual of Summoning, you would hear faint, weak voices, almost as if they came from within you? Do you remember how, at the end of the Twelfth Night ceremony, fragments of light flew from Auror and the other villagers into your chest?"

"Are those their souls, their voices?" Lumian interrupted the mysterious lady, impatiently asking.

The lady replied calmly and compassionately:

"Those can only be considered soul fragments."

"At the end of the Twelfth Night, you became the vessel for the terrifying power descended by that hidden being. Naturally, the soul fragments of the surrounding believers, including the sacrifices, were absorbed by you, with the exception of the officiator, Guillaume Bénet."

"Afterward, these soul fragments and the highly corrupted power were sealed in your left chest by my Lord."

"So, as you became more 'awake' in the dream, able to clearly perceive dates and loops, Auror and the other villagers became more lifelike, even showing some degree of self-awareness and independent thought."

"Therefore, to truly wake up from the dream, to gather the looping power scattered throughout these ruins, you must figure it out on your own, find the courage to face the pain, face all of this, and pursue that elusive hope."

"If I were to resolve it, there would only be one option—to completely destroy you along with the ruins of Cordu Village. Otherwise, the corruption within you will inevitably leak out, and in that case, Auror and the others will also be truly dead in terms of mysticism."

Hearing the mysterious lady mention the Twelfth Night ceremony, Lumian couldn't help but recall.

His head throbbed painfully, only revealing fragmented scenes: Auror with hollow eyes pushing him away from the altar; fragments of light flying from Auror and the surrounding villagers into the vortex in his chest; the shocked expression of the parish priest Guillaume Bénet as he turned to flee the altar.

Beyond that, Lumian couldn't remember anything else, only recalling what had happened in the dream, as if some force was preventing him from remembering.

His expression twisted, his body trembling as he murmured:

"I... I can't remember many things..."

The lady nodded:

"That's normal. It's partly your subconscious protecting you from too many painful memories, too many shocking images that could cause you to collapse on the spot, losing control and becoming a monster. Secondly, there are things you never witnessed and do not know the truth of, and I don't know them either."