“Bong—bong—bong—”
A deep, resonant bell toll suddenly rang out, penetrating every alley and every house in the town. Clear and solemn, it echoed layer upon layer, sweeping across the entire human town.
This was the tolling of the Temple of Light's bell.
The heavy bell sound was like a silent command, causing the townspeople scattered everywhere to freeze in their tracks all at once.
Before long, the spacious open square in front of the temple was teeming with people, a continuous stream of crowds still pouring in.
In the center of the square stood a sturdy, makeshift wooden platform.
Schutard, who had just broken down in tears inside the temple, deep in a thousand years of regret, had long since gathered himself and cast aside all trace of his fallen state.
The stooped exhaustion born of a thousand-year wait had completely faded, replaced by an intense, searing fervor.
In the depths of his aged, clouded eyes, the most brilliant light in a thousand years blazed into life. His body trembled slightly—not from frailty, but from a millennium of suppressed emotion bursting to break free.
Her Grace the Goddess had returned.
He had guarded for a full thousand years, hoped for a full thousand years.
Today, he would personally tell every wandering, fear-stricken human believer—their God had returned!
As the waiting crowd gradually settled and the clamor slowly died down, thousands of gazes landed in unison on the elderly man upon the high platform.
Schutard took a step forward. His aged yet powerful voice echoed clearly across the entire square with the lingering resonance of the temple:
“My devout people, all believers who have held fast to your faith!”
“On this very day—”
He paused, his throat bobbing, and his voice suddenly carried a barely perceptible tremor.
“Her Grace... has finally returned.”
“We... are no longer abandoned children.”
“We have a home!”
“Praise the Light!!!”
When his voice fell, a dead silence descended upon the square first.
Then, it erupted completely.
“The Goddess... has returned?” A white-haired old man clutched the polished holy emblem on his chest, his lips trembling in disbelief.
“Is it true? Did Her Grace really hear our prayers?”
Yet some harbored doubts. After all, though they had grown up hearing legends of Her Grace the Goddess, they had never witnessed a miracle nor felt the protection of the Holy Light.
The legends were too distant, so far away they felt like an unreachable dream.
Yet no one voiced any skepticism.
Because the man standing on the platform was Schutard—a witness who had lived for a thousand years, the spiritual pillar for everyone in town.
He never lied, and he would never make light of the Goddess's holy name.
“Praise the Light!”
No one knew who shouted first, but immediately, shouts rose one after another across the square. Carrying the excitement and yearning suppressed for countless years, the voices swelled higher and higher.
Taking in the crowd's reaction below, Schutard let out a soft sigh.
He knew that an unproven proclamation was not enough to dispel the haze lingering in everyone's hearts.
A thousand years of rift ran too deep; only a true miracle could rekindle the spark of faith.
He raised his hand, gesturing for everyone to quiet down.
“Please pray with me to welcome Her Grace's Holy Light.”
As his words fell, he was the first to drop to his knees, pressing his hands together and bowing his head in devout prayer.
The residents below followed suit, the dense crowd kneeling down one after another as ancient prayers poured from countless lips.
At first scattered and faint, the voices gradually merged into a single melody, solemn and majestic. It pierced through the clouds, as if transcending time and space to reach the ears of that supreme entity.
At the exact moment the prayers reached their peak—
The holy feather Selby held in his hands burst into a dazzling white light without warning!
Without the slightest hesitation, he stepped forward and raised the feather high above his head.
Hum—
Centered on the feather, a warm and gentle Holy Light spread outward like ripples on water.
Countless luminescent white particles drifted out from the light, floating upward and congregating like fireflies dancing in the sky.
Under the awestruck gazes of everyone present, the light particles intertwined and solidified in midair, gradually outlining the tall, holy phantom of an angel.
Twelve wings unfolded behind the phantom. A holy pressure, gentle yet grand, enfolded the entire town.
Wherever the light particles drifted, withered plants along the streets sprouted fresh shoots, and even long-unhealed internal injuries on the townspeople welled with a comforting warmth.
“A miracle!! This is a miracle!!”
No one knew who shouted at the top of their lungs, shattering the silence.
“Her Grace the Goddess has descended! It really is Her Grace!!”
The square erupted completely.
Everyone bowed deeply, pressing their foreheads against the cold ground. Some wept tears of joy, while others broke into loud sobs.
Children ignorantly followed the adults in kneeling, their small faces filled with wonder—it was the first time they had ever seen light so warm and beautiful.
Unlike the feverish excitement of the crowd, Schutard stared blankly at the angelic phantom in midair, tears already streaming down his face.
Cloudy tears slid down his aged cheeks, dripping onto the stone platform and leaving small wet marks.
A thousand years.
From the day the Holy City fell, he had barely survived, wandering in displacement and guarding a dying spark of faith for a full thousand years.
He had wavered, he had despaired, and countless times in the dead of night, he had questioned whether maintaining this vigil held any meaning at all.
But now, he saw it.
He saw the Holy Light, he saw the divine phantom, and he saw that the faith his teacher had guarded with his life truly had a day to be reignited.
Teacher... do you see this?
Her Grace has returned.
The spark you protected with your life was never extinguished.
We waited for a thousand years, and finally... it has come.
His throat choked up, leaving him almost unable to breathe, his heart surging with ecstasy, guilt, relief, and a comfort spanning a millennium.
Right then, an ethereal and gentle sigh—yet infused with unquestionable majesty—softly echoed deep within everyone's minds.
Like a spring breeze sweeping across frozen earth, like the Holy Light dispersing a long night.
“Come back.”
“A thousand years of holding fast—you need wait no longer.”
Schutard trembled violently.
He clearly felt the holy phantom in midair turn its head slightly, its gaze landing upon him.
There was no blame, only compassion and understanding.
Her Grace knew.
She knew the suffering of these thousand years, knew his wavering and his perseverance, knew the tragic heroics of the Holy City's fall, and knew every unspoken hope of all her believers.
The old man could no longer hold it in. He bowed heavily, resting his forehead against the cold stone platform, sobbing uncontrollably.
“Your Grace...”
“Your believer, Schutard... respectfully welcomes Your Grace's return to the mortal world!”
Rate on N.U.
