"Long ago, a god landed onto a human city in the frozen mountains. The humans welcomed him and since they witnessed miracles from him, they began to worship him as their god."
As Vastarael read the words aloud, something strange began to happen. His voice, though barely a whisper in the still, cold air, seemed to awaken something deep within the cathedral's ancient walls.
His heart pounded as he watched the images warp and meld together, the previously separate parts of the story now creating a seamless narrative.
In the center, the god descended from the heavens, his form cloaked in golden light, landing with perfect grace onto the snow-covered peaks of the frozen mountains. The city beneath him glowed in awe, the people gazing up at him with reverence and wonder. Their faces, drawn in fine detail, reflected a sense of hope and belief.
These were the first days of worship, when the god was a savior to them.
As the god raised his hand to the heavens, radiant beams of energy burst from his form, striking the ground with miraculous results. Crops began to grow in barren soil, rivers flowed from dry rocks, and the dead rose from their graves. The city was filled with light, and the murals showed the people bowing before him, offering gifts, singing his praises.
Then, new runes materialized and Vastarael read them aloud.
"And so, the people chose the most beautiful woman to act as the god's priestess. Her name was Peccavi, the Priestess of the Winter Labor, Blizzard's Wrath."
The moment Vastarael spoke the runes aloud, new markings began to materialize on the walls. As the words took shape, the murals behind him shifted, transforming to reflect the new revelation.
The first section of the mural depicted a group of humans, their faces filled with respect as they knelt before a woman. She was radiant, with a beauty that seemed almost ethereal, her long blonde hair flowing like the winds of winter. She stood tall in front of the god, her posture regal, yet her eyes reflected a quiet sorrow, as though she could already sense the fate awaiting her.
The second mural showed Peccavi, the priestess, now fully adorned in ceremonial robes of white and silver. Her hands were raised, holding a glowing crystal, which emitted an intense light that clashed with the god's dark presence.
She stood between the people and the god, a shield in the form of light, but there was a deep unease in her gaze.
"However, peace didn't last long. Monsters ravaged the lands and the Priestess Peccavi tried to use her power to help the soldiers. But..."
[But instead, she strengthened the monsters. Because the power of the god was that of a monster itself,] Phaenora completed.
"So she destroyed her own people, thinking that her power we divine but it wasn't. It made the monsters stronger instead."
As Vastarael spoke, the mural behind him shifted once more, the new revelation unfolding in vivid, haunting detail into three more images.
The first image showed the once-beautiful city under siege. The sky was darkened, clouds swirling ominously as monstrous, grotesque creatures stormed the gates. Humans fought valiantly, but their weapons were no match for the overwhelming army.
The priestess, Peccavi, stood in the midst of the chaos, her hands raised high as if invoking a divine force. Her face was filled with determination, but her eyes betrayed her uncertainty.
The second image depicted Peccavi in the heart of battle, surrounded by soldiers and monsters alike. A brilliant light emitted from her body, but rather than pushing back the creatures, the light twisted and distorted, seeping into the monsters. They grew larger, more powerful, their dark forms swelling as the power from the priestess coursed through them.
The third image was a scene of devastation. Peccavi stood alone amidst a sea of corpses, both human and monster alike. Her hands were still raised, but now they were empty, her once-bright aura extinguished.
The city was in ruins, the sky a bleak, frozen wasteland. The monsters had become even more powerful, their forms towering over the broken bodies of the fallen. Peccavi's face reflected deep anguish as she realized the terrible mistake she had made. The power she had thought divine had destroyed everything she held dear.
Vastarael read the next row of words.
"And so, Peccavi realized that the god she served was a monster like them. Fueled by despair, she killed the monster that led to the destruction of her people. However, it gave her a curse; the curse to always be tormented by the souls of the city and the monsters."
As Vastarael read aloud, the murals shifted once again, now depicting the tragic conclusion of Peccavi's story.
The first image showed Peccavi, her face twisted with sorrow and resolve, as she stood before the massive, monstrous god. The creature towered over her, its form a grotesque combination of human and beast, its eyes filled with a dark, malevolent energy.
