Chapter Text
When Tesilid opened his eyes, he recognized where he was immediately, even though it had been six thousand years since he’d last seen it. All around were angelic-looking sculptures made from violated corpses, and before him a band of knights and priests who knew no loyalty or integrity. A familiar dread hollowed him out.
I failed.
He had been in the process of sealing Chaos and Evil when Reed caught him by surprise and struck him down.
Meaning Ailette had failed to defeat him. And since he had failed to seal Chaos and Evil in time, his Loops weren’t ended.
He was back at the beginning, in his One Hundred and Eighteenth Loop, this time without Ailette.
No. No. I don’t know that for sure yet.
Repeating that mantra in his head, he subjugated the Sculptor’s Atelier dungeon, the Knights of Worship gaping at him in the background, and suggested, rather forcefully, that they should return to the Vatican as soon as possible.
There, it was simple enough to get confirmation of what he’d been denying since the moment he woke up.
“How has the Knights of the Temple’s search been progressing?” he asked a priest upon his return.
“They haven’t returned from their latest mission yet, but they did find a few sacred relics on their last—Sir Tesilid?”
He’d already turned away. His mind felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. If they were searching for sacred relics and not the saintess, then that meant he was again in a timeline where Ailette didn’t exist.
Tesilid spent the night in prayer: his first since becoming a follower of the Voice that Shapes the World. And he asked what he must do to find peace.
He didn’t know if he was actually seeking answers. Ailette could talk with Lord Voice directly, but Tesilid didn’t have that option. He thought he could feel warmth as he prayed, like sunlight on his skin on a quiet afternoon. It was an unfamiliar sensation; certainly something he’d never felt in all his prayers to Strict Order and Goodness. But even with Lord Voice, there were no words, or if there were, they were drowned out by the screaming in Tesilid’s mind.
He had no hope of finding his way back to Ailette. Even if he shred a hole through the dimensions back to Loop Seventeen again, he knew it wouldn’t be the same Loop where Ailette was.
Even Ailette, who worked miracles he could never dream of, didn’t seem to have any power over his loops or where she ended up in them. If she did, he was confident she would have sought him out in one of his earlier timelines. Maybe even his first. He was pitifully weak back then. It would have made saving the world difficult, but she hated the suffering that he went through, perhaps even more than he did himself.
And he would never see her again.
He was too numb to feel rage, but the thought was still there: to seal his divine powers and destroy the world.
The moment it crossed his mind, he felt a chill replace the warmth, as if Lord Voice had heard and was making his disapproval known.
But, in all honesty, even without his new god’s rebuke, he didn’t really want to destroy the world anymore. He was tired. And he wanted to die as the man that Ailette had loved.
It was a ridiculous sentiment. But he imagined Ailette’s face looking at him, how it might collapse with sorrow if he succumbed to his darker side… and he couldn’t let it go.
His reverent pose crumbled, his heart as heavy as a stone in his chest.
By morning, he had a plan.
He requested an audience with Cardinal Cartelaya and made full use of the knowledge that he’d gained in the last Loop.
“Your Holiness, I know that your granddaughter, Lady Bianca Gilette, was fated to die ten years ago.” He met her startled violet eyes evenly. “And I also know you never found out why her fate was changed.”
“How…?” She stopped herself, her gaze flicking to what he knew was a very large number over his head. “No, I suppose there is no point in asking that.” With a life as long as his, he may well have acquired all the knowledge in the universe. She met his eyes, as blue and fathomless as the ocean. “What is it that you came to say?”
“Lady Bianca was saved by someone—someone who has since gone missing. I am going to request a week off to search for that person, and I want your help in getting my leave of absence approved.”
In truth, Tesilid could just leave. No one in the Vatican could even come close to being strong enough to stop him. However, leaving with official approval—especially for seven consecutive days, which was almost unheard of for stigma bearers—would buy him some time to cover up his tracks and make it harder for the Vatican to find him later. He didn’t want to be bothered for what he was planning next.
Cartelaya agreed, and by the end of the day, he had his approval.
Entering the mermaid dungeon wasn’t difficult. He even managed to rein in the marlin this time and felt, for a brief moment, a tiny flicker of pride.
He didn’t linger on it; he had a kraken to kill and a bottle of rum with a hidden map and key to uncover. It was the work of an hour before he found himself back at the Well of Immortality. His last hope of ending the Loops.
Once he unlocked the door barricading the inner room, he walked to the center and stared up at the giant stalactite hanging from the ceiling, water steadily dripping into the fountain-like structure below.
