This is a tale not of gods, but of humans.
This is a story for the dead, not the living.
This story will inevitably reach its end, so greet that ending with joy.
***
"Gasp! Huff! Puha! Haa!"
"Help! Somebody, please help me!"
Amid the pouring rain, cries echo from within the vast Well.
The sturdy stone walls of the Well, though scarred by the claws of countless ages, are still so perfectly joined and smooth that, no matter how desperately one grabs at them—until fingernails snap—they simply slip away.
"No! Please…!"
Thud "Ahhhhh!"
The man, struggling not to be dragged away, is finally thrown down into the deepest part.
Squelch!
"Ugh…!"
A pile of corpses fills the Well.
As the man crashes down, he lands atop those standing on the bodies, and groans escape from those he collides with.
"Is it over?"
Haires, Director of the Mihahil Empire's Special Security Bureau, shields his face with the brim of his deeply pulled-down hat as he lights a cigarette.
Rumble…! Crack!
A flash of lightning streaks across the sky, followed by a deafening roar.
Judging by how short the gap is between the light and the sound, the lightning must have struck pretty close by.
"Yes, Director."
"Close it."
"Yes, sir."
At the response, Haires replied indifferently.
At his command, one of the agents waved his hand, and the others grabbed hold of the Well's pulley and began to turn it.
Clank, clank, clank...
"No! You can't do this!"
"What did we ever do wrong?!"
Thousands among the thirty thousand Saraan people, dragged here as part of a so-called support policy for resettlement and not yet dead, screamed in despair as they watched the sky above gradually shrink away.
"Hoo..."
Even as he listened to their screams, Haires simply exhaled a cold puff of cigarette smoke.
There was nothing in his eyes at all.
His pale face looked as if it were made of wax.
"Even the gods would be startled by this."
No one heard Haires mutter to himself.
In fact, with the torrential rain pouring down, even Haires could barely hear his own words.
The rain would continue for at least five more days.
The Well was built to gather groundwater that seeped in when it rained, so after heavy rain like this passed at this time of year, the water would rise to a precarious level, nearly overflowing.
Thousands of years ago, it had been the most precious treasure of the people who lived on this land.
Over long ages, it had been repaired and expanded, becoming a historic cultural relic.
It was also a sacred site for rituals, where offerings were made to primitive, barbaric gods.
And now, just like those ancient people whose names were long forgotten, the Mihahil Empire was offering sacrifices to an unnamed Barbarian God.
"Wants to have everything, but refuses to dirty his own hands. How noble."
Faint wrinkles flickered slowly across Haires' face through the drifting cigarette smoke.
The Emperor was utterly absorbed in his pet bird He kept it locked in a cage, never allowing it to spread its wings, yet whenever it sang, he would drop state affairs and rush over in a panic.
There was a reason for that.
The Emperor's cherished pet bird was a prophet.
This vast empire had been forged in less than thirty years.
Everything had begun with the power of the secret prophet the Emperor kept hidden away—or at least, that's what the Emperor seemed to believe.
As Director of the Special Security Bureau, Haires had heard about this through extremely exceptional and confidential channels.
After all, when they were rounding up the Saraan people to be sacrificed to the Barbarian God, it was vital to determine whether there were any other prophets among them.
Horribly enough, the prophet who told the Emperor that this ritual had to be performed was a woman of the Saraan people.
When the Emperor demanded a prophecy, the prophet foretold that the empire would be destroyed by the Saraan.
If he wished to avoid ruin, he would have to sacrifice every Saraan to the Well and put them to death.
The Emperor then established an organization with the grand name of the Special Security Bureau and placed Haires in charge.
He ordered him to sacrifice every Saraan in the Well, killing them all.
And along the way, should he discover another prophet, he was to keep that person alive and bring them directly to the Emperor.
Haires was extremely skeptical of this mission.
To him, the prophecy sounded like the fabrication of some lowborn Saraan woman desperate for the favor of a mad Emperor, and this ritual seemed to be nothing more than a ploy by that same woman, afraid the Emperor might shift his attention to another Saraan.
But an order from the Emperor must be obeyed.
