“……”
After wandering through the archive for a long while, the bishop’s lips parted.
“…Nothing.”
No matter how she searched, she could find no records.
‘Who was the being I saw at dawn that day?’
She wanted to believe it had been an ordinary dream. Yet it could never be called ordinary.
‘That strange and ominous sensation—as though I had encountered our teacher residing within the Saintess. No, it was even stronger than that…’
The memory of that peculiar being’s language surging over her like waves remained vivid. That had never been a mere dream.
‘It said that the moon had set.’
The words had clearly been directed at the Moon Church.
‘And no matter how I consider it, the object held in its second pair of hands was also our teacher’s form…’
Each brother and sister described the Moon a little differently. Some called it a round mirror, some a transparent bead, and others a sphere formed from a multitude of overlapping rings.
They shared only one common point: the shape of a sphere. Yet the bishop knew. What she had seen that day truly was the Moon—that beautiful something, pure white and shining with a chill light.
‘…Then the blood-red being I saw could not have been a mere illusion either…’
There was no information anywhere.
“…There is no chance that a being of such magnitude has no history.”
Divinities grew stronger through fate. The more stories they accumulated, the greater their presence became. It…