Everything felt lighter. The air, less dense. His clothes, weightless, like a Rukh’s feather. And yet, deep in his heart, he knew something was missing. He looked down. There, a burly man, surrounded by swords, knelt among flowers of a pristine white. On the ground beside him lay a man. A young one, perhaps? He couldn’t tell, as his face was not visible. Two more large men appeared at the edge of his vision, moving very slowly. Now that he looked at them closely, they all had horns on their heads, more or less curled, similar to his own.
He raised a hand and touched his head. He felt nothing. Why had he thought they resembled his horns, if he had none? Suddenly, the burly man raised a hand, making the others step back. He himself stood up, moving away from the body, finally allowing the face to be seen.
It was Nero. It was…
—Am I… me? —Nero thought, finally aware of his own existence. Just seconds ago, his consciousness had been part of Everything and Nothing— But… but I… I have…
“Remember, Nero. The True Goddess Velmar has never rejected those who beg for protection.” Nero heard the voice. It sounded distant, but he recognized it: it was Gilgamesh, the same one who had just killed him.
Nero touched his chest. Before, there had been nothing, but now the sword was there, piercing his heart. And in the image below him, where his body lay inert, now that he had accepted his own death, the sword was there as well: it had never ceased to be, but he had been unable to see it.
—Is that it? Is this the end? —said Nero, speaking aloud, but to himself.
The image of Gilgamesh and his body grew smaller and smaller. But not because it was shrinking—rather, Nero was drifting farther away, detaching himself from the world of the living.
A hand on his back stopped him, nails digging into his skin. He felt a horn press between his shoulder blades, and a strong shove.
—Are you going to say it already? —said the figure behind him. It was a young female voice. A voice he should recognize, yet couldn’t place.
—Say what? I… I don’t know what… I… —said Nero. As he tried to form a complete sentence, he failed miserably. His thoughts blurred in his mind, unable to think clearly.
—Ask for help! The king told you, didn’t he? —said the girl— I won’t be able to hold on much longer!
Nero hesitated. He had indeed heard Gilgamesh tell him to ask for help. But he couldn’t remember who from. He took a breath, filling his lungs, as the edges of the image of his body blurred, like the negative of a photograph burning away.
—Velmar, you idiot! Ask the true Goddess of Yomidgard for help! —the girl shouted in desperation. Nero finally recognized the voice: it was Flute. It was Hollow. It was his best friend.
The voice broke between his lips; he didn’t even have the strength for that. His words were barely a whisper, lost in the vastness of wherever he was. Before him, everything turned gray.
There was absolutely nothing. Only different shades of gray. Unable to move his head, Nero saw only gray, with the occasional burst of light giving the color varying tones of luminescence.
—Are you almost done? —someone said. It was another woman’s voice, different from Flute’s.
Lightning streaked across the sky. It began to rain.
Feeling the drops on his cheeks, Nero rose from the ground, sitting up violently. He was getting wet. He wasn’t lost in… wherever he had been, but in a field of lush green grass that stretched until it abruptly cut off, revealing a raging, endless sea.
—The place of Everything and Nothing—that’s where you were —said the voice.
Nero turned, and his surprise was immense. A blonde woman, blindfolded, with a half-eaten apple, sat on the ground a few meters away. She would not have been so striking if not for her three pairs of white feathered wings, the golden laurel crown adorning her forehead, or the white-covered book she read, even with her eyes completely covered. She was an archangel.
—Who are you? —said Nero, trying to stand. Both knees failed him.
—You may consider me a friend. You should rest: out-of-body experiences are not simple. By the way, I fixed your clothes —she said. Nero quickly looked at his chest, where the sword had pierced through his clothing, and it was true: it was repaired.
He unbuttoned his shirt. There was no wound, not even a scar. The sword that had pierced his heart had left no trace, as if he had never been wounded.
—Believe me, you were injured. And with astonishing precision, I must say —said the archangel—. It’s rare to kill someone while avoiding piercing certain parts of the soul.
—I don’t understand —said Nero, confused.
The archangel nodded, taking another bite of the apple. She chewed, but the apple didn’t seem to diminish. She turned another page, gave a small nod, and crossed her legs. Nero took a deeper look around him. He was on an island, specifically, at its highest point.
