Flashback to the day Vivian could not resist embracing the Guardian.

  The Guardian, now awake, had shoved her away and bolted down the corridor like a startled rabbit. Vivian knelt on the wet, icy stone, feeling nothing but cold.

  "Am I unclean?" She stroked the shoulder he had pushed; her body and mind filled with the dead silence of abandonment—of being forsaken by God.

  "Or did my greed anger you?"

  She dared not chase him. A vessel loathed by God had no right to ask for forgiveness. She kept vigil in the prayer room, watching the eternal lamp burn through the night.

  However, the next day, when she went to the meditation chamber full of guilt to find the Guardian, she witnessed a completely different scene.

  The Guardian had shed his robes, wearing only a thin linen underlayer. Crow, her Gatekeeper, was lashing the Guardian's body repeatedly with thorns.

  Each time the whip struck, the Guardian gritted his teeth and endured, even signaling for him to continue.

  Vivian's heart bled, yet it also burned with the venomous fire of jealousy.

  Look. Crow is blaspheming the Guardian, yet the Guardian accepts it with joy. Why, then, reject me? Would you rather endure those rough thorns than my soft embrace?

  Fine. If you can endure it, so can I!

  She knelt beside the Guardian, demanding Crow whip her as well. Regrettably, the thorns left not a single mark on her skin. And the Guardian’s eyes were filled only with avoidance.

  On the third day, she saw the Guardian in Mother Mora’s prayer room. The door was ajar.

  She saw the Guardian and the Mother sitting at a table. Spread out between them was a massive "Scroll of Truth," covered in complex lines. The Guardian’s finger traced over the scroll, his mouth chanting spells she couldn't understand.

  Mora nodded fervently, occasionally shaking her head in confusion. Her usually cloudy eyes shone with the light of wisdom, as if she had received divine enlightenment.

  Waves of suffocation washed over Vivian.

  He is teaching Mora—a mere low-ranking Mother—leading her into the halls of wisdom. And me? The exalted Fire Keeper? Locked outside like a discarded porcelain doll?

  They don't need me. Be it for faith or wisdom, they don't need me anymore.

  When the morning light of the fifth day shone into the bedchamber, Vivian finally mustered the courage to push open the Guardian's door, holding a golden basin for washing. She longed desperately to see him, touch him, serve him.

  But what greeted her was an empty bed.

  The bedding was neat, without a trace of warmth. The wooden wheelchair sat forlornly in the corner, like an old shell shed by a god, or a living joke meant to mock her.

  The Guardian was gone!

  She searched the entire Sanctum but could not find him. The Mother claimed the Guardian had gone to find ritual implements for the Lunar Rite.

  She didn't believe it!

  "Ha..." She let out a short, sharp laugh. But she didn't panic as before. She returned to the Guardian's room, gripping the cold wooden armrests of the wheelchair.

  "You want to flee?" Her gaze suddenly sharpened.

  "Like a rat in a sewer, dragging your weak shell away under the cover of night? Is this your divinity? Is this the Guardian I suffered in silence to serve?"

  The wheelchair armrest creaked under her grip.

  "Coward!"

  She cursed at the void, her voice trembling with rage.

  I served such a mortal for over a Gaia-month? I repented in the dirt for a commoner who only knows how to run?

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  Boiling oil poured over her heart.

  But anger is volatile; the pendulum swung instantly to the other extreme.

  "No... this isn't true... You are playing with me... You are humiliating me, punishing me..."

  Vivian clutched her chest. The Ark within her exploded again. The Holy Fire turned into a roaring dragon, slamming madly against her ribs.

  "Come out! Look at me! How dare you ignore me!"

  Vivian began to scream.

  The door was smashed open. It was Mora, rushing in clad in her Holy Armor, hugging her tightly. Mora’s tears fell on her shoulder: "Endure, my child, please endure the pain!"

  The Holy Fire finally subsided. Vivian curled up in Mora’s arms. Jealousy vanished, anger vanished, everything vanished, leaving only an abject humility.

  "Please... come back..."

  She prayed, trembling, her voice utterly broken.

  On the evening of the seventh day, the sound of returning footsteps finally broke the silence of the prayer room.

  Vivian jerked her head up.

  His tall silhouette was backlit by the afterglow of the setting sun.

  It really was him. But different—he wore a set of Holy Armor she had never seen before. The cold silver light radiating from it was like tamed thunder.

  Vivian wanted to rush forward, wanted to kneel and kiss his feet. So you really went to don armor for me. You are no longer the frail sufferer, but an invincible God of War.

