SALP Chapter 5

Angels don't seem to exist at all. No matter how desperately you pray, wishes don't come true. Perhaps only demons possess such abilities. Like Derek, like Fiarelle—human demons who can trample others with casual smiles, calling them "lowborn" and harming them without a second thought. Perhaps only such human demons have that power.

No matter how much she wished, Vigo never returned.

Aunt Louise wouldn't come back to life either.

Even the lives of those who barely survived would fade away meaninglessly.

If there truly had been a guardian angel for Raphlang, Vigo never would have been taken by the witch in the first place. Raphlang never would have fallen...

"Sing for me, Princess of Raphlang."

Just because Derek discovered her, even Roas had been destroyed.

Her world no longer existed anywhere.

"I'm not, I'm not anything like an angel. I truly hate singing..."

She had absolutely no desire to sing for him.

She only dreamed of a future where she could escape those evil clutches and live as she once had.

She wanted to live. Even without knowing the meaning of life.

So putting on a smile before Fiarelle, who trained her like a dog while doting on her, was the best she could do.

Days continued where she smiled on the outside while endlessly sinking within.

The seasons changed, and the Feast of Ailea approached. It was the day when Penmarkian women bathed in the lake and received the moon goddess's blessing.

["An angel sleeps in Lake Eründel."]

At dawn in her dreams, Lanthe heard the voice of her beloved Aunt Louise.

["Remember. The angel can see everywhere the snow and rain touch."]

And now before her was a lake that held snow and rain.

A lake.

"...Angel of Eründel."

She truly hated both songs and prayers. But.

I want to know too. What Auntie and Vigo knew. What they felt.

I was born a small Raphlisian, and while living in this world, at least once...

BOOM! An explosion sounded and the lake water surged up toward her.

The lake's water moved on its own, reaching out a hand. She couldn't tell whether the being controlling it was an angel or a demon.

But one thing was certain—she had grasped an opportunity to be freed from the plunderers who had destroyed her world.

Lanthe didn't hesitate long before throwing herself into the arm the lake extended.

When she closed her eyes, a blue forest unfolded where white snow fluttered down. The forest village she had loved. A small paradise where Aunt Louise nagged while baking delicious bread, where little Vigo would climb over the fence with sweets hidden in his pocket—it embraced her warmly.

3. Hermea

"Lanthe! Lanthe!"

Familiar voices called out. But Lanthe walked without looking back. Don't call for me. Don't try to hold me back. If you do, you'll all die like Aunt Louise. If you pretend not to know me, maybe you can survive. So don't call for me.

She walked unsteadily like a puppet with cut strings, her shoulder gripped by Fiarelle's cold hand.

"Lanthe!"

Then she heard an unfamiliar voice.

"Lanthe!"

No. No, it's not. It's not an unfamiliar voice.

She turned around.

"Vigo...?"

The boy she missed most in the world was there.

Suddenly energized, she shook off Fiarelle's hand with a sharp motion.

"Vigo! You came back!"

She shook off the demon's hand trying to grab her from behind and ran to him.

The boy she never wanted to lose again. She threw herself into his outstretched arms and sobbed.

People laughed and teased Lanthe.

"This girl! Vigo came back ages ago, what are you talking about?"

Embarrassed, Lanthe wiped her tears and grinned sheepishly.

"When did you come back?"

Were you alive? Did you escape from the bad witch?

"Thank goodness. I'm so relieved."

"Don't worry. It's okay now, Lanthe."

Vigo's low whisper seemed to carry a gentle smile as well.

She was so happy it felt like a dream. She couldn't believe she was holding the warm body of her favorite friend again.

Was this really a dream? The boy's grip pulling her tight was strangely strong. Like the hands of a large, powerful adult man.

"Lanthe..."

His voice dropped low. He had always been a crybaby. Perhaps he had cried every day, sad about being separated from her. How much must he have cried for his voice to become thick and strange? Or perhaps he'd suffered greatly because of the witch.

"I can't breathe, Vigo."

He held her so tightly that her chest was crushed and stuffy. Yet she was so happy Vigo had returned that she buried her face in his broad embrace and rubbed against him vigorously.