With trembling hands, Peccavi raised a sword, an ethereal blade made of glowing light, and struck at the heart of the creature. Her expression was filled with both agony and determination, the weight of her actions clear in her face.
The next image depicted the aftermath of the battle. The once-mighty god now lay lifeless, its form crumbling into shadow and dust, yet something more sinister remained. From the ground where the monster fell, black tendrils of chains erupted, wrapping around Peccavi and consuming her. The curse was taking hold.
Her body was chained by spectral arms, the souls of the fallen city and the monsters swirling around her. Her eyes, wide with horror, gazed as her form began to wither and fade.
The final image depicted a desolate scene: Peccavi, now a hollow, tortured figure, stood at the edge of a cliff overlooking a barren, frozen wasteland. The once-great city was gone, replaced by endless snow and ash.
The spirits of the dead, human and monster alike, encircled her, their mournful wails echoing in the silence. She was forever trapped, a prisoner of her own actions and the curse she bore. The sorrow in her eyes was eternal, her soul bound to the torment of the forgotten.
[She avenged them but she was cursed in the process. So... why did she turn evil? The stories are contradictory.]
"What do you mean?"
[Think about it. The murals at the cathedral state that she was the one who led the souls to one place after becoming a monster. However, the last mural, creepy as it is, shows her horrific figure after being cursed.]
[And in this one, it doesn't make Peccavi to the the evil one. Instead, she's the victim. It's doesn't make sense at all. Why are there two contradictory sides to the story?]
"You mean..."
[She had holy power on the murals above and below. However, on the first ones we saw, it doesn't say that the power she used made the monsters stronger but this does. And these ones say that they made them stronger. And she killed the monster with holy power. How?]
Vastarael paced the cold, shadowy floor of the basement, his sapphire shard casting flickering light across the murals. His left hand throbbed but his thoughts were fixated on the strange truth taking shape before him.
"This..." he whispered, his voice trembling slightly. "The murals above and the murals down here... they don't line up."
[They don't,] Phaenora echoed, her holographic form shimmering faintly. [The ones above told the story of the city. Its growth, its people, its fall. But these murals...]
She gestured to the wall, her glowing fingers brushing the painted image of Peccavi standing in the ruins, chains binding her while dark souls swirled around her.
[These tell her story. Her choices. Her curse.]
Vastarael turned to face the murals fully, his golden eyes narrowing. "It's not just two perspectives. It's something worse. They're... two timelines."
Phaenora froze, her holographic form flickering for a moment as if the thought itself sent a jolt through her thoughs.
[Timelines? Are you saying—?]
"The murals above are the first timeline," Vastarael said, his voice rising as his horror grew. He motioned toward the scenes of the city's downfall etched in his memory.
"They tell the story of the city falling naturally. But these—" He jabbed at the mural of Peccavi, her form radiant yet tormented. "These are the second. A regression. A version where Peccavi tried to intervene and made everything worse."
[That's... horrifying,] Phaenora whispered, her tone unusually shaken. [If that's true, then the city was doomed not once, but twice. And Peccavi... she wasn't just a victim or a villain. She was both.]
Vastarael took a shaky step back, his breathing quickening as the enormity of it all began to sink in.
"Do you realize what this means? The entire city is trapped in a loop of destruction. And Peccavi's curse... it isn't just her punishment. It's theirs too. They're all stuck in this endless cycle."
[Regression...] Phaenora's voice trembled, the word carrying a weight neither of them could ignore. [This isn't just a story. It's a living nightmare. One timeline collapses into another, each worse than the last. The people, the monsters, even Peccavi... they're all reliving it over and over again.]
"Two timelines," Vastarael muttered, the words bitter on his tongue. "The murals above show the city falling as it was meant to. But the ones here? They show what happened when someone tried to change fate."
[And they failed,] Phaenora finished darkly. [Peccavi regressed and tried to destroy the god. That's why her expressions were uneasy when she was made a priestess. She was experiencing it for a second time.]
The sapphire shard in Vastarael's hand flickered as his grip tightened. He stared at the mural of Peccavi, her veiled face painted with anguish, her chains dragging the weight of countless souls.
"Peccavi is a regressor. And we're on the second timeline. Which means..."
[There are two Peccavis in this cathedral.]