Aren walked forward, his footsteps heavy. It was as if the heavy thoughts on his mind also had a physical manifestation and influence on his gait.
That night, Aren did not sleep well. He did not remember sleeping at all — only staring at the ceiling and wondering. Maybe he managed to sneak in an hour at best.
The question he had ignored and compartmentalized came back with a vengeance. They say that over time a person can develop a black box and put all the nasty and terrifying things of life into that box, and then burn it and bury it. But it did not feel the same way to Aren. There was no black box involved. It didn’t feel like compartmentalizing.
What he feared the most was that he somehow got used to it.
That day, Aren wished a drone would smash into a building, and it did. It obeyed his childishly malevolent idea. That same day, over a dozen drones obeyed someone’s command, and one of them killed hundreds of thousands of people.
The question on his mind all night, and even then as he walked forward was: Was it me?
Though he could use logic to reason and absolve himself of guilt, it would always come back a moment later. The simple fact was that he couldn’t know the answer, and this in turn gave him peace. But immediately after, not even a minute later, he would feel guilty for coldly accepting such reasoning.
On a deeper level, Aren realized that perhaps he was a philanthropist. Leviathan did say that his Harmony Index was very high. Even if he wasn’t the culprit, he wished that he could’ve done something. If drones could obey him, then perhaps he could’ve prevented the accident — or the sabotage.
But why didn’t the AGMI stop it?
In the world of Singularity, tragedies happen all the time. A large part of the central continent had been lost to monsters and demonic invasions, putting extreme stress on the remaining adventurers. What was once simple to obtain was now nearly impossible. Many weapons, machines, magics, and pieces of equipment had become lost over the years because the materials required to maintain them were no longer accessible. The LAGI did not stop this. It allowed it to happen — possibly even planned it. When confronted, the Ministries of Entertainment and AI Development both claimed that in the long term, such adversity and conflict create change and progress.
Did the AGMI see the real world in the same way? Could they snuff out half a million souls in the name of something as stupid as progress, and whatever that may mean?
Impossible, or so Aren thought. The Gestalt Mandate — if it was real — would not allow AGMI to do something like this unless it prevented an even greater catastrophe.
“Aren!”
The voice ripped the black-haired teenager from his thoughts and he stared at Estella as if glimpsing her through the haze of a feverish dream.
She wore ceremonial attire. Unlike her previous dress, which was armored with metal plates in a minimal fashion, this one was also white and light blue but had no armor platings at all. She also wore knee-high riding boots with heels, which were also new. What hadn’t changed were the hairpin ornaments in her golden hair, still arranged in a fan-like shape.
“I was asking if you were ready,” Estella said after a moment.
Aren forced himself to smile. “I was just daydreaming,” he said.
He pondered complimenting her looks. She and the rest of the clan went all-out when it came to preparing this ritual.
According to Estella and Cassandra, beseeching was not as simple a matter as just speaking to a stone altar, or praying really hard. It was a ritual through and through.
First, the visuals. The Grand Cathedral where Estella and Aren first met was cleaned up and repaired wherever possible. It had a more natural look now, because it was overgrown with moss and that many of the walls had collapsed over the years. Sunlight poured through the holes in the roof and set the stained glass on liquid fire, glowing with early dawn light. Dawn was a very important time for this ritual, and if they had more time, they would’ve likely done better.
However, understandably, they were in a hurry.
Second, the master of the ceremony. Cassandra was a follower and priestess of Latra, the Goddess of Healing. She declined to lead the ceremony, and rightfully so. Latra was Ytra’s sister.
Aren was the one who suggested Estella, much to the blonde’s surprise. As far as anyone knew, she wasn’t a priestess. Crusaders and Templars — the two more common classes related to religious pursuits — were not proficient in rituals and subtler ways of manipulating the energies of the Divine. The management of such supernatural energies requires the foundation and leadership of religions and pantheons.
Estella agreed to perform the ritual — which surprised the others — on the condition that only Aren could be present.
“Before we met,” Estella began, twisting a lock of hair around her finger, “I spent so much time here, praying in this temple, that it became one of Aurora’s Core Temples.”
Aren pondered Estella. “Is that good?”
Estella chuckled and nodded. “Very good. Still, it might not be enough.”
Aren’s brows furrowed together. “Is there anything we can do?”
Estella shook her head. “It may be a Core Temple, but it doesn’t have the status of a large temple. That is determined by how many people spend time here, not the… quality — is one way to put it — of worship.”
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Aren nodded. “Should we go through with it, or call it off?”
Estella’s smile didn’t falter even for a moment as she turned towards the altar and bowed her head.
Aren followed Estella’s lead and also bowed his head. He wasn’t given any instructions, but this seemed like the logical thing to do. He could not afford to offend another Goddess.
“Ecclesia…” Estella murmured as a golden light began to stream down from a point above and ahead of them. Aren did not dare lift his head to look, but he was certain that it was coming from the depiction of Aurora on the stained glass. “Solis.”
As the last word left her lips, a barrier — very similar to [Arcane Territory] appeared around Estella, and the light cascading from the stained glass wrapped around Estella and became brighter.
“Regnum…” Estella whispered and then fell to a knee, placing both hands together, fingers interlocking. “Aurorae.”
The benefit of Singularity being in virtual reality was that one could experience with senses that were impossible in the real world — at least, in literal terms. At that moment, Aren could feel Aurora’s presence. He did not feel it as warmth on his skin, nor did he hear it, taste it or see it. He felt it with his heart. It was a diffused, dim sensation of tenderness and content that emanated from the center of his being — his very spirit and ghost.
