CHAPTER SEVEN.

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until the stars fell upon teyvat, piety apostle swore an oath — let the breeze guide her fate. however, shan't she follow the guise of wind. let destiny await her fate? such absurdity, such profanity, why would she let a prophecy impact her story? — now, welcome to a journey! an adventure where the piety apostle was the protagonist of her own story. a cliche, and irony storyline that has been overused, but fret not!

she was a protagonist in her own story, a supposedly good person and hero. but, not in this case — not in the case of society. they'd rather label the dainty apostle as another, definitely not a hero, nor a vigilante.

she was more of an antagonist. in the perspective of the twisted and cruel teyvat mortals that didn't understand that the sky that sheltered with a cloak of starry night, embracing nothing more but mere delusions that coated the sugary sweet world filled with lies.

"little apostle, you seem to be discontent with her majesty." signora came by, eloquently walking bypass the empty outdoor hallway that led to a magnificent balcony. the stars, aren't real, but yet — they glimmer so brightly in the dark abyssal night. what was it that made them sought for light? was it the will for life, or perhaps the fear of death. sighing, signora stood by your side as her eyes were filled with disappointment and disapproval. "her majesty ordered me to carry out the next task soon. we'll be departing in a week's time."

yet, stars aren't living creatures. without any consciousness, are they really alive?

"where to?" the piety apostle seemed distraught — lost in her own reality — a figment of imagination where wonders and miracles had once resided; was no more. dangling her petite legs off the ceramic-marble balcony, her hair flowed with the rhythm of the wind. "another gnosis to steal? or perhaps, did her empress order for death?"

who shall be empress tsarista's next victims?

the fair lady remained silent. she knew that the apostle wasn't stupid — a divine creature gifted with powers that surpasses the concept of divinity itself, a literal sculpture of perfection crafted into reality — the apostle knew, but yet, still asked.

"we depart to rex lapis first." signora's voice rung through the silent atmosphere. clear and graceful sounds of harmonious harp that dignified her maiden-like self. glancing back, and then fourth, she let out a hefty exhalation, before continuing on her sentence. "we made a contract on behalf. unlike barbatos, he has decided to settle it peacefully."

humming, the apostle slipped a whetted blade out, twirling it at the tip of her fingertips. no surprise, it was expected from the god of contracts. twirl, twirl, twirl; the knife seemed to dangerously topple, yet it still remained on her slender finger. a firm yet indecisive will, to lead celestial astray, yet wanting celestia to remain.

"as for death?"

"her empress ordered to carry out his extermination to occur a week after our deal with rex lapis is settled." signora glanced by the apostle, as she witnessed a small flicker, a falter of emotions within the apostle's eyes. wavering desires and lingering memories that restricted a full-on no mercy death. "it will be carried out by them."

"lynette and lyney?" the apostle still remained her composure. the profane knife that still miraculously spun up the air, and continued twirling as soon it reached the apostle's finger. she laughed at the relation — her and barbatos were nothing more but a marionettist and the marionette. yet, the apostle and the tyrant seemed fitting too. "the puppet and it's puppeteer? ironic."

but then, what was this swirl of guilt within her? no, it wasn't guilt. perhaps, it was the thought of her tyrant that she took awhile to perfect, was going to be slaughtered by the two fools.

she couldn't let him die.

"empress tsarista also said that you will be under supervision." signora carried on, before placing her slender hand onto the piety apostle's shoulder. a sign of pity, a symbol of warning; do not mess with her empress. "me and tartaglia will be monitoring you. when the time comes."

"but why?" the apostle flicked away signora's hand. it was cold; a stoic cryo remain that cremated within the veins of her blood. "killing barbatos out of the blue? after taking his gnosis, i suppose he is a useless pawn."

"precisely. and therefore, it would be necessary to dispose of any potential, or future threats-" before the fair platinum haired lady could further ramble on, the apostle's knife was like a sixth sense — swung towards the direction of signora's neck — fortunately, the apostle's grip on it was still steady. "as per said, by the empress herself."

"then why not kill rex lapis?" bloodlust, killing intent, anger. greedy sins that raged within the apostle's bones boiled once again. over and over, a never ending magma that spewed out of teyvat's crust. "won't he be as useless once his gnosis is taken away?"

now, the apostle's story wasn't a tragic backstory. neither was it a happy beginning — what could be classified as tragic? what is considered happy?

everyone's backstory resonates with biases within.

"or is it because, empress tsarista sees him as a threat to her because of me?"

and the piety apostle's backstory, was no exception.

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( CHAPTER  VII )

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