The sea. Nero had never seen it, only heard of it in novels. It was immense and beautiful. Waves crashed in the distance, as tall as buildings. But the tide ignored the island’s shore, barely brushing its edges, with no waves breaking against it. Looking closely, he noticed something unusual: the clouds didn’t just cover the sky: they descended until they touched the sea itself, turning into mist the closer they got to the water.
The wind howled, stirring his clothes. The sensation was refreshing, as the air came from the sea. It carried a feeling of vastness, of adventure, of potential. Nero felt overwhelmed by what the sea made him experience, without even touching the water. But, though he didn’t want to break the magic of the moment, he needed an explanation. He shifted, nervous.
—Do you like it? It’s fascinating —said a familiar voice near his ear.
Flute’s figure materialized before him, but not in her usual bluish tone, rather, in a full range of colors. Her hair and horns were a deep gray, with hints of blue where the symbol on her forehead cast reflections.
—Hello, my friend —said Flute, sighing, and sitting beside him, nestling against his arm. Her body was warm, much more than any person’s could be, due to her Dragonoid blood. Nero tried to speak, but Flute placed a finger on his lips and hushed him.
—This is the Sea of Blood —said the archangel, echoing Flute’s gesture—. We are on Prism Island, right at the center of Yomidgard. Let’s begin with the hardest thing to accept: you are dead, Nero.
He pressed his lips together and nodded. He remembered the metal piercing his chest. The cold gripping him, as his soul drifted away. But he also remembered Gilgamesh’s words.
—He didn’t want to kill me —said Nero.
—That’s right. Gilgamesh is a rather direct person, but an honest one —said the archangel, laughing. Her laughter was harmonious, almost rhythmic—. I think the next time I visit him, I’ll ask him to tell me one of his famous stories, or what he thought of you when he saw you.
—Seriously, who are you? —Nero insisted.
—Don’t insist, she already told you: she’s a friend. Besides, there are more important questions to ask —said Flute.
—Fine. What are we doing here? —said Nero.
The archangel stood and took flight. Her wings beat without crossing, and her clothes reflected the sunlight. She flew with the book open, running her fingers along its pages, reading it without reading it.
—Flute has told me everything. About Gill Lapis, about other dimensions, about the threat he represents, and how you ignored his plea for help —said the archangel—. Though it wasn’t necessary, as I already knew. Everything. The story of Yomidgard, past, present, and even a little of its future, appears in the chapters of this book. And in the appendices, I can read summaries of many other dimensions. It’s a pastime that has entertained me for a long time.
—How long? —said Nero.
—Be quiet and let her speak! —said Flute.
—Thank you. Flute is right: Gill Lapis’s actions are intolerable. And I don’t say that only for the sake of the people of Yomidgard, but for all those dimensions that have been captured. Will you help me, Nero? —said the archangel.
—I… I’m no hero —said Nero, lowering his head.
—Good, because we don’t need heroes —said the archangel, laughing. A lightning bolt cracked across the sky behind her—. Heroes focus only on predestined victory, for fate is inevitable. Besides, a hero is capable of dying for their ideals, and dead, that is something I consider quite useless. Death has never helped anything, and I know it well: I know her personally. No. Only someone whose destiny is tied to failure can face someone as unique as Gill Lapis.
—That makes no sense —said Nero.
—Forget the rules of logic, and think for yourself for once! What is more powerful than failure? —Nero was tempted to answer “victory,” but the archangel raised a finger, as if she knew what he would say, and answered herself—: Nothing! Nothing is more powerful than failure. When you fail to fulfill a purpose, you are faced with two options: give up, or try again.
The archangel landed before them. She spread her wings and bowed, holding the book against her chest. Where her bare feet touched the ground, flowers began to bloom, and even the grass grew greener.
—I can see your heart, Nero. How many times have you failed in your life? —said the archangel.
Nero didn’t answer. He couldn’t take his eyes off the archangel, nor even close his mouth. His heart raced wildly, without knowing why. The only thing Nero could think was that he was witnessing something unique. Something… sacred.
—Close your mouth, will you? You look like an idiot —Flute told him, lifting his jaw.
“Get a hold of yourself” Nero told himself. But it was difficult, with the archangel so close. She radiated a sensation of pure peace and harmony, so intense it dulled all his senses.
—Many —Nero finally managed to stammer.