Ironically, it was Ailette who had given him this unexpected way out, even though she clearly hadn’t meant to. He felt bad for the look of panic on her face back then, when she’d realized she’d given him a dangerous piece of information… but now, he could only be grateful. He finally had a way to end the loops peacefully.
Ailette would be sad, but, well. She wasn’t there anymore.
He wanted to cease existing as soon as possible, so he gorged himself on the water as quickly as he could. This turned out to be a mistake, as before long he found himself on his knees in a corner of the cave, throwing it all back up.
Perhaps he’d drunk too quickly, too eager to erase his soul from this world. Or maybe the water of the Well of Immortality had some property that meant only a small draught could be consumed at a time.
Either way, he would have to pace himself.
He started again. After a bit of testing, he found that he could drink one ladle every three hours or so.
At that rate, he knew he'd have to take precautions. The mermaids said they liked to visit the lagoon outside the well, and once he lost his powers, he'd be susceptible to their siren song. To ensure they couldn’t lure him, he slashed the rock above the entrance until he'd created a barrier between the well and the lagoon. He left enough space at the top to let in air, but he was effectively cut off from the rest of the world.
After that, he fixed his gaze on the wall and counted the seconds until he could drink again.
Sometimes, he thought he was in the abyss again. The dark, claustrophobic cavern, lit only by the glow of luminescent stones, certainly resembled it in some ways. But he was not bound as he was back then, forced to wait until the next time Myu Elinas appeared to force the water down his throat again. She’d only come around once every few years or decades, he thought—he wasn’t sure exactly, as it had been impossible to keep track of time. The infrequency was no doubt on purpose, to draw the torture out as long as possible, and to delay the erasure of his memories so that he could be tormented by them as well.
This time, at least, he could speed up the process.
By the end of his first day drinking, his mind began replaying all the times that he’d been killed so vividly that he began seeing it, even feeling it. The remembered pain of being stabbed, flayed, and burned alive seared through his skin like it was happening anew. Demons he’d defeated reappeared before him, repeating the same mocking words he’d heard dozens of times before.
There was one thing that made this place, this self-inflicted torment, immeasurably better than the abyss. There, he’d been rendered powerless both by a limiter and by physical restraints. Free as he was now to move around, he didn’t have to simply endure. He could fight back. When Karpeios sneered at him and raised a clawed hand in threat, he could summon his sword and slice through him. Then his image, as red as hellfire, would dissipate like smoke.
Of course, hacking and slashing at nothing posed its own danger, as the stalagmites he cut were very real even if the demons were not. That threatened the structural stability of the Well of Immortality, and since he needed it to stay intact a while longer, he stopped summoning his sword.
He realized he did not need it anyway. No matter what visions haunted him or phantom pain tore at him, they could not touch him, nor he them. Whenever he tried, they slithered just out of reach, or the distance between them widened impossibly before they faded away.
At least once a day, he faced the wall and prayed. It was one of the few times he felt warmth envelop him in that cold, damp cave. Dear Lord, he began. Please let this suffering end.
Praying made him feel restless, as if the Voice that Shapes the World was urging him to leave the Well of Immortality and try something else. Anything else. After all, now that he knew about a god other than Strict Order and Goodness, Tesilid could be the one to evangelize. He could institute Lord Voice as the world’s new god, save the world, and end the Loops.
However, he dismissed the idea every time it occurred to him. Ailette was able to do that because she had Divine Advent—an ability that was proof of a higher being’s power and presence. She also had a way with people, of connecting with others and filling their lives with light and hope. People flocked to her not only because of her divine powers, but because of who she was as a person.
Tesilid, for all his strength and mastery of both sword and aura, was despised wherever he went. The number of genuine connections he had with others, friends who might actually listen when he spoke about a new god, was pitifully few. Even among those, he couldn’t say with confidence that they would believe him. Not without something to show for it.
No. The chances of success without Ailette weren’t just small. They were nonexistent.
A man with long black hair tied into a braid spoke to him. “Come on, Tesilid. Are you kidding? I would at least hear you out.”
A haze had settled over his mind not long after he began drinking, so he didn’t immediately register who it was. Finally, a name came to him. “I know, Hestio. I’ve always been grateful for your friendship. But we’re stigma bearers—we don’t have the power to sway anyone to our side.”
“You’re not just a stigma bearer, though, are you? You’re also a prince.”
He blinked up at him. Something about what he said didn’t seem right.
