Chapter 19 - Nocturne of Extinguished Candles

Eighty-three years ago...

A gentle breeze swayed through the green trees, alive with vitality. On the ground, above fallen leaves, the tracks of animals could be seen. Small ponds rested among the trees, where red deer speckled with white spots drank water. Suddenly, the deer raised their heads and fled from the pools. Slow footsteps echoed, crunching the withered leaves beneath them. Sunlight shimmered through the tall branches overhead. In the fractured beams of light, small birds could be seen chirping; others hunted insects, snatching them with their tiny talons.

As one of these birds pecked at a larva it had just caught, the reflection in its dark eye revealed a girl walking alone through the forest. She wore dark brown leather boots, trousers of a deep shade, and a long-sleeved shirt of light brown, fastened with four buttons across the chest and beneath the throat. Her straight crimson hair gleamed in the fertile sunlight, while her violet eyes observed the grace of everything around her.

This was Magura, moving through the forest of the mortal realm, an ordinary expedition for her. It was routine by now, since Magura had the rare ability to pass through the barrier encircling Ladnoria.

As she walked, she spotted a strange fruit: a pear, colored blue, dangling from a branch ahead. With a touch of frost, she froze the branch until it snapped, and the fruit fell at her feet. She picked it up, only to notice two marmots watching her, more precisely, the fruit in her hand. They hesitated, torn between approaching and fleeing in fear. With a soft gesture, Magura tossed the pear toward them, summoning a faint ripple of dark ice to slide the fruit closer. One marmot seized it, and together they scurried away.

Magura slipped her left hand into her pocket, her right resting naturally on the hilt of her sword within its belt, and continued on.

The forest around her thinned; the ground grew harsher beneath her steps until she reached a rocky summit. The view before her was like a fairy-tale: mountains and sprawling hills, great birds soaring in freedom, sunlight shining pure and whole, greenery so rare and vivid that it stole one's breath.

Magura inhaled deeply, exhaling in a gesture of release, of inner peace. Then she conjured her dark wings, spreading them wide in preparation. Like a bird, she leapt into the air and took flight.

She soared far from the chains of monotony that bound her. Her wings beat in rhythm, casting feathers that followed the symphony Magura created in the air, wings cursed yet expressive, carrying a different emotion altogether. Beneath her, wild horses galloped across the plains with the same freedom she felt. Meadows crowned with flowers sprawled over the hills, petals crying out the beauty of life, the beauty of the untamed world.

While flying, Magura noticed a small waterfall spilling into a quiet pool. Thirst tugged at her, and she descended, alighting gracefully before the water. Kneeling, she cupped her hand to draw from the pool, and lifted it to her lips to drink.

"Hm!?" Magura gasped, startled, as she lifted her head and saw, beneath the cascade of the waterfall, a naked woman bathing. Her golden hair spilled down her delicate back, glimmering as it clung to her skin. What struck Magura most, however, were the woman's wings, pure white, yet frayed and broken.

"An angel?" Magura whispered to herself, her hand instinctively reaching for the sword at her belt. Yet she hesitated, for the wings before her were not radiant but scarred, edges yellowed, feathers broken, riddled with wounds and swellings that stripped the angelic form of its grace and left behind a sorrowful figure.

The woman stepped back into the curtain of water, disappearing into what seemed to be a cave hidden behind the falls. Drawn by both curiosity and caution, Magura waded through the pool toward her. Dragonflies flitted above her head as she carefully passed water lilies, ensuring her movements went unnoticed. The pool was not deep, and soon she stood only a few steps from the cascade. With a gesture, she conjured an archway of ice in the shape of a doorway, shielding herself from the falling water, and slipped through.

The angel had already noticed her. She turned, gazing at Magura with sorrowful eyes, her trembling wings betraying their pain. Magura's gaze wandered around the cavern: red candles burned atop a small mound of stones before the angel, casting their light on statues of weeping angels, folded in grief with shattered wings. Faded icons of mortals kneeling in prayer to angels were scattered across the place, torn and forgotten with time.

