The long footpath eventually led to the second wall of Markers. Within resided an inner layer where the houses were built far more extravagantly but were smaller in scale.

From the cursive writing of family names in a language that Frost still didn’t understand, to grand gardens and fountains of gold; Frost guessed that this belonged to the nobility of Puritas. Her other clue came from the number of well-dressed humans that roamed the streets.

The apparitions of the past revealed Demi-humans dressed equally as nicely, for they were the dedicated and chosen servants of these noble families. Harems of Demi-humans followed their masters. Soldiers made up of Demi-humans protected platinum-encrusted carriages.

They were the lucky ones but were also another source of misery for the Demi-humans beyond these walls. Classism between the Demi-humans existed because of this segregation, resulting in violence even amongst Demi-humans.

< “The fear of becoming like them kept us complacent with the violence.” >

The voice of a cat-eared man kicking the teeth out from another who could have easily been mistaken for their brother uttered. In the place of his apparition was another Marker. Lament, despair, regret lingered stagnantly in the air. The same emotions that were felt on that day remained here for over fifteen years.

< “Deepest sorrow. Your blood on these hands. My heart could never forget that day.” >

And for those same fifteen years he repented in the form of a Marker. Frost didn’t say a word. Neither could she hear anyone else’s aside from these beings. She was lost in a sea of countless chatters, both which reacted to her, repeating the same phrase of: “Black hair.” And “Princess.”

Whilst others recited moments of their life, often spoken with endless regret.

The Pale Web had a stronger presence here, smearing the gold and wrapping various stray Markers like cocoons.

It did little to stop Frost from extracting the sweet golden flesh, which continued to stain Frost from head to toe in unwastable blood; the One Sin that these Markers bared. Her actions were a form of penance to them.

The plucking of their purulent hearts, which oozed with sweet puss was a noble sacrament that absolved the Markers. Frost felt heavy with each Marker she devoured, as if their One Sin had become hers.

The thought aggravated her.

Why did everything have to relate back to her?

Why were so many things affiliated with her existence?

Why was it until now that someone came along to help them?

I hate the people of this city. The circumstances that made them like that aren’t something that I can blame them for. When we judge people, we never take account for what led up to it. All that matters is what happened.

Which is even more nonsense with the idea of the One Sin.

The immense weight of now several devoured One Sins began to weigh on her as she followed the single, long trail towards the final wall of Markers.

“How can we all be blamed for the sin of one?” Frost could not begin to understand it. “Is it a double meaning? Is the One Sin something they’ve latched onto for all this time? Then why does the description state that we all have it inside of us?”

< “Guilty before conviction. Guilty before birth. Guilty by the virtue of existence.” >

A voice that did not belong to the countless thousands spoke somewhere far ahead. It was in the same direction of the singing. The further Frost ventured into the heart of Paradise; the more light seemed to shine from the towering walls of the palace.

It was so bright that it appeared like a column of light. When she finally set foot into the inner and final walls of Paradise, she was met with a pallid garden that stretched as far as the eye could see.

And in the center, when the pillar of light died down, were the calcified walls of the palace. Nothing aside from the palace and the garden existed here.

As well as a graveyard of countless Markers.

Small, human-sized trees grew along the blades of grass. Tinges of green could still be seen from underneath the Pale Web, which sharpened the grass like they were starved for blood. For each tree there was a Marker, and for each blade of grass there were screams that slowly sept into Frost’s skull, nearly driving her mad.

The scenery was oddly reminiscent of the garden found within that facility in the old world. It was clearly… inspired by it.

“But how does that even make sense?” Frost asked.

She could have sworn she heard Nav speak, but alas, her voice was lost in the sea of chatter.

Only two voices pierced through the cacophony.

The first was the child that sang the nostalgic tune, and the second belonged to someone that instantly caused Frost to see red.

< “Such a wonderful song, dear sister.” >

“ISCARIOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

The Pale Web cracked under the immense power of Frost’s movement. With a single lunge she left a crater-like imprint where she once stood as she threw herself in the direction of the voice, ready to eliminate the source.

In her mind she knew that this voice belonged to an apparition. But even so, Frost wanted nothing more than to at least enjoy the illusion of destroying the one person that condemned her to the Black Forest.

Trees immediately caught alight. Her violent onrush paved the earth as a column of shredded vegetation followed. After a solid minute of dashing in the direction of the song, she reeled her arm back and thrust it forward precisely where the sole figure of a younger Iscario stood.

Her fist crashed through his phantom head.

