I walked out of that library with more questions than answers and a weird sense of awe crawling under my skin.
Seeing someone like him — that monster, that god in flesh — really threw my strength into perspective.
I wasn't weak. I knew that much.
But compared to him?
Compared to that storm of wings and blood and laughter?
I was just a child with a knife trying to cut down a mountain.
The sinner of wrath… even his title felt heavy in my mouth. The kind of man who could fight armies and win, who could kill abominations the size of continents.
And yet what haunted me most wasn't him.
It was Envy.
The sinner of envy.
From everything I read — and everything I saw in that vision — he might've been an even bigger monster.
The man created an ocean out of blood and fury.
He angered a god and walked away to tell the story.
You don't do that unless you're the kind of being the world itself is afraid of.
Then there was this Weaver.
No records, no mention, just a name — Weaver.
But if he stood beside Envy, then he wasn't just strong.
He was myth.
As I walked through the cold tunnels leading out of the underground library, I couldn't stop thinking about it.
That strange, gnawing sense of kinship I felt with Envy — it wasn't admiration exactly.
More like recognition.
Like staring into a mirror that reflected everything I hated and everything I secretly wanted to become.
I opened the description of my sin lineage again. The text glowed faintly, the words forming like blood on glass:
"The Sinner of Envy was her first and most beloved.
Yet he envied the others, desiring what they had,
taking what was never his to take."
The words burned into me.
What did he take?
Why was he called beloved?
If Beast God was truly the goddess of motherhood and marriage, then maybe…
maybe Envy was her son.
Or her lover.
Either answer felt wrong.
Maybe both were true.
But one thing was clear — it wasn't just strength that made him terrifying. It was the reason behind it.
You don't envy the weak.
You envy the ones above you.
And if he envied the gods, then maybe that's what killed them.
I rubbed my temples, my brain feeling like it had been punched by a philosopher.
All this ancient nonsense gave me a headache.
Still, I couldn't let it go.
If Beast God was truly the first to die, then someone had to kill her.
And from what I'd seen in that journal, her sinners weren't the types to just let that happen.
Would a single god be enough?
Or did the heavens themselves conspire against her?
The gate of resurrection… that was where she fell.
A god who could bring back the dead — and yet, she died.
Irony, or punishment?
"Ugh… gods and their melodrama." I muttered, running a hand through my hair as I finally saw moonlight again. "No wonder the world's a mess."
By the time I reached the outskirts, the familiar noise of chaos replaced my thoughts.
Effie and Sara were at it again — this time louder than usual.
Their voices carried down the street like dueling war horns.
"You can't be serious, Sara! You want us to go beyond the walls? For what — some dead guy's pet project?!" Effie snapped, her hands on her hips. "You're not even telling us why it's important!"
Sara's voice came out sharp, brittle with emotion.
"It's important because the former Bright Lord said it was. That's enough reason for me."
Effie scoffed. "He's dead, Sara! Deceased, gone, never coming back! Are you really that desperate to—"
The sound of the slap echoed like a thunderclap.
Sara's hand trembled, but her face didn't.
Effie stumbled back, clutching her cheek, eyes wide.
"Don't you ever talk about him like that again."
Sara's tone wasn't angry anymore. It was grief sharpened into something that could cut stone.
Then she turned and stormed off, her boots cracking against the ground.
I sighed.
"Guess we're doing drama tonight."
I walked over to Effie, who was rubbing her cheek and scowling at nothing.
"Ugh, so what exactly happened between you two? And why did she slap you like you owed her rent?"
Effie winced, then muttered, "I kinda deserved that slap."
I raised an eyebrow. "The prideful Effie admitting guilt? Wow. Okay, now I'm sure I'm trapped in an illusion."
I looked up at the moon just to make sure it wasn't bleeding.
Thankfully, it was normal.
"Alright. Not an illusion. Just a miracle."
She rolled her eyes but didn't argue.
"Wait, you seriously don't know?"
I blinked. "Know what?"
She sighed, clearly regretting having to explain.
"Well… everyone in the outskirts knows Sara used to be the healer in the first Bright Lord's cohort. And, uh… she was also his wife."
"Oh."
I rubbed the back of my neck. "Yeah, that's… kind of a bitch move, Effie."
I tried not to laugh, because honestly, if someone talked like that about Yuki back when she was still alive, I'd have torn their tongue out and used it as a bookmark.
Sara went with the slap. I respected that restraint.
Effie groaned. "Yeah, I know. I'll… try to apologize later."
"Good plan," I said, sitting beside her on the step. "So what was the fight really about?"
She hesitated, eyes flicking toward the direction Sara had gone.
"Sara found a lead," she said finally. "On where the first Bright Lord disappeared to. But it means going outside the walls, into the ruins beyond. There are nightmare creatures there, strong ones. Going would risk everyone's lives."
That hit harder than I expected.
Because I understood.
If someone told me there was even a chance I could bring Yuki back… I'd already be halfway out the gate, sword in hand.
But I could also see where Effie was coming from.
Leading people to their deaths for a maybe — it wasn't heroism. It was madness.
I sighed and stood up, stretching.
"Well, I can't tell you who's right. But if it helps, I've got some leftovers from when Seishan was over. Might not fix your problems, but it'll fix your stomach."
Effie looked up, blinking. "You're serious?"
"Deadly," I said, grinning. "C'mon, before I eat it myself."
We went inside, and I handed her the leftovers — cold meat, some weird spiced vegetables Seishan made that smelled way too good for something found in this miserable world.
Effie ate like she hadn't seen food in weeks.
Meanwhile, I poured myself a goblet of blood and leaned back in my chair, staring at the crimson surface.
The empty reflection staring back at me looked the same but I didn't feel the same as before I walked into that library.
Because now I knew — there were monsters older than history.
Monsters who called themselves sinners.
And compared to them, I was just beginning to crawl.