"This is..." Magura muttered, her voice wavering, confusion rising at the scene before her.

"Santriages," the angel replied. "The place where the pure souls of mortals dance above the flames of candles and the forsaken icons of time. The only place where I find solace."

"So... you're a visionary," Magura said quietly, her hand finally withdrawing from the hilt of her blade, her eyes lingering on the angel's battered wings.

"You noticed them?" The angel's voice was heavy with weariness. "These scars are the weight I carry upon my shoulders. To fly, without knowing for how long. Too much freedom can become a prison. To see from afar, never acting, and to suffer from the burden of duty, only to witness the blessings of others. And you, too, you are free." She turned her gaze back to the candles.

"Free..." Magura echoed softly. "I just don't know why I'm free. I do have a duty, but it doesn't feel like one. It feels as if... I don't even know how to explain it."

"I see," the angel said gently. "A restless soul. Do you wish me to pray for you?"

"You don't see that I am a demon?" Magura's tone sharpened, conflicted. "Why don't you fear me? Why are you acting as if I couldn't kill you here and now?"

"What is your name?" the woman asked in a calm, gentle voice.

"My name?" Magura echoed, caught off guard by such a question from an angel. "Magura."

"I am Simonaela. I am glad to have met you, Magura," the woman replied, turning her head toward her with an innocent smile.

"Simonaela... Wait! Why are we exchanging names so suddenly?" Magura asked, visibly confused.

"What do you mean?" Simonaela tilted her head slightly.

"We are not of the same kind. Besides, communication between us is a taboo," Magura said.

"If that's so, then why did you follow me? My existence must have sparked a certain curiosity in you," Simonaela answered softly.

"Hm!? N-No... I—" Magura faltered, unable to find the right words.

"You are Magura. That is enough for me."

Then, lifting her eyes as though invoking something far beyond, Simonaela began to pray:

"Lord Edin'Borghia, who fills all things with peace,
Hear the words I pour from my heart for this troubled soul.
Weary, burdened by the sorrows of life, she seeks refuge in Your light.

Lord Thranatis, let my angelic wings be a covering over her,
That her heart may feel the calm only You can give.
Open a path through the darkness that surrounds her,
And kindle a flame of hope within her fading spirit.

Lord Yan'Shrafela, gather every hidden fear she carries within
And scatter them like mist before the sun of Your mercy.
Open her eyes to see she is never alone,
For Your eternal presence guards and guides her.

Lord Iz'Raman, cherub of broken hearts,
Send down gentle waters of comfort upon this troubled soul.
Wash away guilt, worry, and doubt.
Fill her with the peace that surpasses all understanding,
That she may rise strong and walk in Your light.

In the name of infinite light, love, and mercy,
Be praised for the life You restore.
Amen."

Magura listened in astonishment. She had no idea how to react to such a sincere, heartfelt prayer, offered by an angel she had never met before. And yet... she noticed something happening: Simonaela's wings began to mend, healing with each passing second until they were restored to their former beauty. Her entire being renewed, she now appeared as an innocent maiden, her golden hair falling in gentle waves, radiating nothing but positivity and joy.

"W-What just happened to you?" Magura asked, bewildered.

"Santriages is also a place of healing for us visionaries," Simonaela explained. "The pure souls of mortals grant us strength. They give us a reason to go on."

As she spoke, a white cloak materialized around her form, flowing like a gown. Her green eyes rested on Magura with a surreal kindness, almost otherworldly. Magura had never felt like this before. Never in her life had she imagined that an angel could possess such beauty, so divine, so far beyond the misery of this world.

"I see. I must be going now," Magura said.

"You're lying," Simonaela replied gently.

"What?" Magura asked, startled.

"I feel it within you. I feel how deeply you despise yourself, because you believe your existence has no meaning. And when you look at me, you only want to turn away from what you've secretly longed to be all along. I want to know you, Magura. To help you become something greater. You are not just a demon. You are you."

