82.

The night Ophelia visited Aisa McFoy’s bedroom, there was no lie in what she had said.

Ophelia had lived in a world where Aisa McFoy was dead for two years.

Perhaps those days were a future shown to her by the goddess. Yet, the world where Aisa had died felt too terribly real to be dismissed as merely a vision.

As she raced toward Tartaros, where Aisa had been kidnapped by Nyx during the founding festival, Ophelia’s thoughts were frantic.

If everything that happened after Aisa’s death wasn’t a dream but reality, then why did I return, and why did the future change?

It didn’t take long for her to guess the reason.

Before Ophelia turned back time, she had met the goddess.

* * *

In the world where Aisa McFoy died in Tartaros, Ophelia regained her holy power at the moment Aisa’s neck was severed.

Once she reclaimed the omniscient power closest to the goddess, Ophelia became unbeatable. Taking down Nyx and his remnants was as easy as breathing, yet it still took her a year.

Becoming a hero who would be remembered in the empire’s history was inevitable for her.

By then, Ophelia was no longer a fugitive. Trumpets, drums, cheers, and applause marked her final trial, which was more of a celebration than a judgment.

Among the many influential figures Ophelia had met during her over ten-year journey across the empire, one was the young High Priest, Hayrot.

His fox-like slanted eyes and snake-like pale pupils made him seem more like an inscrutable merchant than a priest. It was hard to gauge his age, and he was also one of Ophelia’s hidden allies.

“In the name of Mehra, I declare her innocent—”

Hayrot himself presided over the trial, his booming voice echoing as he declared the verdict. His wide grin toward Ophelia seemed to say, “Congratulations, it’s all over now.”

The citizens of the empire, who had once trembled in fear of the atrocities committed by Alpo’s fanatics, erupted into thunderous cheers at the High Priest’s declaration.

Ophelia’s striking beauty, overwhelming holy power, and heroic tale inspired their blind worship.

“A human closest to the gods.”

“The devotion of the goddess!”

“Our savior! That person is—”

Amid the roaring crowd, Nicholas Diazi stretched out his hand toward Ophelia, smiling brightly.

“Ophelia.”

Ophelia took his hand and smiled faintly.

To say she wasn’t happy would be a lie. It was true that she had longed to be called “Ophelia” again. And for Nicholas, calling her by her name in front of the whole world, rather than just in Diazi’s domain, had been a long-held dream.

Seeing his blissful expression made Ophelia feel naturally happy. After all, Nicholas was the person she loved.

That year, the most magnificent wedding in history took place, with Ophelia becoming the bride of the head of the Diazi family. The officiant was none other than High Priest Hayrot.

However, Ophelia remained as if distanced from reality, only faintly smiling throughout.

In truth, ever since the events following Tartaros, she had struggled to fully grasp everything that had happened.

Every sound she heard was muffled, as if underwater. Everything she saw appeared blurry, like a distant memory. Time seemed to flow too quickly for her to even recall.

Ophelia slowly realized that this strange feeling had started the moment she saw Aisa’s neck severed before her eyes.

It wasn’t long after her wedding to Nicholas that she fully began to understand Aisa’s death.

Once again, the western region had suffered the most at the hands of Alpo’s fanatics. They had lost their lord again. Rumors spread, claiming the goddess still hated the McFoy family and the West.

During this time, the deceased McFoy lord’s heir was a young boy. At eleven years old, Archie McFoy had lost his entire family. Compared to the tragedy that had befallen Aisa at fifteen, his situation was better, but it was still a heavy burden for a child to bear.

With the West isolated once again, Ophelia, who had begun to be revered as a saint, suddenly declared that her roots lay in the McFoy family.

When she had been a fugitive, it had been beneficial for the West that she wasn’t associated with the McFoys. But now, it was advantageous that she was. The world worked in such a twisted way.

This was also the reason why Ophelia, now the wife of the head of the Diazi family, had visited the McFoy estate.

Unable to fully accept Aisa’s death, Ophelia had unconsciously blurred her perception of the world. But on the day she stepped through the gates of the McFoy estate for the first time in years, she could no longer escape the reality of Aisa’s death.

That reality became undeniable when she met thirteen-year-old Archie McFoy.

Twelve years ago, the infant she had cradled in her arms had now grown into a young boy who barely reached her chin. When Ophelia saw the fury and sorrow in Archie’s violet eyes as he glared at her, she felt a sense of clarity for the first time in a long while.

It wasn’t the first time she had seen Archie. Watching the McFoy family from afar had been a long-standing habit of hers. But this was the first time she had seen him up close.

“Get out! How dare you come here…!”

Ophelia silently endured Archie’s fists and his angry, tear-filled curses.

After the events in Tartaros, it had taken her a full year to eliminate the remnants of the fanatics and clear her name as a fugitive.

