Chapter 157
'This distance should be enough.
Don't get too close, but don't stray too far either.'
Fuuuuh!
'He looks exhausted, yet his steps remain unwavering.
As always.'
In the midst of a lonely path blanketed by silence, a lone figure walked forward.
The cold air bit sharply, freezing every breath into a thin mist that vanished as soon as it was devoured by the wind, even though the earth itself resisted the urge to wrap the world in snow.
The trees lining both sides of the road stood like silent sentinels, forming a natural corridor that seemed to guide his every step toward a scenario waiting ahead.
In that monumental solitude, his footsteps left deep impressions on the damp earth, as though nature itself was recording the spiritual journey he was undertaking.
From a tightly maintained distance—about two hundred meters behind—a shadow moved with precision almost beyond human perception.
Theo Vkytor, the faithful follower, had calculated every variable.
That distance was a magical number: far enough not to echo his presence into Aldraya's awareness, yet close enough to ensure that not a single important detail of this journey slipped past his observation.
Every movement Theo made was the perfect application of the highest observational art, where he melded seamlessly with the darkness of the trees, with the whispering wind brushing over dry leaves, becoming part of the still and unremarkable landscape.
For Theo, following from behind was not merely a mission or task.
It was the most intimate form of reverence, a silent epilogue from a creator watching his descendant walk their own path.
Within that safe distance, he could reflect on the cosmic irony binding him.
The soul of a writer from another world was now trapped inside a realm inspired by his own imagination, watching one of his creations struggle toward reconciliation with God—who, on a certain layer of reality, might also be his creation.
Every step Aldraya took carved a narrative that far exceeded the original plot he once wrote.
'Just a few seconds before the distance becomes too wide.'
Wussssh!
'Behind each of his steps hides a meaning far greater than Aldraya himself understands.'
Fhhhh!
'Time to move again.'
In the quiet broken only by the sigh of the wind, Theo used the momentary pause.
His body froze like a statue behind a large tree trunk, while his eyes—sharp and unblinking—watched the distant figure slowly drifting farther away.
Only when the distance stretched like a thread about to snap did he allow himself to move.
From within his dark backpack, he pulled out an old yellow notebook, its cracked leather resembling a map from a forgotten era.
With his left hand opening the pages and his right hand gripping a simple black pen, he began to write.
The pen moved quickly, nearly silent, bringing lines of text to life on the worn paper.
Today he walks toward forgiveness, while I follow toward revelation.
Each of his steps is a verse from a scripture I never finished, a prayer spoken by his feet instead of his lips.
These trees are witnesses to two wanderers.
One seeks God, the other seeks the meaning of becoming God in someone else's narrative.
I write not to remember, but to understand how my creation learns to breathe beyond my mind.
The ink dried as fast as the thoughts appeared.
Theo added another paragraph, his letters sharp and filled with intensity.
The cold that refuses to become snow is the perfect metaphor for his waiting.
A state in between—not liquid, not solid.
Like him, no longer fully an angel, but not a mortal either.
And like me, no longer a writer, yet not merely a character in this game.
We are all trapped in transition, waiting for a final transformation that may never come.
He narrowed his eyes, seeing Aldraya's silhouette fading into the bend of the road and the creeping shadows of dusk.
A subtle urgency brushed his soul.
With one final motion, he wrote a short and heavy closing line.
Love and betrayal are two sides of the same coin, tossed into the river of fate, and all we can do is guess which side will show once it reaches its source.
The book closed with a soft burst of dust.
The pen was tucked away.
With a deep breath filling his lungs with cold air and resolve, Theo pushed himself away from the tree.
His once still and anchored steps shifted into swift, silent pursuit.
He moved like a lengthening shadow, gliding along the road's edge with the skill of a hunter who knows his target is on the verge of vanishing.
Aldraya's figure ahead was already faint, just a trembling silhouette among the trees and the creeping night fog.
Theo quickened his pace, maintaining a rhythm that kept him from getting too close, yet preserving the thin thread of fate connecting them.
This silent pursuit had to continue.
'Former Highest Angel….'
Hfffh!
'You were the first to exist, even before your two Brothers opened their eyes.
No wonder your radiance has always been exceptional, a brilliance unmatched by the twelve Highest Angels who were raised beside you.'
Behind the mask and the high collar of his black sweater, Theo's lips moved slowly, whispering words caught only by the wind and himself.
His voice was hoarse, merging with the rustling leaves, becoming part of the natural symphony surrounding them.
The first to exist, even before your two Brothers opened their eyes.
Even now, Theo's gaze never left the distant figure.
Aldraya was the first pair of eyes to witness heavenly splendor, the first soul to feel boundless awe.
Before the word 'time' held meaning, before the concept of 'family' was ever conceived, you were already its core.
A mother and elder sister to the twelve siblings born from the same light.
Theo continued walking, adjusting his pace to match Aldraya's steady steps.
His breath condensed in the cold air, forming small clouds that quickly vanished.
His thoughts dove deep into the archive of narrative memory he possessed—both as creator and as observer within this world.
Theo recognized the profound tragedy embedded within the irony.
The first jewel, the foundation of love within the most primordial celestial family, was also the first to be uprooted by the storm of betrayal.
Curiosity that once brought miracles eventually led him to the brink of doubt and rebellion.
Then, in a deeper tone heavy with the burden of his meta-knowledge, Theo added:
And now, after thousands of cycles of suffering and redemption, you walk once more toward the Source.
Carrying with you every golden memory of a caretaker, and every dark wound of a traitor.
Theo exhaled a long breath.
His murmur was both a prayer and a confession—from an architect watching the monument of his creation crack, and with power no longer his, attempting to heal itself.
He kept walking, maintaining the distance, becoming both spectator and participant bound within a cosmic drama he no longer fully controlled.
'No. They are not mere complements.'
Sshhhh!
'They are the twelve principal pillars, the foundation for all that was meant to be ordered and unordered.'
Huuuuh!
'That is why there are no substitutes in creations that ancient.
Only roles that bind one another, and wounds inherited together.'
Beyond the majestic figure of Aldraya—known as the Mother of Angels, who once bore the name Silvia Cantika Putri along with her absolute Authority—the twelve other Highest Angels stood with undeniable splendor.
To be continued…