Before Magura's eyes, a vision surfaced: a girl with blue hair and green wings soaring freely through the skies. Yet her eyes were hidden, unseen. She flew high, just as Magura herself had done only minutes before.

"You should not be alone in this world," Simonaela continued. "Someone is waiting for you, always, at every moment."

The two of them now found themselves at the base of a small hill, blanketed in green grass. They watched a herd of horses grazing and playing together, the foals especially lively. Some nursed at their mothers. A strong wind swept through the landscape, transforming the horses into magnificent beings, their manes dancing to the rhythm of nature.

"Beautiful creatures, aren't they?" Simonaela asked, her eyes fixed on the herd.

Magura glanced at her, then turned back to the horses without answering.

"You see all kinds of creatures in this world," Simonaela said, "but often it is those furthest from our imagination that stand closest to beauty."

"What do you mean by that?" Magura asked, curiosity stirring within her.

"We are so enamored with the complex and the extravagant," Simonaela explained, "that we forget the other side of the coin, one of simplicity, which may seem monotonous, yet reminds us to cherish the gift we've been given."

Magura listened silently, her violet eyes fixed on the angel as she spoke.

"Life," Simonaela continued. "We are here. We feel the wind on our skin. We can speak with one another, because we are alive. We can marvel at the beauty of Ladnoria, and of what lies beyond its barriers, all because life has been given to us."

Magura remained quiet, absorbing every word of Simonaela's monologue. Then she turned her gaze back toward the herd. This time, something caught her attention: a dark horse grazing apart from the others, isolated from the herd. It possessed a strange elegance, a beauty more profound than the rest. Its black mane shimmered faintly under the touch of the sun, revealing a brilliance that proved it belonged to this world, not as a flaw of it, but as part of its wonder.

The horse lifted its head, meeting Magura's gaze as it continued to feed. And in its eyes, she saw the sky: vast blue, white clouds stretched apart in the distance, and green fields rolling endlessly. Within those eyes, there was life.

"Demons, when they die, are completely forgotten by those who once had any kind of contact with them. They don't have the comfort of "life" the way other beings do. They are merely the reincarnations of angels who once let negativity seep into their lives. Just the remnants of a broken goodness. I don't know if you could even call it life, perhaps only an attempt at living," said Magura as she gazed at the dark horse.

"Why are you here?" asked Simonaela.

"What?"Magura replied in confusion.

"Demons cannot leave Ladnoria. And yet here you stand, strangely, thousands of miles away from it," Simonaela said with a serious tone.

"I cannot give a definite answer. I've never truly understood why I can leave, nor why I am drawn so often to this place in particular," Magura admitted.

"Do you believe demons adopt their violent, destructive ways merely to cover their own misery?" Simonaela asked.

"M-Maybe that's true," Magura answered, with a hint of sad agreement.

"Their vandalism is what keeps them imprisoned beyond the Alps of Sin. But you, Magura, you are different," said Simonaela.

"Different?' Magura asked.

"I can see that your soul isn't clouded with malice. You are simply... lost. Most likely you once lost something very dear to you, long, long ago. And that loss turned you into a demon, one who now searches for meaning in her existence."

Magura listened silently, then lowered her eyes to the green grass that surrounded her on every side.

"You wondered if the prayers I made for you were in vain. Seraph Edin'Borghia, the three cherubs, Thranatis of nature, Iz'Raman of time, and Yan'Shrafela of life, they have all considered beings like you as well. They have thought of the dominions, even though their forebears were not the same as ours. Every soul has the right to live in this beautiful world. What matters is that, before the Ophan Mar'Vriel carries us across the three moons that shine beside the sun, we leave behind memories worth being proud of. Even if you are forgotten by others, at least strive not to forget yourself, Magura. Never forget the feeling of having been given a gift, even after you leave this world. That you had the honor, however insignificant your existence may seem in the eyes of the world, for it to be the most precious thing to you," Simonaela said with a smile as she watched the horses.

