Decades had passed since the Temple of Hope was destroyed.
It had been erased from the Iskandrite Kingdom entirely, burned to rubble, its sacred statues shattered, its scriptures turned to ash. The order had come directly from the Iskandrite Queen herself. Her hatred for the Temple of Hope was no secret.
The temple's priests and disciples were hunted like animals. Anyone even suspected of having ties to it would be arrested, interrogated, and then vanish without a trace.
Because of that, Bastian had known from the start how dangerous his earlier words were. Calling Aland someone who had once studied at the Temple of Hope, and doing so in the heart of a military city, was reckless. A single report would be enough to turn it into a death sentence.
Words like those were usually enough to make someone shout at him, drive him out, or collapse in terror.
Yet Aland did none of that.
That restraint only deepened Bastian's curiosity about the old man.
Not long after, Aland returned carrying a simple wooden tray. A clay teapot steamed softly atop it, accompanied by two chipped ceramic cups. He set it on the low table between them and lowered himself into his seat, his joints creaking faintly.
He poured a golden liquid into both cups. The herbal aroma was warm, faintly bitter, filling the small room.
"So," Aland asked, sliding one cup toward him, "where would you like to begin?"
Bastian did not reach for it. His eyes lingered on the surface of the tea, watching the steam curl upward before disappearing.
"You still haven't answered my question," he said. "Do gods truly exist?"
Aland lifted his own cup and blew gently across the rim.
"They do not."
The answer came without hesitation. Bastian's eyebrow twitched slightly. Aland met his gaze and repeated it, his tone unchanged.
"Gods do not exist."
Bastian fell silent. The answer aligned perfectly with what he had always believed, with what the world had shown him through blood, death, and betrayal. Yet hearing it from someone who had once studied at a temple felt strangely disappointing.
After a brief pause, he exhaled and shifted the question.
"Then does the afterlife exist?"
"That does not exist either."
Aland took a small sip and winced; the tea was still too hot. Bastian noticed the detail. He was about to speak when Aland continued instead.
"If what I say is true," the old man asked quietly, "what will you do?"
Bastian studied him for a moment, then finally reached for his cup. He drank carefully. The heat stung his tongue, and he nearly clicked it in annoyance, but restrained himself. The taste was bitter, herbal, with a faint sweetness beneath.
"I'll keep doing what I'm doing," he said. "Nothing changes. The world doesn't become crueler or kinder just because gods exist or don't."
Aland's lips curved into a thin, almost imperceptible smile.
"That's a good answer."
After a short pause, his voice dropped.
"I lied earlier. According to my beliefs, God does exist. And so does the afterlife."
Bastian did not react, simply waiting.
Aland examined him, then asked, "You ask about God and the afterlife. Do you believe in them?"
"I don't," Bastian replied immediately. "I only hope the afterlife exists."
That answer drew a spark of interest into Aland's eyes. "Why? Do you—"
"Can we stop circling around this," Bastian cut in, irritation seeping into his voice, "and get to the point?"
Aland sensed the weight behind the scarred man's words, a story he had no intention of telling. He chose not to pry.
"You're in a great hurry," he said instead. "And yet, your life is still long."
"Long or short, that's none of your concern," Bastian muttered.
Then he looked straight at him. "Old man, if you believe God exists, then what kind of being is it?"
Aland tilted his head. "That is a difficult question. Even now, I don't truly know how to describe it."
An unsatisfying answer.
"So you won't claim God is all-powerful, all-knowing, loving, and just? Like the fanatics do?" Bastian narrowed his eyes. "Or are you afraid I'll report you? Afraid I'll find out you're still loyal to the Temple of Hope?"
He leaned back slightly. "Relax. Whatever you say stays here."
Aland chuckled softly. "You're sharp. But I am being honest."
After a brief pause, he added, "If you want the answer of a devout follower, then yes. God is exactly as you described."
Bastian took another sip. The tea had cooled, and its warmth spread through him, easing the chill in his bones.
"But my personal answer?" Aland continued. "Perhaps God is the consciousness of this world."
The words settled heavily. Simple on the surface, yet increasingly complex the longer one thought about them.
"What about angels?" Bastian asked after a moment, steering the conversation toward something more concrete, or at least toward something he had experienced himself. "Or the afterlife? Does God have angels?"
Aland drank his tea again, then nodded. "According to the teachings of the Temple of Hope, God has five archangels at its side."
Bastian felt his chest tighten slightly. Five. "Then what angels are they? What are they really like?"
Aland began to explain, as if reciting lessons from his youth. "They are named Aurel, Gath, Lilianne, Sera, and Ezeran. Each has a different role and nature."
Bastian listened closely.
"Their forms are described differently in ancient texts," Aland continued. "But Aurel, for example, is often depicted as a being of overwhelming light, manifesting as a man with great wings on his back."
Bastian remained silent. A winged man of radiant light. It was similar to what he had seen… yet not quite. The figure he encountered had indeed been luminous, but there had been cracks in that light.
Then Aland spoke words that nearly stole the breath from his lungs.
"And according to those teachings, Aurel is the angel who brings hope. Hope of salvation, forgiveness, and release from suffering."
He paused.
"He is the Seraph of Salvation."