  But the Guardian’s gaze nailed her to the spot, making her heart pound wildly.

  "Come here." The Guardian issued an Oracle he had never given before—unquestionable.

  Vivian immediately knelt and crawled to the Guardian.

  "What are you doing?" The Guardian took a step back. "Get up. Take off your robe."

  This command sounded more beautiful than any hymn.

  He is commanding me. He sees me. He needs me.

  She immediately untied the sash of her robe, followed by the inner lining, the bindings...

  When the last wisp of gauze fell to her feet, Vivian stood proudly between the sunset and the Guardian.

  She felt no shame at all. In Paradise, before the Supreme One, she should offer her primordial self without reservation.

  However, praise did not appear. She only heard a sharp gasp coming from inside the Holy Armor. She saw the silver arms behind the Guardian open like a blooming flower.

  She even noticed a suspicious flush spreading from his neck to his ears.

  The Guardian... is shy?

  "You... what are you doing!" The Guardian’s voice suddenly cracked, thundering with rage. "Who told you to strip naked! Put it on! Quickly!"

  A strange warmth surged through Vivian.

  The Guardian is... restraining himself? Is he shaken by my perfect body? Or is it to prevent his holy gaze from being defiled by earthly desires? Yes. His panic is not indifference, but anger masking his grace towards me.

  "Yes... my Supreme One." She picked up her undergarments with joy.

  "All right..." Only then did the Guardian turn around, still radiating fury. "You, you, you, listen clearly to my commands, don't act on your own again!"

  Moments later, the Guardian took out various ritual implements—some she had seen, some she hadn't.

  He said he was crafting a brand new set of Holy Robes for her for the Lunar Rite.

  So that is it. Vivian let the cold golden ruler press against her skin. As for the mundane vocabulary coming from the Guardian's mouth—shoulder width, bust, waistline, hip circumference, heart rate, blood pressure—she didn't care at all.

  As long as his fingers traced her skin, she received that tingling reward.

  And there was more grace. Some of it was tedious, cold, even rough, but she only craved more, closer.

  "Finally, I need to collect a blood sample."

  The Guardian took out a silver needle and pricked Vivian's arm, but after a flash of silver light, the needle bent.

  The Guardian tried the back of her hand, the side of her neck. Still failed.

  "Damned nanites..." She heard the Guardian curse in a low voice. "Not even an entry point?"

  Watching the Guardian’s endearing anxiety, Vivian felt deep self-blame. It is my body being too stubborn, obstinately refusing the Guardian's help.

  Entry point... where else is there an entry point?

  A flash of inspiration brought the ritual of the Fated Covenant to her mind.

  She lifted her face, met his stunned gaze, opened her mouth wide, and stuck out her tongue, pointing straight to its root.

  Here, my Lord. It is possible here.

  The Guardian froze for a moment, sweat suddenly beading on his forehead. But he took off a glove, washed his hands with purified water, and finally inserted his fingers into her mouth, pinching her tongue to touch the place where the Crimson Dew could be extracted.

  The Guardian said: "Hold still. This’ll sting."

  A stinging pain came.

  But Vivian didn't even frown. She widened her eyes, watching the Guardian's face inches away, feeling only sweetness.

  The Guardian pulled out the silver needle, and the metallic taste of blood instantly filled Vivian's mouth.

  She suddenly understood. The Guardian must have thought of the signing of the Covenant just now. That was the moment destined for them!

  An irresistible force suddenly took control of her. Return to that moment!

  She was no longer reserved! Regardless of everything, she became a climbing vine, suddenly wrapping around the Guardian's neck, uncontrollably pressing her lips against his.

  This is my blood. Flowing for you.

  The Guardian’s body trembled violently. But this time, he couldn't push her away. Instead, his hand gripped her waist—not to control, but to press closer.

  He was sucking, almost hungrily. The tip of his tongue swept over her wound, sending shivers through her.

  Amidst this mouth full of sweet, metallic blood, Vivian felt a scalding drop of liquid fall onto her cheek.

  Not blood. Sweat? Or... a tear?

  She listened to the Guardian's heartbeat, a resonance in sync with hers.

  He desires me! This realization made Vivian's very soul scream.

  After a long time, their lips finally parted.

  They panted together, a thread of blood connecting the corners of their mouths, shining in the twilight.

  The Guardian wiped his swollen lips, smeared that streak of blood onto his own face, and whispered in a voice only the two of them could hear:

  "...Lunatic. You are absolutely insane!"

  No scolding. Just that doomed, drowning kind of fondness.

  Then, he stumbled and ran away.

  the story is fully written.

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