Though she hit nothing, her fist created a terrifying sonic boom that caused distant trees to become uprooted. The heat alone generated by her wrath continued to set more alight as a black, acrid cloud ate at the face she desperately wished to tear apart.

“YOU – OF ALL PLACES YOU DECIDE TO FINALLY SHOW YOURSELF HERE! EVEN IF YOU’RE JUST A PHANTOM –!”

Her fist moved down like a guillotine, slicing him in half. The ground shook and was lifted momentarily by the immense force of her fist. Ripples continued to move throughout the garden like the surface of a lake, further uprooting trees and meadows, leaving nothing but scorched dirt.

“YOU…” Frost heaved, clasping at her other hand as she felt the blood endlessly rush to her head.

Had she not held her other hand, then she would have struck him again. Luckily, some semblance of reason remained, allowing her to restrain herself from further assaulting this phantom.

But it did not change how she felt about seeing him again.

“… You… have no right to stand in front of me. Smiling… laughing. Pretending like you love your sister. Something like you can’t be capable of love.”

These words were obviously wasted on it. But she said them anyway to ease herself up, as well as bit her tongue to refrain from uttering more. It would be better to keep them for the real thing.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

She instinctively took several steps back and turned her head away when she deeply inhaled. The mere thought of breathing the same air as the apparition of her mortal enemy caused her skin to crawl.

Once calmed down, the surrounding flames were sucked back into an open palm.

“So that’s what you looked like. Shorter hair and still white. Blue eyes and military garbs. Speckled with gold. How long ago was this?” Frost traced his eyes but was unable to find his sister. Yet the voice came from an empty spot where the sunlight seemed to focus on like a spotlight.

From there, a single pale lily grew.

< “It brings me ease despite knowing of the war to come.” >

He plucked the lily, inhaling its scent before he turned to the direction of a burned tree. Slowly, its branches were restored as if time was being reversed. Eventually, golden leaves grew from the tips of its branches, and attached to them were spectacular, golden apples the size of a human head.

The tree radiated a sacred energy oddly familiar to Frost. The blinding light that shone from the tip of the tree like a Christmas star was reminiscent of the same light that the Advent of Desire emitted.

That thing was the Advent of Judgement. She was certain of it. But why was it so…

It’s tiny. So small compared to the Advents we’ve seen. Do the apples make up for it in power? I wonder… But it’s not like I can check their status in this state either. Tch.

“Fifteen years?” Frost questioned, following Iscario as he walked towards the tree. “Maybe more? Was Iscario even a Star at this point?”

Nav didn’t answer.

Suddenly, the voices of countless disappeared all at once.

A figure hopped from behind the thick trunk of the golden tree. Her hands held behind her back as the wind carried her beautiful, long, pale hair. Her long, pale dress danced in the wind as her smile lit up the world like a ray of welcoming sunshine.

Frost’s heart stopped beating at that moment.

“She… she really does…”

That face which belonged to the princess of Puritas uncannily resembled her own. If she was any younger, then they would have been identical.

But there was still one key difference.

< “Brother Iscario! Look! Look! It’s a moth! It had trouble coming of its cocoon, so I decided to help it! >

The girl’s hums subsided as she held out a moth gently cupped within her hands.

The difference was her eyes. It was a strange, blue-golden color that none of the healers nor Iscario seemed to possess. The coloration took Frost aback as she wandered closer to the girl.

Golden eyes were evident of a clear connection to the Captured Star as far as she could tell. So what was this girl’s connection with her? Not only that… but how much of this was real to begin with, considering that the Arbiter possessed golden eyes but came before the Captured Star?

< “Such filthy things don’t suit you. Unlike this.” >

The dark moth was exchanged for the lily Iscario had plucked earlier.

He continued:

< “How kind of you to show mercy to an insect that will never thank you. Have you forgotten your status? You’re a princess, and my sister. You shouldn’t meddle with something so dirty. What if it got into your hair?” >

Iscario removed a glove, brushing his sister’s hair affectionately. Small pieces of leaves and bark were plucked from her hair and crushed between his fingers.

< “Darkening that hair of yours would be tragic. Such a color belongs to those unkind and tempered by war.” >

< “Like Lady Colorless?” >

The girl squeaked, her eyes sparkling at the mention of… Galia. Frost was not sure if Iscario at this point in time knew of Galia’s identity as the Colorless Incandescent, but it seemed that she was recognized by Puritas as such rather than Galia.

This meant that ‘Galia’ was seen as a separate entity at the time.

