Seven Sins System Chapter 711. Silent Prayers

Seven Sins System Chapter 711. Silent Prayers

I knew before we even opened the door.

The air changed.

Softer.

Not welcoming.

Just… different.

And the mana?

Holy.

Faint, but still holy.

She noticed it too.

Stopped mid-step.

Her fingers twitched.

I felt her pull her energy inward, like she was preparing to shatter.

I didn’t say anything.

I just pushed open the door.

And—

Yeah.

Holy my ass.

It was a fucking slaughterhouse.

No blood now, no corpses.

Just… aftermath.

Scars.

Every surface was scratched with faded runes.

Not infernal.

Not mine.

Hers.

Her kind.

Angel glyphs lined the ceiling.

Wings painted in gold once, now smeared to brown.

Chains that still glowed faintly, even though nothing was in them anymore.

And the floor?

Oh, the floor.

Circular altar.

Etched in patterns too old for humans to understand.

The center?

Burnt.

Charred bone fragments embedded into the stone.

I stepped closer.

The smell was wrong.

Not sulfur. Not rot.

Feathers.

Singed feathers.

And I knew, deep in my core, what this room was.

A place they dissected her.

Not her literally.

But her kin.

Her brothers and sisters.

Angels.

Not even for power.

For knowledge.

Because knowledge, to them, was the ultimate dominion.

To know a thing is to control it.

To control a thing is to become it.

I felt her step forward beside me.

She didn’t cry.

She just stood there.

Staring.

At the altar.

At the feathers.

At the chains.

The silence stretched.

And then—

she whispered.

“They used them.”

Her voice cracked.

Not loud.

Not angry.

Empty.

“They used them like ingredients.”

I turned to her.

She looked… wrong.

Like her light had dimmed.

And yeah, I hated it.

Because once, she’d fought me with fire in her eyes.

She’d called me monster.

She’d bled just to push me back.

She believed.

And now—

Now she looked like she was questioning everything.

I didn’t touch her.

Didn’t comfort her.

Not because I didn’t want to.

Because I didn’t think she’d let me.

So I just said, “We’re getting close.”

But she didn’t answer me.

She didn’t nod.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t even flinch.

She just stepped forward.

Toward the altar.

Toward that scorched circle of death and desecration.

Toward the fragments that used to be someone—someone divine.

Her boots barely made a sound.

Every movement was slow, deliberate.

Like the air was thick and sacred, and she didn’t want to disturb it.

And then—she knelt.

Her fingers—small, delicate, wrapped in leather gloves—reached down and brushed the charred fragments.

Ash clung to her fingertips.

Some of it rose like a sigh, vanishing into the dim light.

She didn’t recoil.

She didn’t weep.

She just looked.

Like she could still see the one who died here.

As if she could feel their last breath echoing through the stone.

Then her lips moved.

No sound.

Just a whisper.

A silent prayer.

One only the gods would recognize.

And maybe not even them.

The kind of prayer born from grief, not faith.

The kind you say not to be heard, but because it hurts too much to stay silent.

And then—

Her tears came.

But they didn’t fall.

They didn’t streak down her face or drip onto the floor.

They hovered.

Clear, pure spheres of light—each one like a tiny diamond of mourning.

And then they began to crystallize.

Shimmering softly in the dim light.

Their glow pulsing like heartbeats.

Small fragments of divine sorrow, suspended in the air around her face.

Angel’s Tear Crystals.

The holy materials.

Not something you could fake.

Not something you could create.

Only formed when a goddess cried from the soul.

When she wailed inside.

No theatrics.

No sobbing.

Just that still, shattering kind of grief that breaks something permanent.

They could purify lakes.

Sanctify cursed lands.

Or—

when used right—

they could empower.

And yeah.

I needed them.

I wanted them.

My potion—the one I’d been crafting in secret, the one to break through this realm’s limiters, to merge power sources that should never coexist?

It needed exactly that.

A goddess’s sorrow.

Unfiltered.

Raw.

Holy.

And right now?

Right here?

They were hovering inches from my hand.

Begging to be collected.

Floating like an invitation.

[Angel's Tear Crystal detected. Grade: A+. Quantity: 7.]

I reached.

Just a little.

Reflex. Instinct. Greed.

Whatever.

But then—

I stopped.

My hand froze.

Because she wasn’t just crying.

She was shaking.

Her shoulders moved just barely.

A tremble that came from somewhere buried too deep.

And I realized—

This wasn’t a donation.

This wasn’t charity or a miracle.

This was grief.

Real grief.

The kind you don’t interrupt.

The kind you hold.

So I did.

I moved forward, slow.

No rush.

No magic.

Just me.

I slipped behind her.

Knelt.

Wrapped my arms around her shoulders.

She didn’t pull away.

Didn’t say anything.

She just leaned back.

Barely.

But enough.

Her head touched my chest.

Her breath hitched once.

The crystals still floated.

Still pulsed.

Still glowed.

But I ignored them.

Because right now?

She was more important.

“I’m here,” I whispered.

Simple.

Soft.

Pointless maybe, but I said it anyway.

Because when you’re holding a goddess while she cries, there’s nothing smart to say.

Only real.

She didn’t speak.

But her hand reached up.

Touched my wrist.

Held it.

Not tightly.

Not desperately.

Just… grounding herself.

Like she didn’t want to float away.

I felt her breath against my collarbone.

Warm.

Uneven.

Alive.

Even through my armor, her body felt fragile.

Too mortal for someone divine.

And I hated it.

Hated that someone like her—someone who once lit the skies with battle hymns—had to kneel in the dirt and cry like this.

Because of mortals.

I closed my eyes.

Not to block it out.

But to feel it fully.

The pain.

The warmth.

The weight of her trust—because yeah, letting me hold her like this?

That was trust.

Not the warrior kind.

Not the ally kind.

The real kind.

The kind you give only once.

After you’ve broken.