Magura turned her eyes toward Simonaela. The glow of her violet irises, which so often carried the weight of sorrow, now seemed touched with a brighter hue. There was meaning in them at last. Her red hair danced in the quiet breeze that drifted through the fields of grass. The horses began to move away from the meadow. Only the dark steed lingered. It turned its head toward Magura before following the herd. It followed, showing that it, too, was part of them, no matter how different it appeared.

Here's your passage translated into English with polished, novel-like prose that preserves the atmosphere and tone:

"This place gives me a strange sense of nostalgia," said Magura.

Simonaela listened closely.

"I feel warmth every time I come here. There's nothing particularly significant about it. It's just a natural part of the realm of men. But somehow, I feel as though I lost something important, right here. And whenever I am near, I don't feel cold. I don't know what it is," Magura confessed, drifting into thought. Simonaela listened with great attention, trying to understand what Magura might have lost in this place.

"I believe that if you keep coming here, you may find what was taken from you," said Simonaela.

"I hope so..." Magura whispered faintly.

"The blessing of this part of the world is that you can savor the beauty of the night. To see the true colors of the moons. I wish I could gaze upon them every day, as they truly are, not hidden beneath the grandeur of the sun," said Simonaela as she rose to her feet and let her wings materialize.

"You're leaving?" asked Magura.

"Duty calls. That is the whole of my existence, to wear my wings thin as I watch over the fates of others," Simonaela said, her lips touched by the faintest trace of joy as she looked upon Magura.

"Can I meet you here again?" Magura asked.

"Yes. For as long as the candles of Santriages remain lit, I will always be here," Simonaela replied with a smile.

"I see," said Magura, her gaze fixed upon her.

"Then until we meet again, Magura," Simonaela said, unfurling her wings before soaring swiftly into the sky. Her feathers drifted down into the greenery like fragments of goodness that illuminated Magura, casting a pale light over her existence.

"Until we meet again, Simonaela," Magura whispered, managing a faint, fragile smile.

A few dozen meters behind her, two angel feathers descended slowly to the earth, weightless and veiled in mystery...

Three years later...

Magura was swimming alone in a small lake, ringed by towering mountains veiled in snow. She felt the cold coursing over her skin. It hardly disturbed her, if anything, it warmed her. She lingered there, suspended upon the water, bare both in body and in spirit. Her gaze was fixed upward at the sky, at the somber clouds drawing closer together, at the sun whose reign was faltering, devoured by the soldiers of gloom.

"It's getting late," she murmured to herself as she began swimming toward the shore. Stepping out of the lake, her feet pressed against the small dark stones scattered everywhere as she made her way to the clothes resting atop a low rock.

From her fingertips, she conjured clusters of dark flames tinged with green, drying herself with their heat. Magura dressed, unfurled her wings, and soared beyond the snowy peaks. She descended at the pool where once she had met Simonaela. Hiding her wings, she froze the entire basin along with the waterfall that poured into it. Walking across the ice toward the cavern concealed behind the frozen cascade, she broke through, only to find no one there. Nothing remained but candles, still burning, and broken sculptures.

"As long as the candles of Santriages do not fade, you will always find me here." Those words echoed within Magura's mind.

"Not today either, hm? Where could she be?" she whispered to herself, leaving the cavern. With a thought, she melted all the ice she had conjured, returning the pool and the waterfall to their natural state. Breathing deeply, she gazed upon the basin. Night was falling. The orange glow of the sun had seized much of the sky, blending with shades of rose, a sight Ladnoria could never have imagined.

"Time to return," she murmured, spreading her wings before lifting off from the pool.

"Hm!?" From the east, beyond the rolling green hills, Magura caught sight of a red light. Most likely, it was fire consuming the distant forests. Yet, drawn by curiosity, Magura chose to fly toward the light.

Her wings cut swiftly through the green hills, ignoring everything brushing against her feathers as she passed. The closer she drew, the clearer the source of the red glow became. At last, it revealed itself: a fire burning at the entrance of a poor township. The flames did not spread further, hemmed in by the dry earth that ringed the place on all sides. It was a fire fixed upon a single great beam of wood, shaped into a cross.

