he could barely hear anything. see anything, feel anything.

—No. there was only one feeling overwhelming him, the feeling of betrayal.

he wondered why he hadn’t blocked saga’s attack —who thought it was the pope— he was an ancient golden saint, and yet, he stood there like an idiot, so confused and shocked that he didn’t even try to block his attack.

lying on the ground, alone and in pain, this was where he would die. all that surrounded him were his roses, which were quickly wilting along with Aphrodite’s life.

If so, how did he end up here?

he slowly opened his eyes, to see a ceiling above him, instead of the dark sky that hung over him. a warm bed, a thick blanket over his injured but bandaged body, and the sweet smell of soup surrounding his nose coming from what he assumed was the kitchen.

he didn’t intend to get up until he noticed his armor was gone, immediately startled as he scanned the room for it, stopping short when he noticed a young woman at the doorstep, hesitant to enter, he assumed she was the one who had taken him in.

“miss, did you take me here?”

he asked in a soft, polite tone. although he wanted to ask about his armor first, knowing where he was was more important now.