CHAPTER 68: WHY?

Lucy rose from the cold stone floor, his limbs aching, his thoughts even worse.

His mind wasn’t racing—it was fragmented. In ten minutes, he’d uncovered more than he could process, yet none of it fit cleanly. It was like being handed shards of a mirror and told to find his reflection.

The human corpses: They shattered the accepted history. Humanity wasn’t exiled after the gods were born—at least not in the way they’d been told. But why were they here? And why dead?

The stained glass: It revealed Seraph’s Hollow had once belonged to Nyxaris. From the imagery, Lucy guessed Seraphine had fought for the world—and won. But why? What did taking it mean?

The vision: That was the worst of it. Nyxaris hadn’t always been a god. She’d once been just a girl, trembling at the edge of some abyss. And someone—someone smiling—had betrayed her.

"So it’s possible," Lucy thought, his throat dry. "It’s possible to ascend to godhood. Or did Nyxaris will herself into it—bend the world around her pain?"

No answers came. Just silence. Maddening, echoing silence.

Lucy grabbed two fistfuls of his hair and yanked; his breath caught in his throat as frustration boiled over.

"Damn it!" he screamed—

—or tried to. No sound came from his mouth.

Lucy knew they had to leave.

Not just the church. The entire Dark Zone.

They couldn’t talk here—couldn’t communicate at all. Lucy had real questions for Bruma, but they’d have to wait until they were somewhere safer. And then there was the cold, gnawing, creeping deeper by the second. His armor and cloak did little against the chill that wrapped around him like a second skin. His breath puffed in pale wisps, and he could feel the tremble in his legs.

The others weren’t faring much better.

Llarm’s arms were crossed tightly, his shoulders hunched, ears twitching as he fought back a full-body shiver. Gindu stood as still as a statue, but the clenched jaw and misting breath betrayed him. Fenric kept that lopsided smirk on his face, but it was more habit than humor now—his eyes flicked to Lucy with quiet concern.

And Eri...

She looked frozen—not just by the temperature but by memory. Her arms locked around herself, eyes wide and distant. Carlos pressed close against Fenric’s leg, fur puffed out, tail low, every muscle taut with tension.

He then realized everyone but Eri was looking at him weirdly.

Lucy winced internally.

’Right. Collapsing and pulling your hair in the middle of a sacred ruin. Real tactical genius, Lucy.’

He raised a thumb, offered them a tight, apologetic grin. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep them grounded.

Then his eyes met Bruma’s.

She wasn’t shivering, but she wasn’t immune either. Her arms were tense at her sides, tusks clenched, and her eyes locked onto him with something close to defiance—and desperation. This place was a sanctuary to her, a vault of ancient knowledge. The thought of walking away from it clearly cut deep.

He nodded toward the exit—or where it should

be. The darkness was too thick to see, but he felt its pull.

Bruma didn’t move. Not at first.

He could feel her hesitation like a weight in the air.

They could survive here, just the two of them. He could heat his blood with Atomic Radiation and patch the damage with Crucible of Grace. It’d hurt like hell, but it’d keep him alive. And Bruma’s ogre physiology would carry her through worse.

But the others?

They weren’t built for this.

She knew it too.

After a long pause, Bruma exhaled through her nose and nodded.

Lucy felt the tension release in his chest. No argument. No bitterness. Just a shared understanding.

Together, they turned and started toward the exit. Their footsteps echoed softly on the stone, the church behind them growing smaller and darker until the last gleam of stained glass vanished into fog.

No one spoke.

They couldnt.

And the silence said enough.

...

In hindsight, leaving the church had been the best decision Lucy could’ve made.

He didn’t know exactly how much time had passed since that day. In the Dark Zone, time twisted like fog. With no sun, moon, or stars—only that endless, smothering dark—it became impossible to tell morning from night, hours from days. But judging by their travel, the wear on their bodies, and the rhythm of their exhaustion, Lucy estimated it had been about a month.

A month of silence.

A month of cold.

A month of wandering through a void that seemed to stretch forever.

The cold had been constant and merciless. The only warmth came from the silver grass beneath their feet—strange, brittle stuff that sparked to life when scraped just right. Lucy had used it to start small fires when he could, carefully shielding the flames with his body. It wasn’t much. The heat never lasted long, and the smoke made their eyes sting. But it was something.

They huddled close during those brief moments of rest, pressing together for warmth without words. Communication had become little more than gestures, looks, and instinct. And in that silence, Lucy replayed everything—the corpses in the chapel, the betrayal in Nyxaris’s memories, the lies written into human history.

He wanted to talk about it. Needed to.

But no one could speak—not in that place.

And even now, not everyone was ready.

Eri hadn’t looked the same since the cursed statue. She kept to herself, eyes constantly scanning the dark, jaw clenched like it might crack under the pressure. Whatever she had seen in that statue... had hollowed something out of her.

The others had weathered it better. Gindu stayed to himself but was solid, Fenric made the occasional face to break the tension, and Llarm—sweet, awkward Llarm—had repeatedly tried to mouth jokes when Lucy looked like he was slipping. But it wasn’t until yesterday that any of them dared to believe they were truly getting out.

The darkness began to thin, and the air grew just a little less sharp. And now—finally—after weeks of crawling through an endless dark...

They stepped out.

One by one, boots hit the earth not tainted by silence. The world beyond the dark welcomed them with air that moved, wind that breathed, and carried sound.

Lucy heard it first.

The crunch of gravel beneath his heel.

Not a feeling. Not a guess. A sound.

Real.

His breath caught in his throat, and for a long moment, he just stood there—eyes wide, chest still—afraid it might vanish.

Then Llarm laughed. Just once. A short, stunned bark of sound.

And Lucy smiled.

They’d survived the Dark Zone.

And now, finally, they could talk.