"You're not Jerome!"
Quillras cried out in agony.
In that instant, he fell into utter despair. What terrified him most was that, despite being deep within the Close at Hand Divine Kingdom, he could not resist "Jerome's" actions in any way.
The other party had seized all authority.
That left only one possibility.
"Miesella..." Quillras lowered his head dejectedly.
At that moment, every memory flashed before his eyes like a slideshow. Tales of joy and sorrow flickered through the Close at Hand Divine Kingdom. Countless versions of Quillras from different eras appeared within the divine kingdom, surrounding his true body. The light faded from his eyes as he became lost in the river of memories.
Inside the freezing house, heavy snow drifted outside.
The young boy lay across his grandmother's knees, listening to her tell stories of their elders.
Only through the old woman's murmured words did he gradually learn that their ancestors had once lived in a magnificent castle. Yet because of some accident, they had been expelled and could only live at the edge of the forest, dancing with wild beasts.
"What delicious food will Father bring back today?"
Watching the snow outside the window and listening to his grandmother's voice, he gradually fell asleep.
When he woke the next day,
he stared blankly at the empty little house, a bad feeling rising in his heart.
From that day onward, his father, who had gone into the forest to hunt, never returned.
In an ancient graveyard, the teenage boy silently made that vow before the moss-covered tombstone.
As a child, he had endured suffering beyond ordinary imagination. He had witnessed how the Kutelin People struggled to survive under the threat of demons. He yearned for strength, but someone told him that his strength alone could not