It was clear that the disputes between the Chrysos Heirs and the Council of Elders were gradually beginning to affect the citizens too.
As a result, Okhema, something Aglaea had painstakingly molded into unity, was slowly starting to drift toward disharmony.
Under such circumstances, it was hard to say whether this was something Caenis had intentionally brought about this situation.
As Stelle moved through the crowd, she noticed the chaos spreading everywhere.
People weren't just arguing, they were fiercely debating, clashing over the issue of "votes," arguing over who should receive their precious right to choose.
And the onlookers began to notice a particularly interesting pattern.
Those who supported Aglaea... were mostly people who, in life, had experienced their City States being destroyed by the Black Tide.
For example, followers of Oronyx, and those from Castrum Kremnos.
They firmly supported the Chrysos Heirs, and believed that only the Flame Chase Journey could save the world.
Among them, a small number of followers chose to support the Council of Elders instead, such as the followers of Talanton.
And among these followers of Talanton, their support for the Council of Elders was inseparable from the contributions of that Theoros.
From their conversations, it could be inferred that the Theoros seemed to have deep and intricate ties with Talanton in the eyes of the people.
As for those who supported the Council of Elders... most of them had already lost their City States several generations ago.
Their understanding of the Black Tide and its threats came only from stories passed down by their ancestors hundreds of years ago.
For these people, who had migrated to Okhema and lived there for generations, the so-called threats and apocalyptic disasters were something they had never personally witnessed.
Because of this, compared to the Black Tide... These "outsiders," who had already lived in Okhema for centuries, were more inclined to seek stability and comfort in their present lives.
So after receiving Caenis' promises, they became determined to support her, hoping she would win the Citizens' Assembly.
Only then could they share in the distribution of power after her victory.
After all, the Black Tide was something distant and intangible. But the power right in front of them, that could tangibly improve their status and lives.
Seeing all this, the audience felt a mix of complicated emotions.
...
: To put it bluntly, Aglaea protected these people too well.
: Some of them can't even tell whether it's the Chrysos Heirs or the Council of Elders protecting them anymore, yet they still cling to dreams of the Golden Age.
: And at a time like this, they're still thinking about their voting rights... speechless.
: Centralization really is better...
: As expected, people are the same everywhere, either fighting internally or on their way to doing so.
: No matter how many times I watch this, it still feels unbelievable. The outside world is already in that state, yet the people of Okhema still try to solve things through an assembly.
: Let's hope the assembly can solve the Black Tide too.
...
After this brief interlude, Stelle successfully reunited with Castorice.
In the garden of the Marmoreal Palace, Castorice stood quietly, gazing into the distance.
"Hey, Castorice." Stelle approached quietly from behind.
Only then did Castorice come back to her senses, offering a faint smile. "Stelle."
Stelle went straight to the point. "What did Aglaea say? What are we supposed to do next?"
Castorice replied gently, "Before that, if it isn't too much to ask, I'd really like it if you could come along with me to retrieve something."
Stelle scratched her head, but didn't refuse. The two of them left the garden together.
Just like when Stelle had arrived, the crowd gathering in the Marmoreal Palace was growing larger, all of them engaged in heated discussions about the Citizens' Assembly.
Watching the arguing crowd, a trace of confusion flickered in Castorice's eyes.
She couldn't understand why these people were so entangled over such matters.
"You look a bit confused." Stelle noticed her expression.
"...Yes." Castorice didn't hide her emotions. After a pause, as if mustering courage, she spoke:
"To this day, I still find it almost unreal that Okhema is the only place illuminated by light amidst the crumbling ruins of Amphoreus, and its people are even holding votes to reconcile differing opinions..."
"This peaceful sight is making me forget that this is the end times."
"Before coming here, I had lived for many years in Aidonia, a city of rime and frost. The people there were devotees of Thanatos, and were well-known for their unique burial rites and traditions."
"...Traditions that I played a major role in."
Stelle glanced at her. "Because of the curse on you?"
Castorice nodded. "Yes. You now know me as the mortician of Okhema..."
"But back in those days, I was Aidonia's Holy Maiden."
As Stelle walked beside her through the bustling crowd, she listened to Castorice's story.
"I was trudging across the frosty plains on my own when the Aidonians found me. They saw the curse in me as a blessing from Thanatos, and believed that my hands could correct the Era Chrysea's mistake and lead them to meet the great god of death."
"They provided me shelter, but in return..."
"I was expected to grant "merciful deaths" to war captives, prisoners bound for execution, and heroes alike."
Castorice's voice was soft, her pace unhurried. The story, as told by her, carried an innate sense of quiet sorrow.
But Stelle, lacking tact as always, instinctively replied: "Isn't that just an executioner?"
Castorice smiled, but did not deny it.
"Yes. No matter how kind or cruel the means, nothing can change the essence of death..."
"Taking away someone's life is never worthy of religious worship."
As she spoke, Castorice lowered her head.
Leading Stelle forward, she continued to recount fragments of her life in Aidonia.
Back then, under the guidance of an elder named Amunet, she had to watch people die by her own hands.
Heroes, criminals, the gravely ill, the nameless, without exception, all met their end through her.
Some accepted it calmly. Some were filled with anger.
Some cursed her to their last breath.
At a young age, Castorice had already personally witnessed the many ways death could transform a person.
