Cracks in the Sacred Vow

The carriage moved out of the capital and passed through the villages lining the road to the Temple. In every village, including the capital, people wept and prostrated themselves as I passed, calling out my name in succession.

To the “me” of my past life, this would have been incredibly overwhelming. With all due respect to the citizens of the Empire, their behavior reminded me of religious fanatics.

‘It’s not as if the Imperial family truly cherishes the people.’

How should I put it? To the Imperial family, the people’s affection was like the air they breathed—they took it for granted that a citizen of the Empire should adore them. That was why their blind devotion felt both burdensome and pitiful.

Their proud Empire was destined to end with my generation, after all…

We took short breaks on the secluded stretches of the road. By the time we arrived at the Temple, the sun was hovering on the edge of the horizon.

Seamus, who had been blushing and stealing glances at me earlier, was now pale with nerves, reciting the ritual sequence like a frantic mantra.

“Step down from the carriage, assist His Highness in dismounting… receive the water jar containing the Holy Water…”

He was reciting at a speed comparable to a rapper. I gave him a light tap, and he snapped his head toward me, startled.

“Don’t be so nervous. Why be tense when I’m right beside you?”

“That… that’s true.”

I had only meant it as a light joke to ease his mind, but Seamus, who took everything in the world with utmost gravity, nodded with a serious expression and seemed to actually relax.

While I was watching him, wondering what was going through his head, a priest approached the carriage and announced it was time to dismount. Assisted by Seamus, I stepped down and knelt on both knees toward the Temple.

Because I was of Imperial blood, this sufficed; everyone else dropped their entire bodies to the ground the moment my knees touched the earth.

After offering my salutations and standing up, the priest handed Seamus a water jar and a small wooden ladle. As we entered the Temple garden, I ladled out the Holy Water and sprinkled it around to pray for world peace.

I watched in wonder as the grass touched by the water began to glow faintly. I didn’t know the exact principle, but I assumed the Divine Power within the Holy Water was causing the flora to react.

Every three steps, I sprinkled the water while praying that there would be no famine and that no wicked plagues would sweep the land. Upon reaching the Temple and ascending the stairs, my prayers shifted toward the divine.

Reciting silent praises to God and wishes for the Imperial family’s health, I climbed higher. Finally, reaching the altar, I dipped the ladle into the nearly empty jar and knelt.

‘May everyone be happy.’

The citizens I saw on the way, the servants working in the palace, and the people I cared for—I prayed before God for the happiness of the world I loved. Within that prayer were Chase, Ethan, and Seamus.

Since my very existence was proof of His presence, I prayed to Him with a truly desperate heart.

‘…And may I be able to go in peace.’

I prayed that the dormant toxicity within me would not torment me. I wasn’t reaching for the forbidden just to live a little longer, so I hoped God might at least grant this much.

I peeked at the altar, but there was no reaction. Just as I was feeling sheepish, wondering if my prayer had been too irreverent, the altar suddenly began to glow. A pillar of light surged toward the open ceiling.

“Oh! God has answered!”

The priests were overwhelmed by the erupting light. Even though they saw it every year, they cried out to the gracious God with the same fuss and fervor every time.

Seeing the light burst forth a moment late, I couldn’t help but think that perhaps God had been taken aback by my request. Still, this sight was a novelty since my reincarnation. While I stood there entranced, the ritual came to an end.

Chase had been agonized since the morning of the ritual. How could someone like me dare participate in a sacred ceremony? God would know better than anyone that Chase was not His descendant.

He was terrified that God would not tolerate someone who had lived as the son of a sinner for eleven years. What if He descends just to punish me for my sins?

His whole body trembled at the thought, but he could not skip the ceremony. It was an event so glorious that even watching from the sidelines was an honor; he would have crawled there on severed legs if he had to. It was a position Aylen had secured for him, and he didn’t dare miss it for any reason.

‘In the past, I wanted to participate just once.’

Back when he could still call Aylen “Brother,” Chase had longed for this event. He didn’t covet Aylen’s position; he would have been content to serve as a mere page.

The role he had wanted most was the one Ethan now held, but Aylen had ignored his half-brother in favor of his cousin.