Hestio was gesturing, oblivious to Tesilid’s puzzlement. “Think about it! All you have to do is waltz over to Vinchester, demand a paternity test, and you’ll have the queen on your side! As a prince, you could make Voiceism the state religion and convert loads of people!”
Another man clapped him on the shoulder—Ephael. “Lord Voice is way better than ol’ Stricty, anyway. People will be lining up to convert.” He leaned in. “Just don’t forget to bring us with you.”
Hestio rolled his eyes. “That goes without saying, Ephael.”
Tesilid interrupted. “They won’t let me have a paternity test so easily.”
“Sure they will,” Ephael said. “There’s that S-class dungeon opening in Vinchester next month, right? Subjugate that, save a bunch of people, and ask for the test as a reward.”
It wasn’t a bad plan. It was just…
“I’m tired,” he said.
He’d also realized what was wrong about all this; Hestio and Ephael of this Loop didn’t know he was a prince, and didn’t know about Voiceism. And neither could know about dungeons that hadn’t opened yet. Only he did, because he was—
When he turned to look back at them, they’d vanished. Or rather, they were never there to begin with.
The hallucinations became more frequent the more he drank, but the memories attached to them became less distinct. He wasn’t sure how long it took before he could no longer remember the name of the blond, red-skinned demon—he couldn’t be bothered to measure the passage of time. At some point, he even stopped counting the seconds until he could drink from the well. His body knew instinctively when it was time, and he followed that instinct without thinking.
Other memories faded, and not just of the demons he’d fought. Of the queen he’d learned was his mother, the prince he still could not think of as his brother. He forgot the names of the other Knights of the Silver Citadel, the friends he’d had since he was a young stigma bearer thousands of years ago.
Ailette’s was the last face he clung to, the few sweet moments they spent together. The mischievous sparkle in her eyes. The taste of her tongue toying with his. Her look of longing, mirroring the feelings in his own heart, as she promised to stay with him.
It wasn’t even a lie. She was still with him, in his heart. She would never leave. It was a joy that made the pain bearable as much as it threatened to crush him with despair.
When the nightmares and waking dreams nearly drove him mad, he pulled memories of Ailette from a secret corner of his mind and traced over them again and again. After a while, he wasn’t sure anymore if they had actually happened or if meeting her had been a strange and beautiful dream.
In time, those began to fade, too; the details of her face, the sound of her voice. Until it became a distant yearning for spring, of green forests and cherry blossoms.
One day, the cave walls rumbled. Panicking, he drank from the well, even though it was too soon. If I don't drink it, I'll never…
Never…?
His stomach cramped, and before long, he was throwing up, his head screaming in pain.
Then he woke up. He went to check where he had vomited, but it was clean. He paced, a cold sweat dripping down his back.
He did not drink from the well that day, but stared at it until his eyes drifted back shut.
He knelt and clasped his hands together. Dear Lord, please… end…
He stopped. There used to be something he always said in his prayers. He prayed only a few hours ago, he remembered that. But what had it been about? More importantly, why? Who was this ‘Lord’ he was sending his thoughts to?
He felt cold. There was a reason. I know there was. The glow of the luminescent stones dotting the cave was as steady as ever, doubling his shadow on the cavern wall.
The nightmare of the cave collapsing came again and again, but it was never quite the same. Sometimes, the ceiling broke, crushing him. Or a stalactite fell and speared him through the chest.
Once, the culprit behind the shaking was a demonic creature burrowing through the solid rock. It burst into the room in a shower of dirt and sharp stones, and its long, segmented body and countless legs crawled towards him.
He stared at its approach, his hands aching for a weapon or a sword. But I can’t. If I do, it will damage—
No, that wasn’t right. He couldn’t because he didn’t have a sword. Did he?
It didn’t matter. He woke up before the creature killed him. When the pounding of his heart finally eased, he stared at the water dripping from the ceiling, wondering why he was here. What was he waiting for?
Then it was time to drink again, and he followed that impulse without question.
“Tesilid.”
Ah.
“I became a healer to heal you, you know.”
He left his eyes closed, to better enjoy the sweetness of her voice. “Did you?”
“Of course.”
“I see.”
“Where are you hurt?”
“I’m not.”
“But you are.”
He stilled. Was he? His eyelids parted, and he examined his limbs. Now that he looked, his hands were a bit scraped up. He turned towards his companion. “It’s nothing serious.”
She smiled, but… he couldn’t quite see her features clearly. He’d been so caught up in the easy flow of their conversation, it didn’t even occur to him to ask where he knew her from.
“You can’t fool me,” she said, and reached out her hand.
But she never healed him.