As these stories unfolded... even the chat gradually fell silent. This was the first time the audience had truly glimpsed into the inner world of this Holy Maiden.
And they immediately felt the weight of what she had endured.
"Elder Amunet always said that I should respect those walking towards death."
"And likewise, as the Holy Maiden granting humans glory and liberation... I should respect myself as well."
Castorice's voice came from ahead of Stelle. Yet the confusion within it did not fade with her words, instead, it only deepened.
"But what I do... how is it any different from an executioner? How am I supposed to respect myself?"
"Elder Amunet told me that the meaning of my actions is to gather light upon my own death."
"But… death, when could it ever be associated with mercy?"
Stelle parted her lips. She wanted to comfort Castorice, yet didn't know from what angle she could possibly do so.
So she could only listen, as Castorice spoke, like a quiet confession, continuing her tale.
Until, at the very end the story, that Elder Amunet, who had guided her onto the path of a Holy Maiden…
Ultimately, she too died calmly at Castorice's fingertips.
"Amunet, who tried to teach me about death, ultimately vanished like morning dew in the mist."
"She spent her entire life upholding the faith of Aidonia. And when death finally came, I still remember the expression on her face."
"Nothing but reverence."
"I made a cenotaph in the marshes outside Aidonia for her afterwards, and later left Aidonia in search of Thanatos."
"That was a very, very long road. Along the way, I heard countless discussions about death."
"Life gains meaning from death; all things move forward because they come to an end…"
"It feels like the darkest terror in the world, everyone speaks of its weight. Some resist it, some worship it, some fear it…"
...
"A Titan whose whereabouts are unknown, why has it become the deepest fear in people's hearts?"
Castorice's voice lingered across the screen. This was the deepest part of her heart. And the question she had always carried.
That was why she wanted to restore life to Stelle.
After experiencing so much… She truly wanted to know whether her touch, her embrace, could bring something other than death… something warmer.
Outside the screen, the audience, too, fell into a faint, hollow sadness as they listened to Castorice's story.
But just then, the image on the screen flickered.
A short-haired man suddenly appeared in frame. His eyes were wide, pupils contracted, his face filled with panic and terror.
"I don't want to die, I don't want to die!! I don't want this, this kind of mercy!!"
Weak, the man collapsed to his knees, frantically begging the person before him.
And the one standing before him... was Castorice.
This was… a story from the past?
The audience's eyes widened instantly, drawn in.
On screen, Castorice was completely different from how she was in Okhema. She wasn't wearing a beautiful dress, nor did she carry that sense of "life."
She was merely cloaked in rough linen, standing before the man, calmly looking at him.
Then, without saying a word, amid his struggling and increasingly terrified screams, she extended her gloved right hand and gently placed it atop his head.
Everything fell silent. The screams. The struggle.
All of it ended the moment her hand descended, returning to stillness.
The man collapsed without a sound. Purple petals began to bloom from his body.
Moments later, his corpse dissipated into the world along with those petals.
And the shot froze on that hand, still stiffly suspended in midair.
"I hate these cold hands." Castorice's inner voice echoed beyond the screen.
The scene shifted.
In a dim, gray sky, an unidentifiable bird circled overhead.
Below, along rugged mountain paths, a procession cloaked in pointed hoods, carrying white flags, slowly made its way forward.
At the front of the group stood a small figure veiled in cloth.
That was Castorice as a child.
Even at such a young age, her hands were obediently placed before her.
Head lowered, eyes closed, she walked step by step to the mountain's summit.
At the peak, where many ancient structures stood, crowds had already gathered along both sides of the path. Some bowed in respect, others in fear, all lowering their heads.
They only dared to sneak glances at the small figure from the corners of their eyes.
Only one little girl, upon realizing that the so-called "Holy Maiden" was someone her own age, became excited and wanted to say something.
Perhaps she wanted to say, that the Saintess didn't seem as frightening as she looked.
But whatever she intended to say was immediately stopped by the adult behind her.
That stern gaze made the little girl shrink back, retreating cautiously.
Under everyone's watchful eyes Castorice walked alone into the highest building.
Along the path, were statues whose faces couldn't be seen looked down from above, silently observing.
The next moment, the scene shifted again.
Still under a gray filter.
The sky, the world, all tinged with the color of death.
In a graveyard, Castorice and a priest stood among rows of tombstones, looking at an old deer lying before them.
"Do it." The priest said coldly.
Hesitating, Castorice extended her gloved hand, inching it toward the old deer.
The deer lay there quietly, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on that hand.
Unable to bear what was about to happen, Castorice shut her eyes tightly.
Then, her hand touched the deer's head.
The already wheezing old deer visibly aged, withering at a rapid pace.
The faint background music at this moment also changed, into a slow, solemn chant.
It was grand, but brought no sense of uplift, only the oppressive weight of death.
Along with the music, the scene changed again.
This time, it was rows of elderly people lying quietly.
Their faces gaunt, their eyes dull and lifeless as they stared at Castorice approaching them.
"Do it." The priest's voice rang out again.
"Only you can bring them peace."
This time, it wasn't an animal, but people.
In the frame, Castorice's hand rose, lowered, rose again, lowered again… Yet she never placed it on the old person's head.
Suddenly, gritting her teeth, Castorice turned and ran out the door.
She ran wildly, passing once more through the statue-lined path.
The towering statues, just like before only watched her coldly.