"Whatever the reason, there is no true justification for what I did. I know my guilt. I accept it."
Liora’s bitter smile carried that confession as she looked at Frey and Snow.
"No... you are not guilty."
This time, it was Uriel who spoke, her words sincere.
She clasped her hands and lowered her head, recalling the years she had spent within the walls of the church.
She had seen much. And though her strength was modest, she could have influenced pivotal events. But she had remained silent, paralyzed by fear of what might happen to her.
Because of that silence, disaster followed. Thirty-five million lives were lost—a burden she would likely carry for the rest of her days.
"You are not guilty. Or rather—none of us have the right to judge you. We have not endured what you endured, nor lived the life you and the other heroes of the distant past lived."
It was always easy to speak, to cast blame on others.
But what if the roles were reversed?
What if they had lived in that age, forced to face what Liora and the others had faced?
What would they have done, discovering that all the strength they had clawed their way to was nothing but child’s play before an enemy who could erase SSS-ranked beings as if they were mere insects?
There were doubts about the Engineer, yes—but the Readers had believed him. And the "solution" he offered was the hope they needed in their darkest hour.
"Perhaps you are guilty. Or perhaps your choice was the right one. I don’t know. But I do know this: had I borne the same burdens, I most likely would have chosen as you did. So who am I to judge you?" Uriel said with a small smile.
Frey nodded.
"Well said."
Turning toward Snow, he reinforced Uriel’s words.
"Snow... we did not live what they lived. We did not suffer what they suffered. Even if we were in their place, forced to choose—perhaps we too would have chosen the same. And besides, the past is done. There is no point in speaking endlessly of what cannot be changed. Our present and our future—those are what matter now."
Frey’s agreement with Uriel surprised Liora, who had not expected such words. She thanked them sincerely.
"On behalf of myself, and of all my comrades... I truly thank you for those words."
The words of Frey and Uriel did not erase the past—but they warmed her heart. Doubt had plagued her choices for centuries, enough that she had finally broken the vow to save Frey and Snow.
"No thanks are needed. You are still the one who saved our lives. But let’s see... there are many things you can help us with now, since you’ve chosen to reveal yourself," Frey said with a faint smile, already intent on seizing the opportunity of having gained an unexpected SSS-rank ally.
His calm composure, his unshaken demeanor despite all that had happened—these qualities earned Liora’s admiration.
"Ask me anything, Frey Starlight. So long as it is within my power, I will aid you however I can." The saint declared her intent to cooperate.
Snow, meanwhile, fell silent—choosing not to speak further as he wrestled with all he had heard.
Uriel Platini, watching Frey intently from the side, found her thoughts drifting back to her earlier words... wondering what she herself, alongside Frey and Snow, would have done had the choice been theirs instead of Liora’s.
She knew well—she would have chosen as the saint had. Which was why she did not see herself fit to judge.
But Frey Starlight... he was different. Of that, she was certain.
He would fight to the end. No matter the foe, no matter the obstacle—he would fight until death.
He had chosen long ago. And he had already learned how to die.
That was why he could remain composed, even now.
A man like that... so long as he stood beside her, Uriel felt that she too could fight, and perhaps find the courage she had always lacked.
And so she resolved to grow stronger—to seize this chance, no matter what it cost—since the Saint of Dawn herself now stood among them.
Frey took the initiative, already intent on using the saint’s presence to his advantage. And his first move struck straight to the heart of what plagued him most.
"To begin with, I’d ask your aid in destroying the shadow that dwells within my body. And in guiding our friend, the hero here, to find the path most fitting for him."
"The shadow dwelling in your body... ah. I think I understand what you mean—I could sense something aberrant in the aura coming off you."
Frey nodded, then stripped off his upper garments. The moment he did, Snow and Uriel both widened their eyes at the sight of his bare skin.
A strange blackness had spread across his body, leaving him sickly, drained of his usual vitality.
"Frey... what happened to you?!" Uriel asked, alarmed.
"It’s a long story. The short of it is: this body has hit its limit, and I need treatment," Frey answered, turning to the saint. "You wield a tremendous holy power. I’m assuming you can help me—right?"
He pressed the point—this was his top priority. The shadow infesting his body had grown so disruptive he was losing control of his strength. It had directly contributed to his loss against Blattier. He wouldn’t be able to fight again unless he purged it—fast. He’d pinned his hopes on the saint; perhaps this was what the Engineer meant when he said Uriel would lead him to the answer.
Liora nodded and stepped closer, placing her palm to Frey’s chest. Within seconds, her golden, sacred power surged into him, flooding his body with warmth and majesty.
Frey felt an immediate rush of vigor, like his peak returning all at once. With power like this, he truly believed he could finally scour the shadow out—end the First Shadow of Wisker once and for all.
But after only a few breaths, a troubled frown creased Liora’s face. She drew back her hand, cutting off the flow of holy power.
Disoriented, Frey spoke first, recognizing at once that something was wrong—the tar-like shadow still clung to him.
"Is there a problem?"
"I’m sorry," the saint said, brow knit, "but I don’t think I can purge something like this."
Her calm words struck Frey like a thunderclap. He froze for a moment—then snapped.
"You’ve got to be joking. If SSS-rank holy power isn’t enough, how am I supposed to strip this curse out?!"
This was not what he’d expected. He had truly believed Liora would be enough. He had underestimated the shadow.
"There is a reason I cannot help you ..but first, I need to ask you, Frey Starlight: what exactly is this thing?" Liora pressed her palm lightly to the darkened skin. "I have never seen anything so foul and twisted. It’s like a fragment of hell itself."
Her question piqued Snow’s and Uriel’s fear and curiosity alike—especially because it was something even Liora hesitated to touch.
Frey wavered, then chose to tell them. There was no point hiding it anymore.
"It’s a curse placed on me by one of the Upper Demons—the Fourth Seat, Wesker."
The truth left his mouth ..and shock rippled through all of them, Liora included.
"An Upper Demon? Wait—doesn’t that mean we can’t cure it...?" Uriel asked, panic edging her voice, while Liora’s frown deepened.
"I won’t ask how you faced a demon like that and survived—I doubt you wish to speak of it. But you must understand: holy power cannot save you from this," Liora said. She raised her hand, forming a golden ring of light. "Holy power exists to heal. It is an aura opposed to demonic essence—meant to aid and to support, not to destroy."