Forbidden Constellation's Blade-Chapter 150: A God Still Alive

Ryn walked through the streets of this ancient city, yet he didn’t know where his feet took him.

He felt a bit of his agency back, but it was clear that this was an event that Nico was leading.

After a while, he arrived at a small apothecary’s place where Mazin was being treated.

Ryn opened the front door and was instantly hit with the pungent smell of herbs and herbal concoctions that was just brewing on the side.

Mazin was awake when he entered.

A small part inside Ryn’s body was relieved, even if it wasn’t really him feeling it.

Mazin lay propped up against a stack of pillows, chest wrapped in layers of bandages that almost made him look like a mummy.

One arm was immobilized, propped up in a little splint, while the other was resting simply at his side. His face was pale but his eyes were clear to some extent.

"You look like hell," Mazin said the moment he saw him.

Ryn huffed softly. "You’re not exactly glowing yourself."

Mazin smiled at that, then winced. "Yeah. Wouldn’t recommend whatever I did."

Ryn stepped closer, stopping at the foot of the bed. He looked Mazin over once.

"Can you move?"

"Enough," Mazin said. "Hurts, but I’ll live."

"That’s good."

There was a brief pause. The room was quiet, the kind of quiet that only existed once the worst had already passed.

Ryn didn’t waste time.

"Kato," he said.

Mazin blinked. "What about him?"

Ryn folded his arms. "Where did he come from?"

Mazin hesitated, then shrugged carefully. "I don’t really know. One day he just... showed up."

"Showed up how?"

"Battered," Mazin said. "Bruised. Half-starved. He said he ran away from home."

Ryn’s gaze sharpened slightly. "That’s it?"

"That’s all he told me," Mazin replied. "He didn’t talk much back then."

"Was the last to arrive at the orphanage."

Ryn remained silent, waiting.

Mazin shifted against the pillows, eyes drifting toward the ceiling as he continued.

"I overheard the Father talking once," he said. "With one of the volunteers. He didn’t realize I was nearby."

Ryn’s expression didn’t change.

"Kato’s family was... bad," Mazin said slowly. "Abusive, apparently. And when the Evernight hit, things got worse. They started thinking he was cursed. A bad omen."

He swallowed.

"They blamed him for everything. The sickness. The attacks. Even when food went missing."

Ryn felt something cold settle in his chest.

"They kept hitting him," Mazin finished. "Even after it was clear he wasn’t the problem."

The room fell quiet again.

Mazin glanced at Ryn, then looked away. "When he first came here, he was like a scared cat. Always hiding. Flinched if you moved too fast. Sometimes he’d just... stare off into nothing."

Ryn remembered the way Kato had stood earlier, the same traits were still there, just... a bit more responsive.

"It was Aria," Mazin said. "She was the one who got through to him."

A faint smile tugged at his lips.

"That’s why he listens to her," Mazin said. "Why he trusts her so much. If Aria says something is right... Kato believes it."

Ryn didn’t speak right away.

Mazin’s words lingered, settling into place one by one, like pieces of a puzzle he hadn’t realized he was assembling.

No one said it out loud, but the shape was unmistakable now.

Everything curved toward her.

Not because she demanded it. But because when things went wrong, when fear crept in...everyone instinctively looked to Aria.

The same way plants grow toward the Sun.

Ryn exhaled slowly.

This really was putting all the eggs in one basket.

Then a sudden realization hit him like a force of nature.

Kato, the future one, wasn’t showing Ryn this because it was a beautiful moment.

He was showing him this because it was fragile, because this was the last moment where everything was still fine on the surface.

And most of all...that it’s bound to become a tragedy.

Did Kato want him to fix what was happening? But what was the point?

It was a past memory anyway.

Nonetheless, a part of Ryn wanted to get down to the truth, to learn of what happened regardless.

He tried digging deeper into Nico’s subconsciousness, yet a part of his memories had been blocked.

No good...

He would have to do this the normal way.

Starting with the clearest indicator...

Ryn hesitated for half a breath.

Then, carefully, he said, "Did you know the Father set up a healing tent?"

Mazin frowned. "A what?"

"Right next to the orphanage," Ryn continued. "Like a full service, with healers rotating people in and out."

Mazin’s expression darkened instantly.

"He did what?"

Before Ryn could react, Mazin tried to sit up.

Pain flashed across his face. He sucked in a sharp breath, body tensing as his bandaged torso protested violently. One hand clenched the sheets as he fought to keep himself upright.