Half a year later, she became the wife of the head of the Diazi family. During that time, the young lord of the McFoy family had endured for a year and a half, surviving on sheer willpower. He had managed because of the unwavering support of the loyal retainers Aisa had left behind.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”

Ophelia didn’t have many words to offer. All she could do was accept Archie’s misplaced rage and sorrow as he vented his pent-up emotions.

Soon, exhausted, the child collapsed into her arms, weeping.

As Ophelia held him, she recalled the day she had fled the estate, leaving behind the infant Archie, unable to soothe his desperate cries. She felt like she couldn’t breathe.

“I hate you…! I miss my aunt… She’s… She’s a liar…”

As she comforted the sobbing Archie, Ophelia finally accepted the harsh truth.

That day in Tartaros, you died right before my eyes.

“Aisa…”

Aisa is truly gone.

Holding the wheezing Archie tightly, Ophelia stared blankly into the distance.

She really isn’t in this world anymore.

Reality was hell.

* * *

Ophelia, now the wife of the Diazi family’s head, spent that winter at the McFoy estate. She taught the young lord, Archie, how to harness his holy power and showered him with the love she had been unable to give before. It was the only thing that kept her fragile sanity intact.

While she was at the McFoy estate, Ophelia managed to stay composed. But when she returned to Diazi in the spring, she realized she couldn’t hold on much longer, though she didn’t show it.

One fine day, when the weather was particularly pleasant, Ophelia left the estate. As the so-called saint, she had an obligation to visit the holy city of Baghdad regularly to maintain her role in supporting the McFoy family.

Many people flocked to Baghdad to witness the prayers of Saint Ophelia.

Hearing the cheers of the crowd, Ophelia slowly lowered her eyelids.

The people who had survived in a world free from Alpo’s power seemed so full of life and happiness. For some reason, she no longer wanted to see it.

Finally, as Ophelia stepped down from her carriage and headed toward the prayer hall prepared for her, a young girl broke through the crowd, calling out to her.

“Lady Ophelia!”

The knights quickly blocked her path. Accepting one person would lead to an endless stream of worshippers pushing forward.

Whenever people spotted Ophelia, they would desperately try to speak to her or even catch her gaze, believing that receiving her blessing was equivalent to receiving the goddess’s favor.

However, when Ophelia saw the purple flower in the girl’s hand, she instinctively stopped the knights.

The girl, her face full of hope, suddenly extended a single Teretsa flower. It was well known that Saint Ophelia was fond of Teretsa.

“Lady Ophelia. Our hero, the devotion of the goddess! Please, live a long and happy life!”

With flushed cheeks, the girl declared in a bright voice.

Everyone who succeeded in speaking to Ophelia left her with a similar blessing, as if rehearsed. Then, as if they expected something in return for their kind words, they looked at her with sparkling eyes. The girl was no exception.

…Live a long and happy life, huh.

Ophelia found herself reflecting on the happiness they spoke of.

Escaping her status as a fugitive, receiving a new name bestowed by the emperor, being revered as a saint, becoming the bride in the most envied wedding, and becoming the mistress of a prestigious family—this was what they meant by her happiness.

But Ophelia hadn’t wandered the empire for over ten years dreaming of these things. She had wanted something else. And it wasn’t much.

I only wanted you…

Ophelia felt the suffocating weight pressing down on her again. She stared blankly at the purple flower the girl held out, clenching her fists tightly.

I only wanted you to live a long, happy life.

After slowly piecing together the thoughts she had carried for over a decade, Ophelia finally felt as though the ground beneath her feet had crumbled completely.

That was all I ever wanted.

Yet what she had longed for throughout her entire life could never come to pass. There was no chance left to undo it.

But you died.

That day, Saint Ophelia couldn’t bring herself to offer the prayers she had come for. Instead, she quietly returned to her carriage, fleeing back to the Diazi estate.

The Ophelia who had dreamed of just one thing for so long had fallen apart, utterly powerless. From that point on, she spent more time asleep than awake. Despite the concerns of Nicholas and her old companions, she began sleeping like an infant, constantly drifting off.

The more she slept, the longer she stayed submerged in her memories of the past. The time she spent feeling guilt grew longer. Every day, she drowned in endless waves of regret, imagining different outcomes, until her mind began to slip away.

That cursed forest.

The day she first met “that,” Aisa, was one of the days Ophelia regretted most. It was the day she found Aisa sitting alone in the forest, with a frail boy collapsed before her.

If only another carriage accident hadn’t happened that day.

When Aisa had told her to leave it behind, if she had just let it go…

Would it have found another way to come for her?

If the problem had been her presence in the McFoy family, could she have just left? But where would she have gone?

What if she had killed it the moment she first laid eyes on it?

Ophelia traced the fragmented memories in her dreams. It was clearly an act of self-torment, but she couldn’t stop herself.

tl/n: She’S talking about nyx i dk why she was using ‘it’ but it kinda means fate ‘it’ if you know what i mean.