Chapter 50

History repeats itself.

A famous saying. One used more in negative situations than positive ones.

It was so despite there being no words with negative meanings in that sentence.

Perhaps because positivity stems from small misalignments rather than precise repetition.

Small misalignments in turning gears create cracks and changes.

While uncertain whether it will be for better or worse, what was certain was that something would change.

It was difficult to feel happiness in repetition.

Continuous repetition dulls human emotions. Regardless of the stability repetition provides.

Is history repeating due to the elasticity of time? Or because of human foolishness?

Personally, I think the latter possibility is higher.

Humans are beings who repeat mistakes several times without properly recognizing their own errors.

It would be greedy to expect to learn from others’ mistakes.

Tick-tock or clink-clank.

I can see a clock turning quietly yet noisily.

The gears inside the clock.

Parts turning precisely.

None of them try to escape from the repeated daily routine.

If just one goes awry, everything could collapse at any time, but no one tries to escape.

“The clock turns in a circle. It struggles to escape, but eventually returns to the starting point. Isn’t that futile?”

I turned my head towards ‘Time’ who said those words.

She once again hid her pupils within her narrowed eyes.

With a small smile on her lips, she spins her finger round and round.

It becomes confusing at times like this.

What is she thinking? What emotions does she hold?

What do her pupils contain? What is she seeing to say such things?

Since I couldn’t know the trembling of her pupils, or what was reflected in them, I just felt frustrated.

Numerous questions hanging over the curved hook.

They jump around like live fish, disorienting my mind.

Shaking my head, I also shook off the useless thoughts filling it.

“It’s not useless. Turning 360 degrees may look the same, but it’s not.”

That change might not be visible on the surface.

It’s only when accumulated that it finally sees the light.

“The time accumulated as the clock turns becomes half a day, a day, a week, a month, a year.”

“It means change can come from repetition. Nothing is meaningless.”

So

“Let’s just watch.”

‘Time’ said so and turned her gaze back to the phone screen.

But both of us knew.

That the story playing now was about the end of repetition.

That it was just futile words, mere wishful thinking.

* * *

The deepest part of the village, the most secretive place.

A place where all kinds of machinations could run rampant and dark secret organizations could operate, but…

It was the space where the village priestess stayed.

The shrine that serves the village deity.

Since it’s a space that doesn’t allow access to just anyone, the security guarding it was strict.

Choari entered the empty shrine.

She received light bows from those standing guard around and went inside.

Though they say they’re guarding, what they were guarding wasn’t the inside but the outside.

They weren’t ones protecting me.

They weren’t protecting the village priestess or this sacred space.

They were only protecting the village outside this space and the residents living there.

So they wouldn’t enter carelessly and suffer harm.

Behind the meaning of a sacred space was deeply rooted fear.

The shrine was located inside a deep cave.

A sobbing sound echoes throughout the cave.

Though this sound reverberating in a space where there is no one but herself could be frightening, she entered as if accustomed to it.

It’s said that in the past, this place was treated as ominous because of this sound.

That’s understandable.

Doesn’t it sound like a ghost sobbing?

Relying only on the light emitted from the leaf in her hand, she went deeper into the dark cave.

Slowly going to a deeper place.

Gradually narrowing, then passing through a specific place, a wide space appears.

A massive garden.

A landscape that looks like a small-scale forest.

A brook flowing with a gurgling sound wanders through the forest.

Grass and flowers settled here and there emit lights of various colors.

If not for the woman’s sobbing heard instead of birds’ chirping, it would have been quite a beautiful scene.

The source of that sobbing was a giant tree located in the center of this garden.

It was a lush tree that could cover the entire forest.

The tree was emitting a blue light.

Some parts in dark navy, and other parts in light sky blue.

It creates various lights within the category of blue.

The fruits growing in the embrace of the tree were teardrop-shaped.

They looked as if imitating human tears.

The trunk of the tree was shaped as if a woman was sitting down and wailing.

As if sprouts grew from the woman’s body and became a tree.

Those who haven’t seen it would not understand.

The legend passed down in the village naturally came to mind.

Watching this scene, it felt like even non-existent religious faith would spontaneously arise.

She looked around for a flat place.

Dense underbrush can be seen around.

Despite its name as a shrine, it seems not properly managed.

Looking at the weeds grown around, such thoughts arise.

Like a place serving an abandoned deity.

But the reality is different.

They dare not touch it.

Because they must not go against the deity’s mood.

Finding a reasonably flat place, she knelt down and began praying with a reverent heart.

“Respected Deity,

I am here to understand your deep sorrow. I cannot gauge how great the pain and sense of loss that resides in your heart is. Even if all the sufferings of this world trouble you, we will be by your side.

Deity, while your sorrow envelops this world, we wish to share your pain. We pray that your wounds heal and that pain makes you stronger.

So that you may find the light of hope even in darkness, we will be together by your side. We pray that your sorrow lessens and peace comes. We will wait forever so that your existence can bring love and understanding to this world again.

Deity, we pray that your heart becomes peaceful again, and that you don’t forget that you are a beloved being. We gather our hearts and pray that your sorrow is healed and you can regain your reason again.”

She slowly opened her closed eyes.

Perhaps due to sitting for a long time, her legs were becoming numb.

Slowly rising from her place, she looked around.

She can see silhouettes taking a posture similar to hers.

They are plants in human form.

More precisely, things that are no longer human.

The giant tree visible when raising one’s head, the Tree of Tears.

It was the driving force sustaining the Sea Forest and the primary cause that made the world like this.

A fragment of one who was once a benevolent goddess.

The goddess who died immersed in sorrow cast a curse on the world.

Everything in the world began to sink underwater.

Everything sinks regardless of country, race, or religion.

But for some reason, she also bestowed a blessing simultaneously. So they could survive in such a world.

No one knows whether it was the last remaining mercy or an intention to have them live in anxiety for a longer time.

What was important was that they survived despite everything.

The weight that the living shouldered was quite heavy and unnecessarily grandiose.

The last remaining humanity.

The generation closest to extinction.

All were terms referring to them.

Personnel were needed to manage the Tree of Tears.

After all, it was the Tree of Tears that allowed them to live here.

But the tree cursed everything that came close.

To be precise, it denied the approach of those who didn’t sympathize with its sorrow.

The plant-like human figures here were those remains.

Those who were cursed.

The priestess managing the tree had to be chosen.

The shoulders of village girls were tapped with a branch dropped by the Tree of Tears.

As can be inferred from “tapping,” it wasn’t of very strong intensity.

Among the girls, the one who burst into tears became the priestess of that generation.

There was no concept of retirement for priestesses.

Retirement…

Well, there is.

Ari stopped her hands that were cleaning the tree’s sacred body and looked at the blocked cavity.

The problem is dying before the time of retirement.

For most priestesses, their lifespan and retirement age were the same.

The moment they stop sympathizing with the tree, the moment they no longer assimilate with sorrow, they become part of this vast garden.

A branch sweeps past Ari’s leg.

She came to her senses at the stinging pain that started from her leg.

Goosebumps rise.

Hurriedly erasing her thoughts, she focuses again on cleaning the tree.

She quietly swallowed her tears at the pain in her leg and the sorrow of the tree flowing in.