< “Like Lady Colorless. The war with Diavola and the Bellum Empire will be happening soon. I’ll be gone for a long time. Have you heard, dear sister? The Nexus has called for me. A deity by the name of Galia has offered me a position as an Apostle.” >

< “Aww. Will I be able to see Lady Colorless at least?” >

< “You shall. But… it might be less frequent, as she’ll be… ‘involved’ in the upcoming wars. As unlikely as it is, she may never come back. So I want you to steel your heart, sister. That person can’t stay inside of your heart forever. You have to abolish whatever links you have.” >

There was something sly about Iscario that Frost couldn’t put her finger on. Not only that, but if Galia truly was the leader of the 13th Order and Justica Arms at the time…

… then what exactly did she do to betray them?

The girl clutched her heart as her eyes seemed to sadly droop.

< “Like mother?” >

< “Like mother. So don’t be afraid to forget her. Have you been downstairs recently?” >

The girl shook her head.

< “Then how do you know that song so well, dear sister?” >

Iscario’s presence caused her to tremble lightly. Her reaction to his sadistic tone hinted to an innate fear.

It was clear that his love for his sister was born from an obsession than familiar love. Couple that with his desire to control her, and one had a psychopath named Iscario.

Frost realized that her black hair could have easily been the sole reason for why he betrayed the Nexus. It didn’t seem so far-fetched anymore considering how obsessed he was over his sister.

He took her hair into his hands and inhaled her scent.

< “Sister. Sometimes we have to learn the different meanings of kindness.” >

Iscario took his sister by the shoulders, turning her around as she lightly pushed her around the garden.

The moth was still held in his hand.

< “Your kindness is different to ours. That’s what makes you so special. You see the world in a different light. Where all things are good. Where good can reside in evil. That’s why you should learn the act of letting go.” >

< “… letting go?” >

< “Yes. Did you like the crabs we had for dinner last night? Crabs enact their own form of kindness. When they recognize they’re in danger or need to let go…” >

< “D-Don’t… do that to it…” >

Iscario took a wing from the moth, removing its ability to fly.

< “They sacrifice something important to them. That’s why our kindness is to make that choice for them. This moth used to be an ugly caterpillar.” >

< “And now it’s a beautiful moth. I… let it have another chance. Brother… you don’t have to hurt it.” >

< “Its pain is temporary. Our kindness is forever. Because you are so kind that it looks so beautiful. But to us, we recognize that its desperate attempt to transform into something more than just itself…” >

Iscario continued to tear off its wings, then its limbs. The girl could not take her eyes away from it. Deep down Frost could hear the tiny voice speaking in her heart.

< “If only I hadn’t shown you to him. I’m sorry.” >

The princess blamed herself for its suffering.

Iscario continued his provocative monologue. He exploited his siter’s kindness to tame her. Holding something as small as a moth as hostage could make her obey him.

< “Its truest, deepest, and most sincere form was nothing short of miserable is a failure of an attempt to mimic something that already exists. Bird fly because they are born with wings. A moth flies because it grows them. For what purpose were they born as caterpillars then?”

Iscario spoke nonchalantly. His crazed rants were spoken so calmly that Frost could not believe that he was human.

< “Why go through multiple births to become something so disgusting? The moth will suffer day after day wondering what went wrong. Why was it all so fruitless. Why couldn’t it become something it chose to be than what was predetermined from birth? From the cocoon all caterpillars will become either a butterfly or a moth. That choice was made from the day they were born, not from within the cocoons they have spun.” >

The last time Frost was repulsed like this was with the Septanids. Iscario was like that. An insect that manipulated and preyed on those weak. He toyed with his sister’s heart to bring him to his side of understanding.

Frost wondered if this was how he gathered the Impuritas together in the first place.

< “Therefore, we must choose for them. We must hack off their life out of kindness. And you, dear sister… should do the same before they start to poison you. Believe me. This is all for your own good. I’m worried about you. Otherwise, one day… someone will show you their kindness.” >

He concluded by squeezing the head of the moth with his thumb right before his sister’s eyes.

< “Even we have little choice but to become things defined unconsciously. It’s hilarious. Father believes in the inequalities between man and beast. The true inequality comes from those who can and cannot decide what they become. We’re all in cocoons waiting for our time. Little ugly things… pitifully waiting for a hand to help us break free. But you are already perfect. So please, dear sister, don’t be sad when Lady Colorless doesn’t come back.” >

His hands coiled behind her, wrapping her in a cold embrace as her head sunk into his chest.

< “It will be my gift to you – another price of your forever existing paradise.” >