The town was deserted. Not a living step could be heard, only the crackling of fire devouring itself. Smoke rose, carrying with it a stench both nauseating and unholy. Magura descended, landing before the burning cross. She turned her gaze about in confusion, then looked back at the cross, only to freeze in horror.

There, bound to it, was a female angel. Slain, mutilated, bloodied, burned. Her wings had been torn apart, her body pinned with enormous nails driven cruelly through her flesh. Dried blood traced rivers across her wounds. Her once-golden hair was losing its luster. She was crumbling, little by little, before Magura's eyes.

Magura stepped closer, staring in disbelief at the angel executed in such a grotesque fashion. With every step, the face grew more familiar to her. The burning white cloak was unmistakable. The delicate skin, now broken, the radiant beauty, ruined. Reflected in Magura's horrified eyes was the broken angel.

And then—

"...Simonaela?" she whispered.

She was frozen, in every sense of the word. She could not comprehend the sight before her. She did not want to see it. She did not want to believe her own eyes. Her left hand trembled violently with terror. She wanted to look away, but it was already far too late. Ice spread from her feet, encasing the ground around the cross, and the fire sputtered out beneath its grip. With the flames gone, the sun too slipped beneath the horizon.

Magura walked forward, toward Simonaela. She looked into her lifeless face, her colorless eyes, her burned skin. She passed beside her with a grief woven tightly with a rising fury, an anger so fierce it threatened to melt even her ice.

She continued, striding toward the phantom town. Her gaze darted from side to side, searching for any sign of life, but she found only hollow houses and lonely windows staring back at her.

Then, at the far end of the town, a sound. Unusual noises, cheers, laughter, jubilant cries. The contrast was so sharp, so grotesquely misplaced in this ghostly place, that it was impossible not to notice.

She kept walking. Walking. Walking.

At last, she stood before a stable glowing with light from within, laughter and music spilling from its doors.

"Hey, hey, hey, heeeeyyy! Hahahahaha!" A crowd of people had gathered inside the barn, dancing, drinking, and singing together in wild merriment. They looked like the poor sort. Their clothes were filthy, torn, unwashed. They seemed dirty through and through, but in this moment, they didn't care. Four others played accordions while the rest danced to their tune.

"Your Excellency. It is a blessing to have your presence in such a wretched place. We pray you come often to cleanse our souls fro—"

"I heard you, I heard you. Now bring me a beer," came the commanding voice of the one seated above them.

"Y-Yes, at once!" stammered the man, scurrying away in fright.

"What a repulsive pit. At least the beer isn't entirely awful," muttered the angel sitting on a straw chair. He wore a white cloak, his long curly hair tied to the side with a small brown leather ribbon. He drank and laughed with two other angels seated beside him.

"D-Do you think what we did... was right?" asked one of them, a petite angel with golden hair tied neatly at the back, large round spectacles perched on her face.

"Lord Maursiel never errs in his judgments. A traitor like her deserves no mercy, not even from the king himself. Isn't that right, Lord Maursiel?" replied the other angel, a short youth with golden hair cut in a wolfish style, a dark earring glinting from his right ear.

"I have dreamed of this day," Maursiel said, his lips curling into a cruel smile. "The day I would no longer be the second among the visionaries. All of this was Simonaela's fault. She chose to consort with a demon, one of Hell's own guardians, no less. Of all angels, she should have known that communion with a demon is the gravest taboo of all. Wretched bitch of the Devil. Still... it was worth it. I don't know why, but I savored every note of the melody that came from her suffering on that cross. Truly... a divine concert."

"But what if King Augustel punishes us for what we've done? I mean, we killed his wife, didn't we? T-That must be... a hard thing to stomach," said the timid angel girl nervously.

"You're still such a fool, Sartela. Lord Maursiel calculates everything we might fear. And besides, we were right. It had to be done. There's no chance we'll be punished just because of some pathetic favoritism," said the angel beside Maursiel.

"You're right, Terniel," Sartela replied.