No matter what happens.
No matter what situation he finds himself in.
There's no real malice in it.
It's just... he's only doing it because he was told to.
Creak, creak, creak...
Thunk...!
The pulley spun until the end, sealing the well with its lid.
There's a hole in the center of the cover to allow a view inside, but it's far too small for even a child to fit through.
The screams that had pierced through the sound of rain suddenly died away almost entirely.
"...It's quiet now."
Haires found this moment—when only the pounding rain could be heard—deeply satisfying.
The screams of the Saraan locked up and dying in the well echoed the wild shrieks his late wife Mia had once let out when she lost her mind.
As Haires replayed that moment in his mind, the horrifying image of his son, who had been born dead, suddenly surged up and forced him to squeeze his eyes shut.
On that pale face, which had looked like a wax doll, something that seemed ready to explode at any moment floated lazily, as if relishing his pain and sorrow.
"...Let's go back."
"Yes, I will escort you."
Suppressing his trembling, Haires replied in a composed voice and turned away.
Clack.
When the aide opened the door for him, Haires got into the car.
The luxurious leather seat was thoroughly soaked by the rain, but Haires didn't even care.
Once the door closed, even the sound of the rain faded far into the distance.
Vroom...
As the aide began to drive, only the quiet hum of the engine, powered by the Balt Engine, softly reverberated.
That familiar sound didn't even register as noise to Haires.
So, in Haires' ears, the screams of the dying Saraan, and the cries of his wife, continued to echo without end.
When the rain stopped, he would return again.
He had to make sure there were no living Saraan left inside the Well.
***
Clack.
"..."
Returning home, Haires stood for a moment in the entryway, staring blankly into the darkness that had settled along with the cold air.
It had only been three days since he'd sat with his wife, both of them excited about the baby's imminent arrival, whispering together about love, hope, and their future.
"...Mia."
Haires struggled to part his lips, then forced himself to call out to his wife.
But his voice was too choked to make a sound, so he cleared his throat and called her name again, with as steady a voice as he could muster.
"Mia"
...
There was no answer.
Had she cried herself to sleep?
Everything was so painful and exhausting for Haires that he leaned his rain-soaked shoulders against the wall.
He stood there for a long time with his eyes closed, suppressing the surge of emotion in his chest, then slowly bent down, untied his boots, and took them off.
Drip.
Drip...
Water dripped from his rain-soaked coat.
Even hearing that sound, Haires felt as if nothing mattered anymore.
He took off his hat and held it in his hand, and without even bothering to put on his slippers, he silently made his way toward the bedroom.
He just wanted to see his wife's sleeping face.
Maybe, with just that, with just one deep sigh, he would be able to move again.
Haires walked as quietly as possible through the dark house and grasped the bedroom doorknob.
He couldn't even tell what was running down his face, mingling with the rainwater.
Click...
He tried to open the door as quietly as possible, but it still made a slight sound.
He hoped his wife would stay sound asleep and not wake up.
Haires opened the door and cautiously peered inside.
"…"
Haires's cold expression gradually softened.
His eyes were fixed on the shadow standing in the middle of the bedroom.
"…Mia?"
He sounded a bit startled, and also slightly relieved.
Calling his wife's name, Haires opened the door fully and stepped into the bedroom.
In that instant, Haires sensed something was wrong.
It was a scent he knew all too well—one that should never come from his home.
······
A flash of lightning flared beyond the curtained window.
Haires saw his wife standing with her head bowed, her silhouette illuminated in black against the backlight.
From the neck of his beloved wife, something long was protruding, reaching all the way to the ceiling.
There was no way anything like that could come out of a human neck.
Crash!
Darkness settled over the room once again, and a moment later, thunder crashed loudly.
As it did, Haires rushed toward his hanging wife.
Swaying.
Swinging.
Creaking.
Squishing.
Mocking sounds echoed leisurely through the room, as if to ridicule Haires in his agony
Three days after losing his son to a stillbirth, Haires returned home two days after carrying out the Emperor's orders—only to lose his wife, Mia.
He did nothing.
He couldn't do anything.
Because by then, everything was already over.