—Yes. Many. And you are still here —said the archangel, smiling.
Heavy tears welled up in Nero’s eyes, and his knees gave out. The archangel was too pure, too radiant, too… too much, in every sense.
A dark thought formed in his mind. What if the archangel was not what she seemed? It was a reasonable thought, after all, demons hid their true forms and disguised themselves as beautiful figures, sometimes even angelic.
—Don’t insult me, Nero. I am not a demon —said the archangel, lifting her chin indignantly.
—Did you just think the Goddess Velmar is a demon? —said Flute, surprised.
—What? No! What? Of course not! I thought that she —Nero said, referring to the archangel— might be a demon!
—Are you an idiot? —said Flute, with a half-smile. Nero’s expression was one of complete confusion. He made an urgent gesture with his hands, urging her to say something. But Flute simply pointed at the archangel with both hands, stating the obvious.
At last, the pieces fell into place in Nero’s mind, and his expression shifted from confusion to surprise, then to fear, and finally to concern. He slowly turned his head, looking at the archangel, knowing who she truly was.
—If you were looking for a moment to freak out, this is it —Flute whispered into his ear.
—Can we skip the formalities? —said the archangel. But Nero still stared at her, eyes wide— I see we cannot. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Nero. I am Velmar. The goddess, the protector of Yomidgard, the prismatic light of this world. A pleasure to finally meet you in person. I have read much about you in my book. Come on, be informal with me.
—No… yes… I don’t… but… what about the statues? I’ve seen some, and you don’t look anything like them —said Nero.
—Thank you. I’d love to say I hear that often, but I hardly get any visitors here, in the middle of nowhere —said Goddess Velmar.
—I mean… the statues… if you are Goddess Velmar… —said Nero.
—They’re of someone else. One of Gill Lapis’s agents, whose name is Valentina. She’s a very amusing woman, though a bit obsessed with control. She’s impersonating me, and she does it very well. She loves being worshipped like a goddess. It’s almost sad how hard she tries —said Goddess Velmar.
—She’s pretending to be you? —said Nero.
—Don’t make me repeat myself. Yes, she’s pretending to be me. Valentina has one of the seven keys of magic, the Mirage Key. That object allows her to take on the appearance of anyone as long as she possesses it. Look, it’s this one —said Goddess Velmar, showing him a page of her book. In it appeared seven completely different keys, arranged in a circle, surrounding the drawing of a miniature archway.
Nero’s mouth went dry. The archangel was a goddess, and not just any goddess, but Goddess Velmar herself. She was the one the people of Yomidgard prayed to in search of comfort. She was the one who commanded the angelic hosts, beings of the purest light, brighter than a thousand dawns.
And she had called him a failure.
—Hey! Are you implying I’m a failure? —said Nero.
—You’re as sharp as I expected, though not quite as quick as I’d like! —said Goddess Velmar. Nero still wore a displeased expression— Don’t misunderstand me, please. For the mission I’m about to entrust to you, I need people who can tolerate failure, who know failure, and who have overcome failure, no matter how many times, when, or how. In the face of failure, the only thing that matters is why.
—What’s the why? —said Flute.
—That’s Nero’s to figure out —said Goddess Velmar.
Nero hesitated for a moment. There was no real reason not to give up after failing. No justification, no logical reasoning. Just…
—Because it’s the right thing to do —said Nero.
Goddess Velmar snapped her fingers and pointed at him, smiling. As she gestured, the sky suddenly cleared and the wind tore petals from the flowers on the ground, lifting them into a spiral of vivid colors.
—The right thing, for that is the only thing that can be done. That is why you can face Gill Lapis: because you know what to do when the time comes —said Goddess Velmar.
—The right thing —Nero repeated.
Those two words awakened something within him that he had forgotten. A spark ignited in his soul, kindling a flame that would take time to become a blaze, but once begun, could never be stopped.
Nero exhaled, and as he did, wisps of yellow light emerged from his mouth. The tips of his fingers glowed for a moment, and he felt whole, somehow connected to the Goddess.
—What was that? —he asked.
—You have been infused —said Goddess Velmar, smiling—. Not by me, by yourself. And that makes me suspect you hide more secrets than I imagined.
—And what is being infused for? —said Nero, turning his hands, searching for the light, unsuccessfully.
