CHAPTER 265: CHAPTER 265 - “CHILD... DO YOU REMEMBER ME?”

The light was endless.

Golden, gentle, and warm—yet it pulsed with something ancient, something vast.

Luca floated weightlessly in the radiance. There was no ground beneath him, no horizon, only the slow, rhythmic thrum of life itself. The warmth pressed softly against his skin, seeping into his bones. It wasn’t the warmth of fire, but of sunlight filtering through leaves—the warmth of creation itself.

And then, amidst that silence, came a voice.

"Child... do you remember me?"

The sound wasn’t heard—it resonated inside him, weaving through every thought, every heartbeat. Soft, kind, but burdened with a sorrow that made his chest tighten.

Luca’s brows furrowed. His lips parted.

"Who?" he asked, his voice small, uncertain.

The voice lingered, like a sigh carried by a breeze.

"I suppose you don’t, huh..."

Something in that tone made his throat ache. There was disappointment there—not anger, but the gentle sadness of a mother whose child had forgotten her face.

Luca looked around, trying to find a source—anything. But the light stretched infinitely in all directions, and he saw only glimmers dancing like motes of golden dust.

"Who are you?" he asked again, this time softer, almost pleading.

A faint shimmer rippled through the air, and the voice spoke again, now tenderly amused.

"Didn’t you come here to talk with me? To the Elven Forest?"

The moment those words reached him, Luca froze.

His eyes widened, breath caught.

He whispered hoarsely, "...A-are you... the World Tree?"

A sound followed that made his heart flutter—

a quiet giggle, warm and radiant, like sunlight on water.

"Mhm-mhm."

Luca just stared ahead, blank. His lips trembled slightly; for a second, he couldn’t even form words. His mind raced to make sense of it—this voice, this presence that felt like the heartbeat of the world itself.

Finally, he exhaled shakily and rubbed his forehead, muttering to himself, "Right. The World Tree. Of course..."

Even thinking the words felt unreal.

He steadied his breath and looked around once more, voice quiet but respectful.

"...You’re the one who invited me here, aren’t you? To the Elven Forest. You said you wanted to speak with me."

The light pulsed softly in rhythm with a melodic laugh.

"You are still the same," the voice said with an affection that made Luca blink.

"Still the same?" he echoed, confused. "What do you mean—"

Before he could finish, the voice continued, serene but carrying a whisper of ancient fondness.

"Well, I called you here to answer your questions."

"My questions?" Luca repeated, tilting his head.

"Yes, my child. The ones that have taken root in your heart. So tell me—what is the one question that troubles your soul right now?"

Luca thought for a moment, well, I do have lots of questions, but the one that I am not able to understand the most and has been bugging me is...

Luca’s fingers curled into fists. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, trying to calm the flood of memories—the screams, the light, the dark elves collapsing one after another, their blood painting the roots of the sacred tree they swore to protect.

His throat tightened. His voice came out rough, almost breaking:

"Why did... the dark elves do what they did seven thousand years ago?" He lifted his gaze toward the endless light, his eyes wet but steady. "Just... why?"

The light dimmed.

Not with darkness—but with grief.

The golden space seemed to sigh, the warmth turning bittersweet. And when the voice spoke again, it was quiet—softer than before, and heavy with the ache of remembrance.

"...Ah. So that is where your heart rests."

The golden radiance rippled faintly—like sunlight trembling on water. For a moment, there was silence. Then came the voice again, soft and weary, touched by something almost human.

"...I didn’t expect that question."

Luca blinked, startled by the melancholy lacing those words.

"Why not?" he asked quietly, his tone cautious, almost respectful.

A sound drifted through the air—half sigh, half dry chuckle.

"Well... out of all the people, I didn’t expect you

to be the one who didn’t know the answer."

"Me?" Luca frowned, his voice rising slightly in disbelief. "How am I supposed to know something like that?"

He exhaled slowly, his gaze falling to the golden light beneath him. His reflection shimmered there faintly, a ghost upon the radiance. "Yeah, it’s true that I’m trying to save this world," he murmured. "But for what? Just so I can live in it. Maybe that’s selfish—but isn’t that what most people want?"

The World Tree remained silent, listening.

