Rea didn't know where she was, and for a moment… she didn't even know who she was.

Who was she?

She didn't know.

Everything in her mind was nothing but endless suffering, layered upon suffering. Pains that shattered her heart as if it were nothing more than brittle stone, sorrows that splintered her soul into a thousand jagged shards of wood, and sins… oh, the sins were abominable.

They took hold of the deepest part of her mind and poured themselves into her like a torrent, filling her until she drowned in guilt — sins she had not committed, yet in that moment, she believed she had.

She thought she was the one who killed her own child, just to wound the man who abandoned her for a whore he found on the street.

She thought she was the one who burned down an entire village because one of them dared to watch her rape a boy whose face was smeared with tears and snot.

She thought she was the one who watched her father burn alive while sipping wine, with someone kneeling between her legs drinking her juice as his muffled screams fed her delight.

She thought… and she thought… and she thought again.

The sins were endless. They wrapped around her like a mother's embrace, but it was no warmth they offered, only the abyss, only the hollow comfort of becoming the abyss itself.

Her body quivered madly on the ground, her hands clutching her head so tightly it looked as if her skull might burst. Her eyes streamed tears of black blood as she begged for it to end.

"A-Ah… ah… p-please," she whimpered.

She begged. She begged with all her might for someone, anyone, to end this pain. She was ready to give anything, to sacrifice everything, if only this torrent of filth would stop drowning her, if only these sins would cease staining her soul with their poison.

She begged the Will, she begged her goddess but no one responded.

No one cared for the woe of a pitiful child when the world was already overflowing with them. No one cared for the suffering of a little girl writhing on the floor, surrounded by the vilest of beings, choking on her own breath, her face streaked with blood, sweat, and snot until she looked like some deranged artwork painted by a mad god.

No… no one cared.

And Rea wept.

"Ahhh…" her mouth tore open as she wailed.

She cried again and again and again.

She cried for help, she cried for release, she cried for freedom from the flood of emotions drowning her, from the pain threatening to consume her whole.

She cried like a newborn, helpless and raw.

She sobbed so hard, so violently, that she suffocated on her own breath.

And then, when the tears ran dry, the screams began.

Her throat cracked open as she shrieked like a banshee, her hands tearing through her beautiful white hair, her scalp bleeding as strands fell in clumps.

She didn't care.

She cursed everyone, everything…she cursed the world itself.

Her screams were so raw, so unbearable, that even the prisoners fell silent, staring in horror at the sight of Rea clawing at her own scalp, her nails broken and fingertips bleeding, blood spraying into the air as she shredded herself apart.

Their hearts pounded like war drums as an immense wave of fear swept over them. And then, they too began to scream, as if hell itself had opened its gates before them.

The room drowned in wails, in cries…in pain.

Rea tried to rise. Her legs wobbled, then gave out, she fell.

She cursed, her once ruby-red eyes now completely black voids, drowned in tears.

She was losing herself.

She tried again, staggered a step, slipped in her own blood, and fell chest-first, her face smearing into the black red-soaked floor.

She vomited, black blood and spit spilling from her lips in a sickening cascade, painting her face as she gagged and choked.

She had no strength left to move.

Her breathing turned ragged, desperate, every gasp choked by her own fluids as she gurgled under her blood.

She was… at her lowest.

Her mind blank, trembling on the edge of the point of no return, the point where she would forget herself entirely.

Yes.

Wasn't this what she had claimed she was ready for?

To lose herself if it meant succeeding?

So why…

'…w-why… afraid?' Rea thought brokenly, clinging to the last splinter of self she still held, one that looked like a fragile ant before the jaws of a dragon.

She had no time left.

She shouldn't have been unhappy, shouldn't have been afraid, not when she herself had declared she was ready to lose everything.

But why?

Why was she afraid?

Ah…

The answer came.

Because she didn't want to be someone else.

She didn't want her father to love another daughter in her place.

She didn't want her grandfather's vengeance carried out by another hand.

She didn't want the world to erase her life, to treat her as if she were inconsequential, unworthy of memory.

Her emotions, her ambitions, her insecurities…

She didn't want them buried beneath someone else's skin.

She wanted to be herself. She wanted to walk this path of pain and sorrow with her own feet.

She wanted to be the Saintess of Sorrow, hoarding her wealth, her coins, her treasures — all of it — by herself.

Not anyone else.

Her.

Because this was her path.

The path of fear, of sorrow.

Her trembling mind stilled. Slowly, she stopped resisting the tide of negative emotions.

Because she understood now: fear was not a curse.

Fear was necessary.

After all, how could one be courageous without fear?

Courage was not the absence of fear, it was the act of feeling it pierce your soul and still gritting your teeth, straightening your back, and stepping forward to confront it.

Yes.

That was what separated the leaders from the followers.

And as Rea let the sea of emotions wash over her, another truth ignited inside her.

Her spirit flared like a wound torn into the sky, sunlight spilling through, searing and undeniable.

Fear… too much fear would crush you.

So she needed something to balance it. Something to keep her from breaking.

And the answer was simple.

Hope.

She had to hope. To hope for a better future, to hope to become the Saintess, to hope to find her grandfather's killers, to hope to become the wealthiest woman to ever exist in both worlds — even greater than the legend of the Golden Woman.

She had to hope for love. For a family of her own.

Yes… she had to hope.

But also, she had to fear.

To fear and to hope, together.

Her mind expanded. Her heart calmed. Her body ceased its spasms. Her breathing grew steady.

Her torn hair stopped bleeding as her hands fell limp at her sides.

A brilliant grey light erupted from her body, flooding the room and searing the prisoners with agony.

Rea had reached enlightenment.

The blood and tears she shed rose from the floor, drawn back into her flesh as if the world itself whispered: enough, you've suffered enough.

Her hair healed, regaining its sheen.

Inside her mind, a storm of thoughts swirled before settling into clarity.

Fear was not evil, for only with fear could courage exist.

But fear alone would consume everything, so it must be balanced with hope all while never forgetting the path you choose to walk.

That was life.

Life was like a bird. The heart was its head, while fear and hope were its wings. To fly safely, they must be balanced…too much fear will crush you, too much hope will blind you.

And always, the heart sets the direction.

So what was her direction?

Rea opened her eyes, glowing red like celestial rubies, and whispered:

"Saintess of Sorrow… Grandfather… Family…"

Her direction was set.

Her fears were abundant.

Her hope was budding.

And so, Rea began to fly.

Awkwardly, for now.

But she had taken the first flap of her wings… and soon the next would follow.

She would fly, and she would cover the worlds with her wings.

And so…

DING!

Rea has reached Intermediate Rank.

{Congratulations, Rea Thornspire. You have completed your quest.}

{You have received a title.}

{Title received: The Sorrowful Bird.}

{Let Fear and Hope be your wings and Sorrow be your Crown.}

—End of Chapter 215—

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