Chapter8
Opening(There are those whom the gods remember.
Not because they prayed. Not because they begged.
But because they devoted themselves so completely…
that the divine could no longer ignore them.
Such mortals are called Chosen Angels.
A human may worship many gods.
Yet only one may claim their soul — and only once in a lifetime.
When chosen, a mortal does not merely gain power.
They are unbound.
The limits of flesh and will loosen.
The divine flows into them, subtle, absolute, unstoppable.
In battle, they may awaken a state beyond human reach —
a reflection of the god who claimed them.
Sometimes… in silence or in bloodshed…
they hear a voice.
Not their own.
But the voice of the one who chose them.
A Chosen Angel may do anything…
yet there is one law they may never break:
to speak of the gods. Their names. Their will. Their location.
To reveal such secrets is sin — a curse that can claim even a Chosen Angel's life.
To become a Chosen Angel is not ascension.
It is completion.
For once a god has acknowledged you…
there is nothing higher left to attain.)
The night hung heavy over the camp. Two Chosen Angels faced one another.
Tomasi: You could still try.
After all… you're a Chosen Angel, aren't you?
Guinevere froze, her eyes narrowing. Every muscle tensed.
Guinevere: Of course I am.
But I was not chosen by Monesa.
A whisper of steel echoed through the night. Her sword's tip glowed blue, crackling like distant lightning.
Guinevere: How… do you know that?
Tomasi tilted his head, a gentle, amused smile touching his lips.
From his palms, pale purple flames curled silently, swirling like mist.
Tomasi: Is… it really that important?
Guinevere's anger flared brighter, the blue flames along her blade surging.
Guinevere: Liar!
Tomasi: Perhaps… it is because I am chosen by Monesa that I can see it.
Guinevere: Bullshit. Being chosen doesn't make you special. Not more than any other angel.
Tomasi: Oh? Then perhaps you should ask your god.
I see… she chose you… and yet you've never met her. How unfortunate.
Guinevere's grip tightened, but before she could strike, a firm voice cut through the tension.
Princess: Stop — both of you!
They froze. Guinevere's eyes still burned; Tomasi remained as calm and elegant as ever.
Princess: I've heard it all.
She looked at Tomasi, her tone sharp.
Princess: How do you know all of that? I never told you… no one else knows.
Tomasi inclined his head slightly, voice soft, composed.
Tomasi: Because of the mark.
From his eyes, a crystal-like glow shone faintly from Guinevere's head.
Tomasi: You can't see it, Princess?
Princess: What mark?
Guinevere's anger deepened, suspicion flickering across her face.
Guinevere: Liar!
Tomasi: Perhaps. Or perhaps it is simply… the gift of being chosen by Monesa. That is why I can see it.
Guinevere: None of your business!
Princess: Calm down, both of you. Step away. Take some air. Stop arguing about this.
Tomasi inclined his head gracefully, bowing to Princess before leaving. Princess bent to retrieve her coat from the ground but paused. Her eyes burned with quiet determination.
Princess: It's not the time yet… don't worry. I haven't forgotten.
Guinevere exhaled slowly, her anger softening slightly. She turned and left.
Princess (thinking):
He's hiding something. I can feel it. But I can't push him… not yet.
Not until we reach Monesa.
Next
A small boy laughed, holding a tiny fish in his hands.
Kid: Mom! Look! I got ten fish! Haha, see? I'm better than father!
Suddenly… the world spun. Colors blurred. The laughter twisted into screams.
Kid (screaming): Father! Save me! Mom! Help me! I… can't… breathe!
Water roared around him. Panic clawed at his chest. The sky, the river, the world… all was chaos.
Kid: Momm…m…!
And then — silence.
John jolted awake, gasping, drenched in sweat, heart pounding.
John pressed his hands against his head, closing his eyes. He tried to calm himself, to steady the whirlwind inside his mind.
Suddenly, the tent flap rustled and Marco stepped in.
Marco: Hey, gardener! Ain't you ready yet? We're about to leave.
John: What!? Oh… oh, right… I forgot.
Marco (grinning): Looks like someone finally got some sleep.
John's mind spun. Am I… finally remembering? Is this really me?
Marco: Hey! Hey, you're not answering me! Just because I have such a good heart doesn't mean you can ignore me. I'm still the commander, you know.
John (nervously): Ah… Commander! Haha… sorry. I was just… thinking.
Marco (teasing): Thinking about Princess?
John's heart skipped a beat. No… no, I wasn't!
John (thinking): Why does she always pop into my thoughts like this… Ugh…
Marco: Trust me, you shouldn't even bother. She's… taken, anyway.
John: Taken?
Marco: She's a real Princess, of course. By another prince. Not some fake prince like you. Ha!
John: Ah?
Marco stood up, grinning wider.
Marco: Guinevere's calling you.
John: Really? Me? Why?
Marco (smirking): Go find out for yourself.
John: Taken?
Marco: She's a real Princess, of course. By another prince. Not some fake prince like you. Ha!
John: Ah?
Marco stood up, grinning wider.
Marco: Guinevere's calling you.
John: wait what?Really? Me? Why?
Marco (smirking): Go find out for yourself.
Next
John froze, just a few steps in front of her.
Guinevere's massive sword rested against her shoulder, yet it seemed to hum with quiet authority.
Guinevere :do you know why i called you here?
John :no.. I mean thats why im here to find it out
Guinevere :well we are going to face a big clash and our few soilder aint enough for that
John :50soilders aint enough? Haha what we are going on in a war?
Guinevere (smirking): well yah its is a war to be honest. And I want you to lead our men in today's war. Cause marco wont be here with us to lead the soilders.
John's voice caught in his throat.
John: W-War…?wait commender marco is going where?
Her eyes glinted, unreadable and sharp
Guinevere: Wel lwell he is on a mission whatever thats not your matter and do what you gotta do…haha good luck
The air between them thickened, heavy with unspoken truths and latent power. Outside, the camp stirred. Inside, silence held its breath.
…CHAPTER 8ENDS….