"Some fight for glory," Luca continued, his voice steady but distant, as though he was talking to himself more than anyone else. "Some want to be remembered as heroes. Even the past heroes—they fought the Devil Emperor so their descendants could live free, without fear. And that’s not wrong."

He lifted his head slowly. The golden light glimmered in his eyes, reflecting both wonder and pain.

"None of us are wrong for wanting something. Desire, hope, comfort... they’re what make us human. But..."

He paused, his throat tightening as images flashed through his mind—the dark elves standing tall beneath the storm of corruption, their faces serene, their tears glinting like stars.

"...the dark elves," he whispered. "Why did they do it?"

The golden radiance pulsed faintly, reacting to his words.

"They didn’t fight for fame, or safety, or recognition. They knew they wouldn’t have any of that. They knew their descendants would be cursed, shunned, forgotten. They were aware that their pain would never end. And still..."

Luca’s voice trembled. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. "Still they stood there—with tears in their eyes and smiles on their faces—as they gave everything. Their mana. Their bodies. Their place beneath you—their Mother."

He looked up again, eyes shining with raw confusion and grief.

"Why? Why would anyone choose that kind of suffering? To burn their entire existence away, and leave behind only the memory of a curse? Why?"

His words echoed in the golden void, each syllable heavy enough to linger.

For a long time, the World Tree didn’t respond.

Then, the light around him dimmed slightly—turning softer, more muted, as though the very air mourned.

Luca flinched.

Something warm brushed against his cheek.

A hand — soft, impossibly gentle — caressed his cheek. It wasn’t really there, and yet he could feel it. The warmth of a mother’s embrace, familiar and fragile, as if it came from a place deep in his soul.

A serene voice echoed softly, "Even... I don’t have the answer to that question, my child."

Luca’s lips trembled. "Even you don’t—"

"Why?" The voice seemed to smile through its sorrow. "Is it surprising?"

Luca nodded faintly, his throat too tight for words. The unseen warmth brushed his hair as the World Tree’s voice continued, softer now — tired, yet infinitely kind.

"I am the mother of all, Luca. But it isn’t as if I can hear the thoughts of every one of my children," she said, her tone carrying a hint of wistful laughter. "I may hold the knowledge of countless ages, but even I... cannot understand why someone chooses to endure such pain."

The words lingered, heavy and beautiful — but Luca felt as if the later half of the question wasn’t for the world tree but Luca himself.

As the golden light around him began to dim, its once brilliant glow paling like a sunset fading into dusk.

The World Tree sighed, a sound so soft it almost broke his heart.

"It seems... my time is up."

Luca’s eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

Her voice came, a fragile chuckle echoing in the emptiness. "Just as it sounded, my child. I will be dying soon."

Luca stumbled forward instinctively, as if he could somehow reach her. His hands grasped at light that slipped through his fingers like mist.

"N-No, you can’t die! We’ll save you — all of us! The Elf Queen, Senior Elowen, Sylthara — they’re all fighting for you! You’re important for this world!"

But the voice only grew gentler — unbearably so.

"No, My child. You are important for this world.Not me."

Her tone carried such sorrow, such unshakable acceptance, that it made his chest tighten painfully.

"I hope..." the voice faltered, trembling like a dying flame, "this is the last time I see you... my child."

The light dimmed faster now. Luca’s heart pounded in panic.

Then, faintly, through the collapsing glow, came her final whisper.

"Remember, if anyone can answer that question... it’s you, Luca... or should I say... Kian."

The name rippled through him like a forgotten heartbeat. For a moment, he wasn’t Luca, wasn’t anyone — just the echo of someone long dead remembering what it felt like to be alive.

The name struck him like lightning. His breath hitched, his pulse quickened. Kian. That name — his real name. His past life.

"H-hey! You—You know me?!" he shouted into the dissolving light. "Tell me! How am I here?! Tell me something—!"

But the brilliance around him shattered, plunging him into darkness. His stomach lurched as though falling from a great height.

Then — impact.

He gasped as his vision snapped back to chaos: blood, dust, fire, and steel. He lay on scorched ground, surrounded by the screams of battle.

A roar echoed through the smoke.

"Kill these rotten creatures for our Emperor!"

Luca turned — and there they were. Hundreds of cultists, encircling what remained of the dark elves.