CHAPTER 186: CHAPTER 186: MY BELIEF.

A silence settled in the candlelit chamber, the kind that presses against the heart and makes the air itself hold its breath.

Amber stood frozen, her lips parted but unable to speak. The words he had uttered still burned in the air between them, heavy and impossible.

"A...A false pro.. prophet."

She felt the shape of the phrase like a blade against her tongue, sharp, forbidden. It echoed through her mind like the toll of a heretic bell. For a heartbeat, she thought she had misheard him, but the look in his eyes told her otherwise. He had meant every word.

"Wait, no...no ..no no.."

Amber staggered back, her hand covering her mouth as though the air itself had turned poisonous. Why? Even thinking...even having such thoughts felt, Sinful, like she had heard... that should Never be heard.

He had told her of his plans to build a guild that would bind all power: church, nobles, adventurers, merchants. It had sounded ambitious, almost impossible—but never impious. Never this.

She had believed he wanted reform. Not rebellion.

And yet there he stood—his posture calm, his gaze like still water, and his voice steady enough to move mountains.

"Yes...Yes Amber," Aiden said softly, almost to himself. "A false prophet... we need to do this, I need to do this...."

His tone wasn’t mocking or proud—it was resolute, like a man naming his destiny.

Amber felt her chest tighten. "Do you... do you even understand what that means?" she whispered, but her voice trembled with awe more than accusation.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he lifted his gaze to the single candle burning at the altar. Its flame bent in the draft, wavering but never dying. "I understand more than anyone ever will."

’cause I know, no Faith, no god will come when humanity reaches the apocalypse of the Dungeon overflow....Nothing will remain. The hero, the MC saving only close to him. The main characters of this world...’

he turned back to her, his eyes—those impossible blue eyes—seemed deeper, darker. The light around him shifted, as if the world itself leaned closer to listen.

Amber felt her knees weaken. Not from fear. From something else entirely.

The atmosphere changed. The air grew thicker, as though charged with invisible static. Aiden reached for the pendant at his neck—a simple chain, but one that held three crystals: one dark, one pale, one faintly shimmering like breath frozen in glass.

Amber knew what it was—the device he had crafted, the one that bent his aura, reshaped it, transmuted it.

Aiden saw her confusion, of course she would. He just laid a very heavy burden on her.

[Aura of allure]

A breath of energy filled the room. She felt it—not on her skin, but inside her soul, like a deep, resonant note echoing in the chambers of her being. His presence enveloped her—not lustful, not sinful—but divine. A work of his pendent.

Amber gasped. The aura that once bore the weight of temptation now felt....sanctified, almost holy. It was warmth without heat, illumination without pain. The pendulum of his power had swung from seduction to sanctity, and she stood caught within its gravitational pull.

Her mind told her to step back. Her heart refused.

She had served the church all her life. She had seen priests, preistess, warriors, martyrs. She had seen men crumble under the weight of their faith, and others rise above it like saints. But she had never seen anything like him.

Aiden smiled slightly, sensing her turmoil. "You will never see what I see, Amber." he asked softly. "For the betterment of us, I need more, moooreee.

They would never follow me as a man. But as a prophet..."

He let the words linger.

"...as a prophet, they would kneel."

Amber’s voice broke. "You’ll be branded a heretic. The Church will burn you alive."

"Perhaps," he said. "But what is a flame to one who was born of it?"

Something in his voice made her shiver. It wasn’t arrogance—it was acceptance. A man not defying his fate, but shaping it with his own hands. Like he knew fate, like he knew what the world entailed.

He took a step closer. She felt the heat of his nearness, the thrum of energy radiating from his core. "Do you think the world changes with prayers, Amber? With obedience? No. It changes with audacity—with those who dare to stand before gods and demand to speak."

Amber wanted to tell him he was wrong. That no man could stand before the divine and survive. But her heart—the traitorous, trembling thing—knew he was right.

There was something in his eyes that no fear could touch. The same unyielding flame she had seen the first time they met. It had frightened her then. Now, it mesmerized her.

Perhaps that was why she had fallen for him.

She had not fallen for his beauty, though beauty he had in abundance. Nor his mind, though it was sharp as any blade. She had fallen for the impossible steadiness of him—for the way he stood unbroken where others bowed.

She could not fight that. She could only surrender to it.

When she finally spoke, her voice was softer. "You speak of blasphemy as though it were faith."

Aiden’s smile deepened. " they are the same thing, Amber. Faith is believing the impossible. Blasphemy is daring to create it."

Amber let out a trembling breath. "And what do you plan to create, ....Lucifer? What ...what do you seek?"

He looked at it, then back at her. "like I said, I seek more, I will become the light they will both worship and fear."

Amber felt tears rise unbidden. "And what of... me?" she whispered. Feeling small, in his grand thoughts and plans.

He reached out, his fingers brushing her cheek. The touch was light—barely there—but it carried the weight of eternity. "You," he said, "will walk beside me until the end."

Her breath caught. "Even if that end is damnation?"

"Especially then."

She closed her eyes. The tears fell, silent and hot, tracing paths of surrender. She stepped forward and pressed her forehead to his chest. The beat of his heart was steady, resolute.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, not as a conqueror, but as one who knew the burden of destiny.

"I never feared," he said quietly, his voice a low rumble against her ear. "Not gods, not kings, not death itself. Perhaps that is my curse. Or perhaps it is my gift. But either way, I cannot stop...Will not Stop."

Amber tilted her face up toward him. "And if you... fail?"

He smiled faintly. "My love, there is no such thing as failure...for Me, failure is only stopping what I do, giving up, but I will never do such petty thing, so failure cannot have me..."he said with utter pride.

She let out a small, broken laugh, her tears wet against his skin. "You’re mad," she whispered.

"Of course," he said. "All prophets are."

For a while, they stood in silence—the kind that hums with meaning. The candle burned lower, wax pooling like molten ivory. Outside, the wind howled against the old stone of the chapel.

Amber finally pulled away, just enough to look at him. "If you truly mean this," she said softly, "then you won’t do it alone. If you must walk this path, then I’ll walk it with you...."

He looked down at her, the faintest flicker of surprise breaking through his calm. "You’d defy your God for me?"

She shook her head. "No," she said. "For you, I would redefine Him..."

Something in her words struck him—something dangerous and divine.

He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the remnants of her tears. "Then so be it," he said. "From this day forth, the world will tremble."

He let the pendant fall against his chest again. The light of the crystals dimmed. The holiness faded—but the power remained, coiled like a serpent beneath the surface.

Amber took his hand. "What will you do first?"

Aiden looked toward the window, where the distant glow of the city’s towers shimmered beneath the night. "First, I will speak, the future to come. Then, I will make them listen."

"And then?"

"Then," he said, "I will make them believe...Cause I say, will come true...."

.

.

The following morning, word spread through the streets like fire. A preacher had risen among the poor, speaking not of penance, but what comes. He wore no sigil of the Church, no banner of the nobles—only a white cloak and eyes that burned with something beyond comprehension.

They called him Lucifer, the future teller. Others whispered lucifer the.... Prophet.

Amber watched him from the edge of the crowd as he stood upon the marble steps of the city square, the early light painting him in gold. His voice rolled like thunder, carrying through the market air.

"The alley you live, will soon be an alley of curse," he cried. " All, begone from the wretched place where the curses of the demi’s linger."

The people didn’t believe him then, but like what he had foretold, the alley was laced with sickness and plague. And time after time, his words came true,

Amber saw it happen , Shila saw it happen, all the church saw it happen. As her heart pounded in her chest. She saw it happen—the spark in their eyes, the trembling of belief being rewritten.