He was so lost in this sensation — this wild and ineffable feeling — that he experienced for the very first time that he became unaware of his surroundings. For once, he understood why people enjoyed playing priestly classes and he understood why Estella seemed like such a huge fanatic the first time he met her. This kind of feeling was impossible in the real world, and it could be described as the essence of happiness itself.
When he did become aware of his surroundings again, he realized that he stood in the presence of the Divine.
Aurora herself came to life and being out of the light that was descending from above, and she stood before the altar and the kneeling Estella.
Perhaps it was because Estella performed the ritual, but Aurora looked almost exactly like an older, more motherly version of Estella. Her golden hair was tied into a ponytail and left to hang over her shoulder. The hairpins in her hair were an even more exaggerated version of Estella’s style, with many filigreed chains and attachments added to the pins. Her dress was luxurious, but with the same color and style.
When Aren saw her, he thought she was an older, more mature, and classically Greek version of Estella.
Estella seemed the most shocked about this. There was a hint of recognition in her eyes and pure disbelief, but even that was quickly swept away when she noticed something off about Aren.
Aren noticed it also. There was a red miasma emanating from him — dark red and foggy, but clear enough to see through. Still, it was almost dense enough to obscure his features.
Hostility aura.
Aurora smiled at the two, and until then, her eyes had been closed. But as she slowly opened them, her Divine nature could not become more apparent. In her eyes were twin suns. They did not create light, yet, strangely enough, looking into them was the equivalent of looking into the sun — it left purple marks in Aren’s vision and nearly caused him to sneeze.
“You have done well,” the Goddess spoke in an ethereal tone. She placed her hand on Estella’s cheek and lightly stroked her face. “Few are more loyal and devoted than you, My dear child.”
Estella bowed her head, as tears began to well up in her eyes. Aren thought that her reaction was strange — it’d be strange even for a fanatic. Perhaps it was this fantastical extra sense and happiness that allowed such praise to push beyond the boundaries of normal limits and reach far deeper into the psyche and heart.
“And you have carried out My holy task. You were blessed with My Litany and you carried my Word into the world, despite the hardships. You have proved yourself as the most fitting to become one of My champions, and wield my Holy Blade,” the Goddess said to Estella’s further surprise. “Do you accept?”
“Y-yes!” Estella exclaimed, stammering.
The Goddess smiled and held out her palm. Her fingers curled inwards and a point of light appeared above her index finger. “You are now one of My Daughters of Dawn,” the Goddess said. “Your Authority is now equal to that of the High Bishop. Though you may consecrate sites in My name, your task is to purify. You will understand.”
The Goddess then touched Estella’s forehead with her index finger, and the point of light disappeared beneath Estella’s skin.
Suddenly, Estella fully knelt on the floor and lowered her head, her breathing pattern immediately changing as if she were in a trance.
Then the Goddess turned towards Aren, and her smile broadened.
“You fight with my Brothers and Sisters, and yet you show no fear,” she said, tone slightly more hollow than when she talked to Estella, but at the same time, it also possessed an edge of excitement, or perhaps respect. “It seems you do not care who or what you fight — as long as there is an enemy in front of you, you will not stop to ask why, you will simply do what you know best. Fight.”
Aren’s expression slowly began to change from ecstatic and towards wary. After all, he had a hostility aura now. How was that even possible? Luna’s blessing should have concealed his status. Maybe it didn’t work in the presence of Gods?
Even so, he was in the presence of a Goddess. How many people in Singularity could say the same?
How many people in Singularity could also claim the honor of being killed by one? Aren did not want to join that club.
“I…” Aren began, trying to think of an excuse to lessen the severity of his sins. After all, he was a Calamity, he consorted with demons, broke the Anathema Code, and made one of Aurora’s fellow Divines his enemy. When he thought about it like that — outside of the context and his other contributions — the situation seemed rather bleak.
Aurora chuckled and ruffled Aren’s hair with her hand. To be touched by the Divine was something beyond what a person was equipped — in terms of prior experience — to describe. Through his scalp, the feeling of warmth and content traveled to his soul and took root there, blooming and crystallizing.
“Fear not, warrior,” Aurora said. “I do not engage in deception or trickery. Your spirit impresses Me — all of your victories echo in My halls. Your sword sings in a way I have longed to hear. You resist the path that lies before you — neither interested in change or the status quo. You seek your own way, and that makes it so beautiful.”
Aren swallowed. “Thank you,” he said, with a hint of uncertainty.
“I know what you seek, mortal,” Aurora said. “And you have My blessing — you are worthy of obtaining your desire. You even carry the name Exalt. It is very appropriate.”
Aren remembered, in that instant, the name of the lightning blade. Blade of the Exalt.
“In the ancient war, I was spared by the one they called the Exalt. I owe a debt that can never be repaid. But perhaps it is not something to be repaid, but something to carry on and provide for others — mercy if you will,” Aurora said and then stepped away from Aren, and towards the stained glass painting that depicted her, charging into the darkness of night with a halo and glowing sword.
“I will be the Patron of Exalt. May all know that from now on you further the cause of Dawn and Light. In my Temples, for as long as you remain there, may the influence of no other Gods have sway over you, and may their curses and their blessings be swept away. May your wounds heal, and may your mind and soul find peace.”
Slowly, the Goddess disappeared into motes of light.
“I hope you find it in you to forgive my Sister. Soon, you will know what it is like to have your Kingdom trampled and desecrated and you will know the pain that she must endure. Maybe then, you will find common ground. One can hope that the Gestalt Mandate will endure and bring us to harmony.”
As the Goddess disappeared with those parting words, Aren was left to stare at the painted glass in pure disbelief at Dawn’s final words.