"Don’t," Ryn said immediately, stepping forward. He pressed a hand lightly against Mazin’s shoulder, steady but firm. "You’re injured."

Mazin let out a frustrated hiss and fell back against the pillows, chest rising and falling too fast.

"That’s exploitation," Mazin said through clenched teeth. "Clear as day."

Ryn didn’t disagree.

"He’s turning relief into a service," Mazin continued. "Putting himself between them and Aria. Making people think help has a price."

"He hasn’t set a price," Ryn said.

"That’s worse," Mazin snapped. "It lets him pretend he isn’t."

Silence followed.

Mazin stared at the ceiling, jaw tight. Then, slowly, the anger drained from his face, replaced with something like nostalgia.

"Why?" he asked."...He didn’t used to be like this." 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎

Ryn waited.

"When the orphanage first took us in," Mazin continued, quieter now, "he was kind. Genuinely. He’d give up his own meals if someone else was hungry. Never took more than he needed."

His fingers curled slightly.

"He believed in doing good," Mazin said. "Not profiting from it."

The question came unbidden, rawer than before.

"So what changed?"

Ryn didn’t have an answer, and neither did Nico.

Then he said, simply, "I’ll find out."

"Yeah," Mazin said. "I figured you would."

The room stilled.

Not metaphorically.

The light coming in through the window stopped shifting. The distant sounds of the city stopped completely, falling away like someone had slowly closed a door on the world outside.

Ryn frowned faintly.

He glanced around the room.

Mazin wasn’t moving anymore.

That’s new.

He didn’t comment on it. Instead, a strange sensation stirred in his chest.

It was like something was tugging at the back of his mind, urging him forward along a path that hadn’t fully formed yet.

This was something Ryn was too familiar with.

A moment that was supposed to lead somewhere.

Something that should’ve happened back then.

He looked once more at Mazin, broken and furious, and turned toward the door.

The pull in Ryn’s head eased as the world resumed its rhythm.

He rolled his shoulders once.

Control was fully his now.

If this was the point where things had gone wrong before, then watching wasn’t enough anymore.

Ryn left the apothecary behind quickly and made his way back toward the orphanage proper.

And he did what he’d done best: recon.

He chose a spot nearby with a clear view of the courtyard and waited.

Time passed by without much happening.

Volunteers came and went, supplies were moved. Nothing that stood out at first glance.

Ryn let it all wash over him, attention focused on his purpose.

Eventually, when things died down and most had left for the day, the door opened.

And the Father emerged.

He wasn’t in a hurry or was he sneaking, simply adjusted his robe, and stepped beyond the orphanage gates.

Alone.

Ryn’s eyes followed him calmly.

There you are.

The Father didn’t head toward the tent.

Didn’t return to his quarters either.

Instead, he turned down a side street, one that led away from both.

Ryn waited a few seconds longer. Then he moved.

He kept the distance just long enough to never be obvious, close enough to never lose him.

If the Evernight had taught him anything, it was this:

Monsters announced themselves.

People didn’t.

They passed through streets Ryn knew well, then into ones he didn’t. The noise of the orphanage district faded behind them, replaced by the hollow quiet of construction zones and half-finished stonework.

Eventually, the Father stopped.

A cathedral stood before him.

Or rather—what would become one.

Ryn slowed.

Something about the place felt... familiar.

The Father stepped inside.

Ryn circled wide, finding a small ledge along exposed beams and half-laid stone. He moved upward, silently, until he reached a narrow window overlooking the interior.

He peered in.

The hall was empty, but at the far end, something caught his eye.

Something that he’d never be able to unsee.

It was a statue, the same one that he’d seen in the ruins, half-destroyed.

Ryn’s breath caught.

It wasn’t a god, yet the face carved into the stone was unmistakable.

Aria.

With both hands gently folded around her chest.

He couldn’t afford to stare longer as the Father crossed the floor alone, his footsteps echoing softly.

Ryn shifted position, slipping to a second window just in time to see inside.

The Father closed the door behind him.

He moved to a bookshelf set against the wall and ran his fingers along the spines before pulling a single volume free.

The shelf shifted.

Stone groaned softly as a hidden mechanism engaged. The wall slid aside, revealing a narrow staircase descending into darkness.

The Father stepped forward without hesitation.

The passage started to close behind him.

Ryn remained still for a long moment, eyes fixed on the place where the wall had been.

It was clear now.

This was something he had to see.