—You’ll understand when the time comes. This is only the first time, Nero. Soon, many more people will become infused. You’ll see —said Goddess Velmar. Her expression darkened slightly— This dimension… has become a prison. But even the most secure prison has ways out.
—Portals? —said Flute, excited. The goddess nodded.
—Where is it? —said Nero.
—Close to you, very far from here. Someone will show it to you when you awaken —said Goddess Velmar.
—But… if I’m dead, how am I supposed to wake up? —said Nero.
Goddess Velmar showed him her book. It was beautiful, and seemed to emit a faint luminous pulse. She ran her fingers along the inside of the back cover, and letters appeared, written in golden ink. Nero couldn’t understand them, but somehow knew it was his name.
—Now that you appear in the Chronicles of Yomidgard, I have made you the owner of this book. And with it, your life is tied to this dimension. And therefore, you cannot be dead, for the dimension would be as well —said Goddess Velmar.
—I’m not dead anymore? Just like that? —said Nero.
—Let’s say yes, just like that —said Goddess Velmar. Nero began to hyperventilate, suddenly gasping for air. She conjured a glyph of light before his eyes, calming him— Relax. You’ve returned to life. I also took the opportunity to tear from your soul the part that bound you to your father. It was what made you feel like a demon. Now you will still be yourself, the same Devil as always, but without the horrible feeling of being a demon. Thank Gilgamesh, if you ever see him again.
—Really? You can bring the dead back to life? —said Nero, surprised.
—I shouldn’t, but I’m capricious, and I don’t get many chances to show off. Normally, I prefer souls to reincarnate, and to appear again in Yomidgard as a new version of themselves, keeping their name but not their memories. But I can also do what I just did —said the Goddess, wrinkling her nose— Nero, I need you to understand what you are about to do. By crossing the archway, you will leave Yomidgard. I have already placed Scheherezade in your path. You’ve met her, haven’t you?
—The librarian? Yes, she’s appeared to me in dreams —said Nero.
—Ah, how she loves dramatic entrances! But I am an avid reader, so I live for those moments —said Goddess Velmar, caressing the cover of her book.
—It sounds simple —said Flute.
Nero hesitated. Whenever something seemed too good, or too simple, something inside him stirred, skeptical.
—I can see the question in your eyes, Nero. Why don’t I do this myself? —said Goddess Velmar.
—It’s hard to talk to a Goddess —said Nero, blushing.
—I cannot leave Yomidgard. Demons and Warlocks have grown increasingly bold, and anyone with power does foolish things. If I leave, some reckless act might cause Velmardia to fall. And I will not allow that. I have sacrificed too much to abandon my faithful —said Goddess Velmar.
—Alright. So, open the archway, cross it, find Scheherazade, and face Gill Lapis. By doing that, will Yomidgard be free? —said Nero.
—I don’t know. You will have to find out for yourself —said Goddess Velmar—. Now, you must depart. Both of you. You have already spent too long on Prism Island, and I can feel the magic of this place beginning to shift, and I cannot allow the portal at the center of Yomidgard to open yet.
—What’s on the other side? —Flute asked.
—All the facets of love —said Goddess Velmar. Flute stifled a cry of excitement—. It is time. Before you leave, remember that I am the one who holds the final key. And you will need a creature made from the very essence of the archway to cross it, so do not part from your new friend. Ah, and whatever you do, do not face him! I will deal with him.
—Who? —said Nero.
—I wish you the best of luck. Once more, Nero: with feeling —said Goddess Velmar, turning away.
Her wings beat as she took flight, descending toward another part of the island. The sea, enraged, roared loudly. Nero and Flute grabbed each other’s hands as they saw a wave over fifteen meters high rushing toward them, toward the nearest shore. A storm broke above them. The wind drove the rain, forcing them to shield their eyes with their arms. In the sea, flashes of vivid purple light emerged from the depths. Terrified, they watched as a dense layer of mist formed around them.
Something pulled at them, separating them, dragging them toward the sea. A giant wave swept them away, drenching them in salt water. The water was very warm.
The sea swallowed them. They thrashed, trying to reach the surface, but the current was too strong. They weren’t too far from shore, but they couldn’t fight the pull of the sea.
Nero gasped, trying to breathe, and his mouth filled with water.
