He feels his feet sink into the soft sand, and his toes are teasingly licked by the sea foam. The breeze plays with his hair and the feathers of his wings behind his head. The play of light on the small ripples of the water reflects on his golden irises, causing his eyes to involuntarily squint and fill with tears.

There is much behind him. A shattered dream, broken ideals, the humiliation of defeat, separation. Punishment and exile, which he accepted with bitterness, but humility.

Ahead is the unknown. His future is as hazy as the horizon line of this sea sparkling in the rays of the sun.

And in between is this strange feeling of peace that neither Harmony nor Order could give him, but was given to the simple person who brought him here today.

He feels their gaze on him, he knows what they want to ask him. But Sunday, perhaps for the first time in his life, cannot breathe a word. He has listened to other people’s prayers, other’s sins, and other’s sorrows for so long that he seems to have completely forgotten what it is like to feel something of his own, something real.

His mind, always questioning, always searching for an answer to something that perhaps has no answer at all, suddenly fell silent, faced with this vast and so calm landscape.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” Sunday finally admitted, not taking his eyes off the sea. A barely noticeable, slightly embarrassed, but sincere smile touched his lips. His voice, soft, velvety, was now slightly trembling.

“Perhaps you were right. Reality can be beautiful too.”