"..."
Suddenly, Haires wondered what he was doing.
He was driving in the pouring rain, having taken his car out into the storm.
When had he even left home?
And why?
Mia—where is Mia?
I can't leave Mia alone.
Haires was searching for his wife.
And then, he realized that Mia, slumped lifelessly in the dark passenger seat, had turned her weary face to look back at him.
A white cloth, tightly rolled and bound, was wrapped around Mia's chest.
Unable to accept the stillbirth of her child, Mia had lost her mind completely.
After a fit of madness, she suddenly grew calm, gently wrapped the dead baby in the cloth, cradled it in her arms, and smiled blankly as she stroked it.
So, even if Haires was the only one still alive, it meant that his whole family was together in this car.
Nothing crossed Haires's vacant face as he stared ahead once more.
He wandered aimlessly, driving without purpose.
Judging by the passing scenery, though, he was taking a familiar road.
"..."
Haires realized he was heading toward The Well.
He didn't remember clearly, but he supposed he must have been thinking about dying.
He was afraid of being left alone, and he simply couldn't trust the world enough to let his too-fragile wife and his much-too-young son take the long road alone.
Heading toward The Well—perhaps this event had so deeply scarred him that, for Haires, thoughts of death immediately conjured images of that place.
Or maybe not.
At this point, what did it even matter
Despite the heavy rain making it difficult to see ahead, Haires silently drove down the slippery, muddy road all night until morning, finally arriving at The Well.
Swoooosh!
With one arm, Haires quickly scooped up his wife and son, who were in the passenger seat.
With his other hand, he opened an umbrella to keep his beloved family from getting wet.
He slipped a little on the muddy ground but managed to steady himself and then began to walk slowly forward.
"..."
He stopped in front of The Well.
Of course, there was no way he could open the massive cover of this well by himself.
And even if he could, the opening was so small that, while a child might fit, neither Haires nor Mia could enter.
Suddenly realizing how utterly meaningless and insane all of this was, Haires sank to the ground right there.
He even tossed aside the umbrella.
What was the point of shielding corpses from the rain, anyway?
"Hahaha..."
Strangely enough, in this moment, he didn't cry—instead, laughter bubbled up. Perhaps he too had gone mad.
"..."
Then, all at once, Haires clenched his teeth and sprang to his feet.
He roughly dropped the bundle of white cloth nestled in his wife's arms—their stillborn son.
It's your fault.
It's because you couldn't be born properly.
That's why we lost our son.
And now, you've taken my wife from me too.
Whether those thoughts were irrational didn't matter.
All Haires needed was something—anything, even if he couldn't name it himself.
Even in that moment, Haires couldn't bring himself to unwrap the cloth and look at the son who'd been born dead three—no, four days ago.
He just didn't have the courage.
―!
By the time Haires realized he'd heard something like the howl of a wild beast, he had already thrown his dead son into the small opening of The Well.
"…Ah, no! My son!"
Haires suddenly came to his senses and threw himself flat on the ground, frantically trying to push his body into the opening.
"No! No, you can't! That's my son! Give me back my son!"
Haires cried out in agony, desperately calling for his already dead son.
He stuck his head into the dark Well and reached down with all his strength.
But only a little rain had fallen so far; it would be a long time before The Well filled with rainwater.
Nothing met his outstretched hand.
"..."
Haires, who had been stretching his hand down with all his remaining strength, suddenly froze.
He stopped his ragged breathing and, sobbing, forced his head into the hole.
...
A baby's cry.
Haires shot to his feet and frantically looked around.
His face shone with a kind of radiant hope—as if touched by the divine—but at the same time, a dark madness, as if possessed by a demon, flickered in his eyes.
He hurried to the car and began tearing through the inside without a second thought.
Thud! Thud!
Then, grabbing his dagger, Haires ripped and shredded the fabric lining the officer's car interior.
Gathering the strips of cloth, he tied them together wildly, making a long, sturdy rope which he fastened tightly to his chest, then, half out of his mind, he rushed back to the Well.
Splat!
As he slid across the hard stone cover of the Well, his pants ripped and blood poured from his knees.
