The thugs from the neighboring town had been eradicated.
Their bodies lay scattered far from the cave, left to be swallowed by the rain and silence alike. Yet, even after the violence had ended, the unease did not fade.
Inside the cave, Zimus remained unmoving.
Though the wounds that had once torn through his flesh were already sealed by holy magic, his breathing was still shallow and his presence was faint as if something within him had yet to return.
Or perhaps, something had yet to awaken.
Baston observed from afar. His consciousness anchored within the puppet that stood quietly beside the old man. He had expected the recovery to be swift. After all, the holy magic was not meant to fail.
And yet, an hour passed with nothing to happen.
Another stretch of time followed, measured only by the slow dripping of water from the cave's ceiling. Each drop echoed with an unnatural clarity as though the silence itself were listening.
The puppet did not move.
He waited for few hours before a twitch came to his sight. It was so slight that it could have been mistaken for the illusion.
Zimus's fingers curled weakly, followed by a strained breath that broke the stillness like a snapping fragile thread.
The puppet reacted immediately, acting like the real human.
Its posture straightened and its expression was softening into the carefully crafted warmth. Every movement was deliberate and rehearsed. It was not too eager and not too distant.
After all, the savior must never appear uncertain.
"Where…" Zimus's voice came out hoarse and fragmented, "Where am I…?"
His eyelids trembled before opening, revealing the unfocused eyes that were clouded with confusion.
"Am I already dead?" he murmured, "Is this heaven?"
"It is not heaven…" the man replied gently, "You still remain in the world of the living."
Zimus turned his head slowly as if each motion required much effort. His gaze landed on the figure before him. His sight lingered on the stranger with white hair and white pupils.
An appearance that did not belong to any ordinary man. The suspicion surfaced immediately.
"Who are you?" he asked, pushing himself upright despite the pain that followed.
"I am the one who saved you…"
"You saved me?"
The words did not settle easily in his mind.
Zimus narrowed his eyes. The man before him was too composed and too pristine like an image that was carved from the belief rather than flesh. And yet, when the man raised its hand, the light gathered.
It was soft at first before it became radiant. The holy magic resided between the fingers.
It flowed like a quiet water, illuminating the dim cave with a glow that carried neither heat nor weight. It was only there as a warm presence.
The old man quickly froze after he realized what unfolded in front of him.
In his lifetime, he had seen many things including the violence, desperation, and the lies dressed as kindness. But through holy magic, that was entirely different. It was a proof toward the embracing light that could save everyone.
Slowly, his resistance crumbled.
Without realizing it, he lowered his head further until his knees touched the ground.
"Forgive me…" he muttered and his voice was trembling, "I did not recognize you, my lord..."
The man smiled faintly, "Do not trouble yourself. After all, you have endured much."
The words were simple yet they struck deeper than intended.
Zimus remained still for a moment and his thoughts were unsteady. He indeed endured much and no one had ever described his life that way.
To most, he was nothing more than a thug. A man who profited from the degradation and a figure that people avoided rather than to understand.
"Tell me…" the man continued and its tone was calm plus almost distant, "You placed yourself in danger to protect the others. Does that not bring you pride?"
"Pride…?" Zimus repeated.
The word felt weird. He let out a quiet laugh which was bitter and hollow.
"I am no one worthy of such pride… I am a man who built a place that the others spit on. A man who trades women's dignity for money."
"Is that how you see yourself," the man asked, "Or is that how the others have taught you to see?"
Zimus hesitated because the question lingered deep inside his heart.
"It is the truth," he replied after a pause, "People like me… We do not get to choose what we are called."
"People are often the poor judges of worth…"
The silence echoed and the atmosphere became empty plus heavy.
"Even a flawed act may carry an unseen reason. Even a man burdened with the sin may yet walk a path that the others cannot."
Zimus felt something shift within him. For once in his life, he started to see the light. He was happy that someone finally understood him.
"My lord…" he said carefully, "Does God truly exist?"
The man tilted its head slightly, "Why do you ask?"
"Because…" Zimus's voice faltered, "If God exists, then what does He see when He looks at someone like me? Am I still a human or just a dirt?"
The rain slowly began pouring outside.
It was soft at first then it became heavier until it drummed against the ground like a relentless heartbeat.
The man remained still before he answered, "God exists where people's belief allows Him to exist. Not as a force that demands obedience but as something that is shaped by those who seek Him."
Zimus frowned, "I do not understand…"
"Consider this," the man said, "When people die, are they truly gone?"
"Yes..."
"And yet, do they not remain in the memory? In someone's thought? In the quiet moments when their presence lingers despite their absence?"
Zimus's expression tightened, "Yes, they do..."
"Then in that sense, they still exist. They are not in a flesh but in the new meaning."
The words settled slowly. Somehow, the old man seemingly understood something despite having difficulty to catch the meaning.
"If you believe in God," the man said, "Then God exists within you. If you do not, then He does not. His presence is not forced since it is accepted."
Zimus lowered his gaze, "I… do not know what I believe…"
"That is not a failing," the man replied, "It is a beginning."
*****
From afar, Baston watched with quiet amusement.
Zimus's hostility had dissolved faster than expected. The faith, whether real or constructed, remained one of the easiest doors to open especially when it was paired with the power.
The rain intensified and inside the cave, the temperature dropped.
"Let us speak of something else," the man said, "Let us speak about your business."
Zimus stiffened, "You know of it…?"
"I know enough…"
There was a pause before the man continued, "Do you believe it is right?"
"No…" Zimus answered immediately, "It is not… It's wrong for sure…"
"Then why continue?"
