Yuna found herself once again in a corporeal state.
She looked down and saw hooded figures standing around what seemed to be an altar.
Several people lay upon it—dying. Yuna could tell at a glance.
No one cried, no wails filled the air, yet grief lingered, heavy and suffocating.
Yuna just merely look on, looking around the place she found herself in.
"Was what we did truly right? Why do I feel we're still the same outcasts?"
A whisper slipped from one man to the person beside him, his hand clenching tight.
[The foundation of their faith is not strong, Yuna.]
Huh?
Yuna glanced down at her chest. The dimension stone glowed faintly. The voice—it came from there. She was certain.
But she didn't reply. She had no interest in faith or gods. What did it have to do with her? Expression flat, she only looked around, detached, her emotions strangely static, as if frozen in place.
[They are lost souls,] the stone spoke again.
Yuna ignored it. Who wasn't lost? Even she felt lost, okay? People spent their whole lives searching for meaning. She hadn't found hers, so why should she care about theirs?
Her thoughts were scattered, impossible to hold onto—like a newborn groping blindly at the world. The sensation was strange, yet not entirely unfamiliar. She didn't even know what she was supposed to feel.
[They are assassins. They cut down criminals and corrupt nobles. But they are despised, hunted, rejected by all gods. In this world ruled by deities, to be shunned by the divine is misery itself. Their lives are filled with hardship. Every day, they fight for freedom and peace, but without the backing of a higher being, such conviction is difficult to bear.]
That caught her attention—probably because it reminded her of the pitiful characters from novels she had read.
Yuna hated that type of tragic story.
And the emotion of hate burned brighter than her indifference.
So she would do something. After all, if you don't like something, you change it, right?
In this dreamlike state, she felt as if she could do anything.
The scattered remnants of faith floating faintly in the air—Yuna reached out and gathered them. She knew how to use them in this dream state.
These convictions were once ignored by gods but now it has a vessel. A flame was lit.
The faith of 'Freedom and Peace'.
The light coalesced, and Yuna shaped it into something befitting assassins—then cast it down upon the altar.
"I want to make it cinematic" Yuna said and so she did.
As the assassins grieved, a faint radiance descended from above. Wide-eyed, they looked up.
"Light…" Aria, the redhead, whispered.
The glow touched the altar, and those who lay dying slowly rose.
A stigmata bloomed upon their faces, shaped like an eagle.
"A stigmata!"
"It's a stigmata!"
"God… God has recognized us!"
"Our faith! Our faith has been acknowledged!"
One person fell to their knees. The others followed, trembling with awe.
And then, from somewhere beyond time and space, an ethereal voice rang in their ears:
[When other man blindly follows the rules, remember—nothing is true. When other men are limited by their morality and law, remember—everything is permitted.]
From the ground, murals emerged. Upon them, words carved themselves into being.
The assassins knew those words. They were the very ones Aria had spread. They had always repeated them like a fragile lifeline, though they doubt. They repeated as if holding on to some hope even they didn't know what they cling to. Now—now it was truth.
In unison, they chanted along with the inscription:
"Nothing is true. Everything is permitted.
We are the executioners of our own actions, and must accept the consequences, whether they bring glory or ruin.
This is the creed passed down:
One, stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent.
Two, hide in plain sight.
Three, never compromise the Brotherhood.
Take this as our creed. Follow it. Obey it. Break it, and bear the cost."
As they spoke, stigmata flared upon their faces.
The mark granted foresight and advanced skills none had ever seen before.
That night, the assassins of the Lalrem Empire gained what they had longed for—recognition from a deity.
Yuna snorted.
"This scene is so cheesy," she muttered. "But this kind of cringe-worthy cliché just happens to be my guilty pleasure, what a shame"
....
When Yuna woke the next day, it felt as though she had dreamed another endless dream—though she could remember none of it.
She felt oddly healthy and powerful, as if she could kick a horse into submission. Yet at the same time, she felt drained, hollowed out. The contradictory sensations left her unsettled.
Still, she got up. She had things to do.
Somehow, by whatever strange power, her mood wasn't as crushed as yesterday. Maybe sleep really did help.
'Sleep is the best medicine after all', she thought. W to sleep!
In a fantasy world, Yuna had no idea what one was supposed to prepare when disaster struck. But she knew one thing: she had to tread carefully. Well, actually, one has to tread carefully in everything, not just when disaster strikes.
But humans easily fall into complacency, taking things for granted. She was human, and no exception.
As for the anxiety of dealing with city lords or whoever once she left the academy—well, she'd leave that to her future self.
Her present self had enough to handle already.
Her life was getting harder and harder with each passing day, as if the universe itself were conspiring against her.
It definitely was. Yuna believed it—otherwise, how could she explain everything that had happened so far? Each event only went from crazy to crazier.
She tilted her head back, glaring at the sky, and raised her middle finger.
"When will I ever get some rest, biiitchhhh?" she cursed, voice half a wail, before letting out a long sigh. "Hah."
Her life seriously needed a reset. For real.
Sooner or later, she was going to lose her mind. And when she did, Yuna knew she would shut down completely, feeling nothing at all.
And that would be a real problem.