Ignoring the pain, Haires tossed the long rope down into the hole.
Splat...
From inside the Well came the sound of water.
Even through the pouring rain, Haires could hear it clearly.
It touched!
The cloth must have reached the surface of the water!
"Son! Grab onto it!"
Haires didn't understand what he was doing.
All he could do was keep praying and shouting over and over, urging his son to grab the rope.
Then, when he suddenly felt a small force tug on the rope clenched tightly in his own hands, Haires's face lit up with an explosive joy.
"Hold on! Son, you have to hold on tight!
Haires kept encouraging and cheering for his son.
Hope dawned on his face, like the break of day.
For a while, he could feel small movements as the cloth shifted back and forth with faint tugs.
Then, suddenly, there were two quick, firm pulls—short and strong.
Haires instinctively sensed that this was a signal.
A signal.
A signal?
From an infant?
...So what should he do now?
"Son! Just wait a little longer! Just a little more!"
Haires dropped to his knees, braced his head and body against the opposite side of the hole, and desperately began hauling up the rope.
"Haah! Haah! Haah! Haah!"
Though he had tied the cloth securely around his son's chest, Haires still feared that if it slipped, his son might fall from the impact.
Drenched by rain, the rope clung to him as he wrapped it tightly around his swollen left hand, gripping it for dear life and pulling with all his might using only his right hand.
His left hand, swollen from the water, was torn and bleeding, blood streaming down the rope and dripping into the hole.
"Waaah! Waaah!"
The baby's cries sounded much closer now.
Tears of joy streamed down Haires's face as he pulled the rope up even faster.
"Just a little more...! Just a little more!"
In that desperate moment, Haires couldn't tell if that pleading voice was his own or someone else's.
But no matter whose it was, Haires at last was able to hold his living, breathing newborn in his arms.
"Hah! Hah!"
He swept the dirt-covered, cloth-wrapped baby into his embrace and quickly rolled himself and the child away from the hole.
"Thank you! Oh God, thank you! Thank you! Thank you······."
Clutching the squirming, crying baby in his arms, he looked up at the rain-soaked sky and repeatedly shouted his gratitude to God.
Still sobbing, Haires quickly came to his senses, crawled across the ground on his knees, then struggled to his feet and ran.
He picked up the umbrella lying beside Mia's lifeless body, used it to shield the baby, and hurried to the car, where he carefully laid the child down on the passenger seat.
"My son, my dear son······."
Haires slowly unwrapped the cloth, now soaked with his own blood and dyed red.
He was too overwhelmed by joy and relief to even question why the end of the rope was so securely tied to the baby's blanket.
"Waaah! Waaah!"
The sound of his baby crying—the very sound he had longed to hear.
"Shh, shhh····."
"Shh, shhh..."
Having never cared for a baby before, Haires was flustered.
He gently stroked the baby's face, trying to soothe him.
Blood from his torn hand soaked the baby.
Soon, the baby stopped crying and grew quiet.
The baby moved his lips, stained red with Haires's blood, and swallowed the blood as it trickled in.
"...Your black hair looks just like Mia's. You're so beautiful. Really, truly beautiful..."
Haires whispered as tears streamed down his cheeks.
"Wait here just a moment. I'll bring your mother."
He pressed his blood-soaked lips to the baby's forehead, then returned to the Well, gathered Mia's lifeless body in his arms, and carried her back.
He carefully fastened the baby firmly to Mia's chest so he wouldn't fall, then, tears of joy streaming down his face, he drove home.
Swoooosh!
He thought he heard a sound coming from the hole in the Well, but it must have been just the rain.
Haires trembled with joy and fever as he looked back at the baby, now drenched with rainwater and his own blood.
"He's our son, Mia."
Haires whispered softly to Mia.
"Yes, Haires. He's our son."
Haires heard the blissful tone in Mia's voice and gazed into her eyes.
Cradling the baby in her arms, Mia sat motionless in the chair, staring back at him with lifeless, clouded eyes—and Haires smiled.
He didn't even know its name, but he was certain the ancient Barbarian God had saved his son.
This baby was unmistakably his son.