She didn't even realize what was strange about being completely enveloped in the embrace of a boy who had been smaller and cuter than her.

"Don't go anywhere now, Vigo. Don't go anywhere, stay and play with me. Okay?"

She repeated the boy's name with an overflowing heart.

The boy only nodded silently. Over and over again.

"Vigo."

You came back. You've returned to me...

Is this a dream...

"Vigo."

Lanthe suddenly startled awake at her own voice ringing clearly in her ears.

Her vision suddenly brightened. The ash and dust that had been hazily swirling also instantly cleared away.

An unfamiliar room.

An unfamiliar girl's face.

"Ah! Are you awake, Miss Lanthe?"

Lanthe flinched and swallowed. Instinctively defensive, she pulled up the blanket to cover herself.

A blanket. A plain, warm blanket. For a moment her heart sank, thinking she'd been dragged back to Newbella, but it wasn't the luxurious silk blankets used there.

"I'm so relieved you've regained consciousness. They said you weren't injured, but you wouldn't wake up for days, we were so worried."

The girl smiled brightly and sighed with relief. She was a child Lanthe had never seen before. Was she even ten years old yet?

"Who...?"

Lanthe slowly surveyed her surroundings, assessing the situation.

So it was a dream after all. But where is this? It doesn't seem like the afterlife. It's definitely not heaven or Raphlang either.

The dim interior and the atmosphere from the chilly air were different from Newbella. Besides, it was very cold. Much colder than Newbella. Perhaps even colder than Roas.

"I'm Nina. I need to go tell the lord that you've awakened, Miss Lanthe. You must be hungry, right? I'll bring you a meal right away. Please wait just a moment."

The girl poured out her words cheerfully, then ran outside without waiting for Lanthe to respond.

"Wait, just a moment."

Lanthe belatedly called after the girl as she groggily sat up.

It was a strange place. There wasn't even a door on the entrance the girl had just run out of. It was wide open, like the entrance to a cave rather than a room.

Where on earth is this?

She got down from the bed and approached the open entrance.

A quiet corridor stretched out. There were no signs of people. No guards watching were visible either.

Only gray stone walls and floors, with unadorned shutters sparsely lining the corridor, evoking a crude and desolate feeling. It was an entirely different scene from Newbella's palace, lavishly decorated with silk and ornamental lanterns. Candles flickered here and there, but the overall atmosphere remained gloomy and dim.

This isn't Newbella...

Lanthe stared down the dark corridor, then cautiously moved forward. Where did the girl go? What were those noisy voices coming from outside? It sounded like laughter too.

She was turning a dim corner when—

"Oof."

Thud—she bumped into something and swayed, instinctively freezing. She realized she had collided with the body of a man walking quickly from the opposite direction.

Her flustered gaze dropped to the man's waist level.

She saw a sword hanging from the man's side.

A knight. A Penmarkian knight. A race much larger in build and rougher in temperament than Raphlisians. A violent tribe quick to use force.

She had been slapped. By a man with a huge build like this one, wearing a sword. Her lips and inside her mouth had all split and bled. It was a horrifying memory—receiving such a shock that her head spun and her mind became hazy, so terrible that she lost her words for a while.

"Lanthe...?"

A sword. This man is also wearing a sword.

"Are you all right?"

The man grabbed Lanthe's shoulder firmly.

Startled, Lanthe desperately took a deep breath. Her vision went white, but she needed to collect herself.

Calm down. This isn't Newbella. Derek and Fiarelle aren't here. That girl earlier was bright and kind to me...

"You're pale."

The man spoke roughly as he scooped Lanthe up in his arms.

Caught off guard, she raised her eyes to look up at the man's profile.

Her breath seemed to stop.

Why are you—

Hair with soft curls and a dark color, a neat forehead and eyebrows drawn as if perfectly sketched, a straight nose bridge, and... violet eyes.

"...Vigo?"

The moment she unconsciously whispered that name, the man's eyes flicked toward her. But immediately, as if nothing had happened, they faced forward again.

"Vigo... right?"

Lanthe asked again, but neither confirmation nor denial came. The man simply walked, his mouth firmly shut as if he couldn't hear her words.