The question struck harder than any accusation. The old man could only clench his hands.
"Because I have no better solution. Those women… they have nothing... They have no support, no protection, and no way to survive on their own."
"And so, you gave them one…"
"A flawed one," Zimus admitted, "One that stains them more with each passing day."
The man watched him carefully, "Is it truly for them or for yourself?"
Zimus looked up sharply, "I… I do not know…"
The fire was lit soon after. The flames rose steadily, pushing back the cold.
Their light flickered across the cave walls which was distorting the shadows, bending their shapes into something that was almost alive.
Zimus stared into it before he broke the silence, "My lord… If I had the means, could I change?"
The man did not answer immediately. He let the time to halt the conversation before he replied.
"Change is not granted by the means alone. It requires will and the courage to abandon what is familiar."
Zimus nodded slowly, "That is what I lack…"
There was a long silence before the old man continued, "My wife… She believed I could become a better person."
The man turned his gaze toward him, "Where is she now?"
"Gone…" Zimus replied, "It was happened long ago..."
The fire crackled inside and the rain continued at the outside. It strangely brought a contradiction closer than before.
"Do you still remember her?" the man asked.
"Every day, I still remember her…"
"Then, she is not gone..."
Zimus's breath faltered, agreeing with the words. His love to her was still inside his heart.
"She remains alive because you refuse to let her fade."
Something shifted deep within Zimus's chest. It was not relief and peace but something dangerously close. It was an understanding toward a new future.
Baston observed in the silence.
Something about the moment felt unusual. It was not because of what he said but because of how Zimus received it as if the man were not merely listening but he was awakening.
Zimus's thoughts churned.
The fragments of his past surfaced about the moments he had buried and the choices he had justified. And now, under the weight of the quiet words and relentless rain, they began to rearrange themselves.
Had he truly been guiding the others?
Or simply hiding from his own failures?
Why had he survived only to repeat the mistakes?
The questions did not bring clarity. It only brought purpose to his life. Without warning, the old man moved.
He reached forward and embraced the white-haired figure. The gesture was sudden and unrestrained.
"My lord…" his voice trembled, "I understand now… I think I finally understand…"
The man remained still. He did not return the gesture an did not react. He only observed the next action.
From afar, Baston narrowed his eyes slightly. Something about the embrace felt wrong because it reminded him about few people who did the same.
The timing startled him because it was too sudden as if Zimus had reached a conclusion that had not been fully given.
The fire flickered and the shadows shifted.
For a brief moment, the old man's expression which was hidden from the view was one of gratitude.
Strangely, he started to change after being enlightened. His eyes which was once clouded with confusion and exhaustion began to steady. The trembling in his breath slowed. Even his grip, which had been desperate and clinging, gradually loosened.
He pulled back to look at the white-haired figure again.
"My lord…" he whispered.
His voice no longer carried the same uncertainty as before. Something within him had changed.
The rain outside grew heavier and its relentless rhythm was filling the cave like a distant chant. The fire crackled in response and its light was flickering against the stone walls, casting the shadows that seemed to shift.
Zimus stared into those shifting shapes.
At first, they were nothing more than the distortions and fragments of darkness that was bent by flame. But the longer he looked, the less certain that became.
The shadows no longer felt random.
They stretched and curled, merging and separating, forming the silhouettes of his past that lingered just long enough to be noticed before dissolving again.
Zimus blinked once and twice before he stared back.
"My lord…" he said slowly, "I always knew that I'm in the wrong yet I tried to ignore it since it gives people here a hope that they can embrace."
The man did not turn, "Why do you think so?"
Zimus's chest tightened and his gaze remained fixed on the wall. The question was simple yet it struck harder this time.
After all, he believed he had already done few good deeds for the town even though it was wrong at the first place.
Zimus lowered his head slowly and his hands were trembling not with fear but with something far more overwhelming and understanding.
It was not the kind that could be explained and not the kind that came from logic but the kind that settled into the soul without permission.
"My lord…" he murmured, "All this time… I thought I was choosing the lesser evil…"
"I thought… if I could give them money… if I could give them safety…" his voice wavered, "Then, it would be enough."
"But, it was never enough…" his hands tightened into fists, "I was afraid..."
The words came out clearer now, "Afraid that I could not do better and afraid that if I let go of what
I built, there would be nothing left."
The fire flared slightly as if it was reacting.
The old man lifted his head again. His eyes no longer searched the shadows. They had already found what they needed.
"My lord…" he said with steadier voice than ever before, "If God exists… then He did not save me to remain the same."
"If He truly exists within belief… then perhaps…" Zimus continued, "…this is His answer."
He placed a hand over his chest slowly and deliberately, "As long as I breathe… as long as I remember… then I am not alone."
A long silence followed. The rain did not cease and the fire did not dim. And yet, something within the cave had changed.
The old man bowed his head, not out of fear nor reverence toward the figure before him, but toward something unseen. Something he could not name.
"I understand now," he said quietly.
It was not a declaration but an acceptance. From afar, Baston watched everything without speaking.
Zimus's transformation had reached its conclusion yet something about it did not sit right. It was too smooth as if the answer had been waiting long before the question was asked.
Baston narrowed his eyes slightly. For a brief moment, he wondered.
Had he guided this outcome?
Or merely stepped into something that was already unfolding?
The thought lingered then faded because in the end, the result remained the same.
Inside the cave, Zimus lifted his head once more.
His expression was calm. He was not empty and not broken but he was resolved.
And in the quiet space between the rain and flame, he believed, for the first time in his life, that God had answered him.