‘Did he know instinctively? That I wasn’t his real brother?’

Was that why he hated me? All sorts of thoughts swirled in Chase’s head.

Ultimately unable to say he wouldn’t attend, Chase boarded the carriage he had so desperately wanted to ride during his time as a Prince. Ethan, who rode with him, picked a fight as usual, but Chase was too preoccupied to respond properly.

On the way up to the Temple, he trembled every time the glowing Holy Water hit the grass. He feared that if the water touched his skin, he would burst into flames. Such a punishment seemed fitting for a liar. But contrary to his fears, his body did not burn.

Chase watched blankly as Aylen knelt before the altar. The moment Aylen finished his prayer and opened his eyes, Chase nearly stopped breathing.

Every year at this time, he had seen the light piercing the sky from Dhalia’s palace. He feared that the delay in the light appearing was his fault—that his impure presence had tainted the ritual.

Just as Chase’s face contorted with horror, the light finally exploded from the altar, making his legs go weak. He was certain God intended to stop his heart. Why else would He torment him so?

After the ritual, they ate the dinner provided by the priests and retired to their assigned rooms. Well, only Ethan refused his room, shooting a boastful look at Chase and Seamus before slipping into Aylen’s quarters.

Normally, Chase would have ignored such behavior, but his nerves were so frayed that even that petty act made him incredibly angry.

“Shall we… head in as well?”

Seamus spoke to Chase with an awkward smile. Chase felt deeply ashamed that Seamus was the first to offer a gesture of reconciliation, especially since they hadn’t spoken since the incident. It was his own fault for saying such spiteful things out of jealousy to such a kind person.

Chase nodded and walked with him. Since their rooms were adjacent, they stayed together until the very end.

“Goodnight, Chase.”

“Yes. To you as well, My Lord.”

Seeing Seamus’s eyes curve into gentle crescents through the closing door, Chase felt miserable. Feeling less than human, he tossed and turned until, unable to sleep, he stepped out of his room. The only thing glowing in the dark, silent Temple was the altar.

Approaching the brilliantly shining altar, Chase knelt and folded his hands just as Aylen had done.

‘God, please have mercy on me.’

Though he was pretending to be His descendant, it hadn’t been his choice. He prayed that God would take pity on him and keep this secret hidden from everyone.

The secret Chase held was too heavy for an eleven-year-old to bear alone. Beneath the accumulating guilt, he finally broke down and wept.

Crouched before the altar and sobbing, Chase didn’t hear the approaching footsteps.

“Chase?”

With a sharp gasp of surprise, Chase scrambled to his feet. As he did, a pendant tumbled from his robe with a metallic clink. He fumbled to catch it, but the pendant bounced off the altar and skittered past him, falling to the floor.

Aylen, who had called his name, saw the pendant roll to his feet and picked it up, his expression immediately turning to one of dismay.

“This… I think it’s broken.”

On Aylen’s white palm, the mysteriously glowing gemstone was cracked wide open. The frame held the stone in place so it hadn’t fallen out entirely, but it was clearly ruined. Aylen’s face clouded with concern, knowing this was a keepsake of the late Concubine Dhalia.

Unaware of Aylen’s thoughts, Chase’s face drained of all color as he saw the pendant—the very evidence of his crime—in Aylen’s hand. Seeing him trembling and pale, Aylen bit his lip.

If he hadn’t called out to him, the heirloom wouldn’t have been damaged. Assuming the boy’s terror was due to the broken keepsake, Aylen felt a wave of guilt.

“…I’m sorry.”

As a Crown Prince who had been taught that “The Emperor is never at fault,” Aylen had never apologized to anyone. But seeing Chase shaking with such a ghost-white face over the broken item, the words came out naturally.

Aylen took a handkerchief from his pocket, wrapped the pendant in it, and handed it back. The cracked edges were sharp, and he didn’t want the boy to cut his hands.

Whether or not Chase understood the weight of a Prince’s apology, he remained pale, silently taking the handkerchief.

“I couldn’t sleep and came out because I heard crying, but I didn’t mean to startle you…”

“No, no. It’s alright.”

“But isn’t that Concubine Dhalia’s keepsake?”