"Look at these creatures, celebrating like idiots. How ridiculous they seem. And we're supposed to bless them? Tch. Let's finish these beers we stole for free and get out of this place," Maursiel sneered, draining his mug.

But at that very moment, the barn door exploded into splinters. The crowd froze mid-revelry, staring in stunned confusion at what had just torn the entrance apart.

"Who's there?" Maursiel demanded.

From the red glow of the moon beyond the shattered doorway, Magura appeared, stepping slowly into the barn.

"Hey, hey!" a drunken man staggered toward her and grabbed her left shoulder. Magura turned her eyes to the foul hand laid upon her.

"Care to celebrate with us—hic? Tonight is a blessed night, and you're more than welcome to join in our joy. We burned a traitor alive. Hahahahaha!"

The crowd burst into laughter beside him. Maursiel watched the scene with cold indifference.

"And such a beauty too. It wouldn't sit right if you didn't join—hm!?" The man faltered when he saw Magura's left hand rise, preparing something unseen. In the blink of an eye, the entire upper half of his body vanished. Blood and entrails burst forth, splattering across the ground. The women behind him were painted with his gore, and only after a heartbeat of delay did their screams break free. They fled in blind panic, scattering like cattle driven to slaughter.

"What the hell—?"

"Who is she?" the visionaries beside Maursiel muttered, shaken and wide-eyed.

Maursiel studied Magura carefully, noting her crimson hair and the violet eyes that now turned upon him with a murderous gleam.

"HA!? A—A GUARDIAN OF HELL!?" he cried in terror.

"W-What!?" Sartela gasped.

"It can't be... Why is she here?" Terniel stammered.

"W-We have to get out of here!" Maursiel shouted, panic rising as he unfurled his wings.

"Haah!" Several old men lunged at Magura with broken bottles and pickaxes. With a flick of her left hand, she froze them instantly. She tapped her foot against the ground, and the frozen figures shattered like glass.

"A m-monster! Maursiel, you must—hm!? Where's Maursiel?" Sartela cried in alarm.

Terniel spun about in confusion as well. Maursiel was already gone, wings beating at their utmost speed as he fled the barn. Fear consumed him. He only wanted escape from the nightmare chasing him.

"This is madness! I cannot die like this! I did what was right! I claimed the place of First Visionary! I will not accept such a fate, not from her! Not from that wretched whore! Never—!"

But Maursiel froze mid-flight. Turning his head, his face twisted as he saw Magura's hand clamped around his right wing.

"N-no. Please..." he whispered, his voice breaking.

Without a word, Magura hurled him earthward. He crashed with brutal force, groaning in pain and terror.

"Hhhahhh... hahhh... haahhh—HAAH!?" Raising his head, Maursiel beheld a vision of horror: Sartela's severed head, her broken spectacles still clinging to her face. A ragged length of spine jutted grotesquely from the stump of her neck. Beside her lay Terniel, split clean in half, his guts and liver spilled across the ground, his brains leaking out in a grotesque mess.

Maursiel trembled, gasping for breath, frozen in dread.

"Something the matter, First Visionary?" Magura's voice came from behind him.

"Hhhahhh!!! P-Please! I hold no grudge against you. It was only duty, only what had to be done! I-I only followed the rules! Have mercy, I beg you! I am but an angel carrying out his charge, I—"

His pleas died in his throat. Magura stood before him, hefting a colossal hammer of ice, its presence casting a deathly shadow across his pitiful face. Even in the night, it radiated doom.

"I can hardly wait to kill you again, when you crawl back as the foul demon you deserve to be," she said coldly.

And with that, she swung. The titanic hammer came down, crushing Maursiel like an insect beneath a boot. His body burst apart, blood and feathers and mangled organs exploding in every direction. When Magura pulled the weapon back, nothing remained but a grotesque heap of pulp. The hammer melted away, reshaping into her sword once more.

The crimson light of Diaboros fell upon Magura, illuminating both her grief and the fury now written in blood.

The candles of Santriages had finally gone out...