Departure to the North

Soren sat alone in his office, deep in thought.

If Alya knew what would happen if she died, why wasn't she trying harder to stay alive? She was the Saintess, the one chosen to protect humanity. Why did she act like none of it mattered?

Soren didn't understand.

Nothing was going the way he had planned. He thought that once he showed up to save her, she would be grateful. He had expected her to obey him, to follow his lead without question.

But she didn't.

A knock came at the door. Jeffrey stepped inside.

"My lord, you have a guest," he said.

"I told you—I'm not seeing anyone," Soren replied, frustrated.

Jeffrey hesitated. "It's Saintess Aileen, my lord."

"So what? Send her away."

Soren's eyes burned with anger. Jeffrey bowed and quickly left.

---

Aileen sat waiting in the drawing room of Soren's home in the capital. She sipped her tea calmly, a soft smile on her lips, expecting Soren to appear at any moment.

The door creaked open, and she turned hopefully.

But it wasn't Soren. It was Jeffrey.

"Apologies, Your Holiness," he said with a bowed head. "The Duke is too busy to meet with visitors today."

Jeffrey hated to hurt her, but he would not disobey his master.

Aileen's smile froze on her face.

"Is it alright if I wait for him?" she asked quietly.

"I shall ask the Duke," Jeffrey replied and walked away.

When Soren heard the request, he laughed bitterly.

"Let her wait," he said coldly, his eyes gleaming with quiet fury.

Aileen stayed for hours. Soren never came.

The next morning, a royal decree was announced: a trial would be held for the false saintess.

When Alya heard the news, she laughed for what felt like hours.

"Oh, this is getting interesting," she said, grinning.

But in the palace, Aileen was pacing in panic.

"A trial? What do they mean, a trial? Weren't they just going to execute her?" she cried.

She touched the saintess mark on her forehead, her hands trembling.

"I have to make sure they kill her. If they don't… they'll take my powers away."

---

Time passed quickly, and the day of the trial arrived.

But instead of defending herself, Alya made everything more difficult.

When her lawyer said, "My client never used her position to harm anyone," she interrupted:"What makes you think I didn't?"

When he argued, "The price of her power may not be tied to harming others," she calmly said:"What if I told you the price… is your soul?"

When he declared, "She has only ever used her power to help those in need," she looked at the crowd and said:

"I can assure you, I didn't."

Eventually, the court had to gag her so the trial could continue.

At the end, the sentence was passed: life in prison, with hard labor.

As they dragged her away, Alya rolled her eyes at Soren.

He should've been furious, but something about her made him want to laugh.

Even now, in chains, she was mocking him.

As Soren left the courtroom, he was stopped in the hallway by a familiar voice.

"Can we talk?" Aileen asked.

Soren paused. He knew he couldn't avoid her forever.

"Sure," he said.

They found an empty room and stepped inside. Aileen closed the door behind them.

"Why did you do it?" she asked quietly.

Soren gave a low chuckle as he turned to face her. This was the woman he had loved in seven of his regressions. And in every one of them, she had betrayed him.

"What did I do?" he asked with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Don't act like you don't know," she snapped. "You're trying to save Alya. I want to know why."

"Oh, that," Soren said casually. "Isn't this what you've been preaching? That Saintess Alya hasn't done anything deserving of death? That she should be spared?"

He tilted his head mockingly. "Right… that was all a lie. Just like your saintess mark."

Aileen's eyes widened. She stepped back as if slapped.

"What… I don't know what you're talking about. How could you—how could you say it's fake—"

"Stop," Soren cut her off, his voice colder. "I already know everything. You made a deal with the demon clan for your so-called mark."

"I didn't! I'm the real Saintess!" Aileen insisted, though her voice was shaky. Inside, she was panicking.

Soren looked at her, really looked at her, and for the first time in ten lives, he felt nothing.

He almost laughed. All those past versions of me who loved her. Who tried so hard to save her. Fools.

"I'm not going to expose you," he said with a calm smile. "Don't worry, the demon clan will do that for me."

He paused. "Take care of yourself, Aileen."

Then he turned and walked away, leaving behind a stunned and frightened Aileen.

---

Alya sat lazily inside an expensive carriage. She scoffed to herself.

"Life in prison, yeah right. More like life in luxury."

She leaned back into the plush velvet seats and crossed her arms behind her head.She didn't know what Soren had said to convince the emperor, but she had a feeling it was something about war. That man had always been good at using logic to get what he wanted.

Still, the difference between her cold, stone cell and this cozy carriage was laughable.

Maybe I should let them throw me in jail more often, she thought, yawning.

It didn't take long before her eyes fluttered shut and she drifted off to sleep.

A little while later, the carriage door opened. Soren and Jeffrey stepped in.

Soren paused when he saw her asleep. He wasn't surprised. She really didn't care, did she?

Jeffrey looked at her uncertainly. "My lord… are you sure about this?"

He knew that, unlike Aileen, Alya's saintess mark wasn't on her forehead. It was said to be on her back. Not many had seen it, but high-ranking priests had confirmed it.

Of course, no one could simply demand a maiden reveal her back, especially a saintess.

"Yes," Soren said firmly. "Get ready to depart."

Jeffrey got off the carriage to make sure everything was ready, and shortly after, they began moving.

Soren let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He had prevented a disaster, small, perhaps, but the most important one of all. Saintess Alya was alive, which meant the gods' punishment would not come. He allowed his muscles to relax, his eyes growing heavy as sleep finally took him.

He dreamt of a time before his first regression.

Back then, he had travelled to the capital for one reason: to witness the execution of Saintess Alya. He had truly believed she was a fraud and had hated her deeply. He hated her for not aiding the North as much as she could have. He hated her for taking sweet Aileen's place.

He had stood among the crowd as they led her to the guillotine.

Even as she was bound and brought forward, Saintess Alya looked… calm. She smiled gently, unsettling him. He had expected her to be afraid, to show guilt or rage, anything but peace.

He clenched his fists in frustration as they positioned her beneath the blade.

The crowd began to chant:

"Kill the fake! Kill the fake!"

And then, the blade dropped.

Saintess Alya was no more.

The crowd erupted into cheers. Soren had smiled too—until a piercing scream tore through the noise.

Everyone turned. A woman pointed a trembling hand toward the sky.

When Soren looked up, his blood ran cold.

The sun had turned red, blood red.

Panic broke out, people shouting, crying, and praying. No one understood at first. But soon, the truth became clear: they had killed the true saintess. The gods were abandoning them.

That memory jolted him awake.

Birds chirped softly around him. He blinked, disoriented, then turned toward the carriage window. An orange hue bathed the world outside.

His heart dropped.

Had it started again?

"Good evening, sleeping beauty," Alya said beside him.

The tension in his chest eased. Right. It was evening. The sun was simply setting, casting everything in gold.

Goddess Solara hadn't punished them. Not yet.

He let out a slow breath, then turned to face her.

And froze.

Alya sat peacefully, as if nothing was amiss. But the seat around her was packed with birds. They perched on her shoulders, her head, even her knees.

In her hand, she held a bright red apple, biting into it with quiet grace.

The scent reached him. Sweet. Crisp. Juicy.

Soren's eye twitched.

After the red sun, all crops had died. Fruits became rare. He had never gotten to eat anything fresh in the past regressions. Apples had become priceless luxuries for nobles and the corrupt.

In this life, he had been too busy preparing countermeasures to enjoy anything.

He stared longingly at the apple.

"Can I have a bite?" he asked.

Alya turned to him with a kind, almost serene smile.

"No," she said simply.

Soren blinked, stunned. He hadn't expected that answer.