Victoria? Isn't Her name Valeria?
Why would master address Her as such? Perhaps it is part of His story. Master really is a mysterious person…
Longel thought of the final comment of the Sun God towards the Goddess. She tried thinking about it logically, but She was unable to come to a satisfying conclusion.
If it were as simple as a reference to Her symbolism of Victory, Solatin would have been better calling Her "Victory", rather than the use of "Victoria".
Considering how Her master barely gave anything about His past, She could be mostly sure this appellation had something to do with it, but how?
And of course, Longel would not dare ask such a question. She believed it would be best if Her master decided to speak by Himself, if the time ever came.
And if this time never came, She would have to research by Herself.
But is it really alright to look into the past of my creator, one that He is Himself hiding from others?
Humans do the same with religion. It is only normal to want to know everything.
Mr. Uqlurius could help me, since it doesn't seem like Ms. Valeria would purposefully reveal Her secrets. He would be more likely to reveal such details.
Longel finally lifted Her head and looked around Her. It seemed She had been deep in thought for quite some time, enough for them to end up back at the "game" hall.
Thinking back at the corridor and their patterns, She tried looking at the obsidian walls, only to fail to notice anything particular on them. They were just what they seemed to be.
Solatin's white robe moved swiftly while He turned His body towards His angel, giving Her a smug smile as He nodded towards a door behind one of the seats. "The game shall soon carry on, and we must go back to our designed door."
"…"
The sun's light was weak on the Praussurian Empire, precisely in the city of Sredizmiye. It was still snowy like the previous day, which was to be expected in Artuxia, the first month of the year.
The grand street was covered by people of all kinds, some of them being in the center, walking towards their destination, while some stood on the side, promoting their ideas and businesses.
A girl with hair as white as the snow around her walked through the busy street. People spoke left and right, politics and religion, crime and love. Nobles and peasants, local and immigrants, the city of the first light never ceased to grow in diversity.
Members of the church spoke the words of "God"; at this point, she couldn't be sure if this God really even existed, she would have to ask the Sun God.
Even before meeting the divine being, she thought of religion more as a moral guide rather than an objective truth. She still believed that the church proposed great morals and values, such as love, peace, and redemption, but didn't think that anything like God truly existed.
It all seemed very foolish to her, being preoccupied with otherworldly problems instead of seeing the ones in society.
The girl made sure to make a stop at a particular shop. It was neither small nor very luxurious.
The man on the other side of the counter had a dark skin tone, showing his heritage to all those who observed him.
Unlike a lot of people from the continent of Arakia, this man was not ashamed to say he was from the region. He wholeheartedly believed that one day, the continent would shine bright, and he could go back to it.
At least, that is what he told her.
She stopped there and reached for her wallet before the tall man threw a journal at her and waved at her afterward.
Her look was one of hesitation.
Her mind told her to throw the money on the counter, while her heart told her to leave.
She decided to follow her heart and leave the scene, walking on the snowy ground and leaving marks of her passage behind.
Thinking about it, how was the Sun God born?
I never really thought about how the church's God was born because it didn't really concern me, and as long as its followers were happy, I didn't really mind about finding any logic in it.
But now that I am His supposed prophet, I am right to wonder about His existence.
Ivan once asked me whether I thought that God created humans or if humans created God.
I just thought that fucker was going crazy due to his lack of sleep.
But I guess he wasn't all that crazy… Unless I'm going crazy too?
Haha!
As she walked away to her final destination. The young lady received a lot of surprised looks on her way.
This young girl stood a lot taller than most women, and even taller than a lot of men, making her stand out from the crowd.
When finally arriving at her destination, she looked around her and realized that the snow had stopped piling up.
She looked forward at the small shop with the name of Svobotsa Print Shop and its wooden design. Despite it being a building of a certain age, it held up quite well to the flow of time.
She looked at the wooden door and stepped forward.
She went to knock but stopped right before, remembering Ivan's instruction. She took a step back and walked towards the back door of the print shop.
She soon arrived at the back door and pushed it open, presenting one of the shop's rooms in front of her, with a few of her colleagues in it.
A few heads turned towards the young lady, and a young boy with blonde hair was the first to talk and express his greetings.
"Oh! Anastasia! I thought you wouldn't come!" Rodion waved frantically at Anastasia and almost threw himself to hug the lady.
Seeing him arrive at high speed, she dodged him and let the boy hit the wall behind her.
"Good morning, Kiril, Ornichis." She used a more respectful bow to the two gentlemen, not because of Kiril, but because of Ornichis.
The older man was one of the people Anastasia admired most in this world, unlike the fool that was Kiril.
She gave a look of disdain to the foolish man and went on with her entry, taking off her red hood and marching through the corridor, up to a specific door, where she stopped and knocked.
Inside, a calm and ageless voice tells her she has the right to enter, therefore making her open the door.
Inside is a large desk with tons of sheets of paper in it, as well as multiple weapons behind it, placed to be shown to anyone who dared enter. The walls were made of wood and had kept their dark brown color.
Behind the desk was a man whose age couldn't be determined at first glance; he was both sage and bold, youthful and experienced.
His dark hair was loosely tied, and his glasses weren't on his face, but instead placed on his desk.
On his desk was carved the name "Ivan Pavlichenko".
"What may bring you here, Anastasia?" He rubbed his glabella and closed his eyes, probably from the cumulative fatigue of revising all those documents.
He must be exhausted… We're not very helpful, either; it is mostly out of pity that he took us here.
"Vlad is dead."