People called the Church of Varaha a scam.

Those who hold black flowers sacred and preach the end of the world as salvation.

A group of fanatics who exploit the faith of the foolish by putting forward a god that doesn't even exist. They said their prayers were delusions, and the salvation they awaited was a phantom that would never arrive.

---

However, there were things in the world that no one could easily deny.

On the outskirts of the city, in a place surrounded by ancient forests and mist, stood the temple of the Church of Varaha.

Giant pillars built of black stone soared toward the sky, and the high arches and exquisite reliefs seemed to have sublimated even the traces of long years into dignity.

Candlelight flickered between heavy velvet curtains, and a faint scent was deeply embedded along the corridors that led one's footsteps.

Black flowers were blooming all over the temple. The petals, holding a blood-red center, were vivid even in the darkness, and the black and white butterflies hovering around them flapped their wings quietly as if they had made this place their home long ago.

Those who sought this place each desired something different.

The recovery of a sick family member, forgiveness for an irreversible past, or salvation from the world.

No matter what they offered or what they prayed for, the temple remained consistently silent.

And in the deepest part of that silence, the god whom humans called a lie was dwelling.