novelraw Chapter 14 : Temple
Chapter 14 : Temple
Chapter 14: Temple
“Father.”
Ya softly interrupted him.
Her gaze swept across the familiar houses around them, the curling smoke from cooking fires, and the tribespeople busy in the distance.
“I am no longer that little girl whose mind was filled only with thoughts of the outside world.”
“Yes, I have received divine grace and regained a youthful body, but my heart… has already grown old.”
She paused, then looked at Apollo again, her eyes gentle yet firm:
“It no longer yearns for endless distant places. Instead, it is attached to this land that gave birth to me and raised me, attached to this home that we built with our own hands.”
“And… attached to you, my father.”
In that instant, Apollo felt a warm current flow into his heart, dispelling the gloom and loneliness of recent days.
Looking at his daughter, he saw in her a soul just like his own.
At this moment, the hearts of father and daughter—
Crossed the long years and the divide of power.
And reached an astonishing agreement in their understanding of “home” and “belonging.”
At least at this moment, he was still a father needed and accompanied by his daughter.
……
An ordinary morning.
As usual, Apollo inspected the livestock pens and looked toward the distant golden fields—first cultivated under Wa’s leadership, now vast beyond measure.
However, unlike before, the tribespeople he encountered along the way, after bowing respectfully,
Looked at him with barely concealed shock—and even panic.
Apollo felt puzzled and was about to ask—
When a voice sounded, filled with astonishment.
“Father!”
It was Ya.
She walked up to Apollo, her face filled with disbelief.
Those eyes, restored to youthful brilliance, were now brimming with sorrow, as if witnessing the fall of a star.
“Ya.”
Apollo looked at his daughter and smiled.
“What is it?”
“Father… you…”
Ya’s voice trembled. She raised a hand, pointing toward Apollo’s face, yet did not dare to touch it.
“You… have grown old.”
“Old?”
Apollo repeated the word instinctively, as if unable to comprehend its meaning.
But when his gaze settled on Ya’s sorrowful eyes—
A sudden fear rose within him, an emotion he had never felt before.
He abruptly turned and quickly walked toward the nearby stream.
Bending down, the still surface of the water reflected his face like a mirror.
His once sunlike golden hair had lost its luster.
“…Old.”
Apollo stared at the familiar yet unfamiliar face in the water and murmured.
In that instant, he understood.
He had given his divine grace to his children, sustaining their lives—
But in doing so, he had accelerated the arrival of his own end.
“Father…”
Ya followed closely behind, her voice filled with worry.
Apollo noticed the sorrow in his daughter’s gaze.
He slowly straightened, a relieved smile appearing on his face.
He reached out his hand and, as he had when she was a child, gently ruffled her brilliant golden hair. His tone was gentle, even carrying a trace of subtle joy:
“Ya, this is a good thing.”
He was tired.
The era that belonged to him should have ended long ago.
A long life, witnessing too many farewells, bearing too many responsibilities—his heart was already worn with age.
Now, life had an end.
To him, this was not punishment, but a kind of release.
Seeing the growing confusion in Ya’s eyes, Apollo did not explain further.
He simply smiled—light and at ease, as though a heavy burden had been lifted.
He no longer patrolled the tribe, but instead returned to his dwelling with light steps.
And began humming an ancient hunting song that had long been forgotten.
This song had been taught to him by the old priest, and now only he could sing it.
……
He ascended the altar and knelt down.
“God! Apollo… is about to leave.”
There was no thunder, no starlight.
Nor did God’s voice echo in his mind.
Yet Apollo revealed a peaceful smile.
He knew—God had heard.
And this silence itself was a form of consent, a farewell, a respect for his final choice.
……
In the days that followed, the speed of his aging visibly accelerated. Apollo’s back was no longer straight, and his steps became unsteady.
But he did not stop. Instead, he did something that puzzled everyone.
He personally carried massive stones, one by one, and placed them upon the altar.
Facing the confusion of the tribespeople and Ya’s concern,
Apollo smiled kindly.
“In time, you will understand.”
He had a dream.
In the dream, he saw a solemn and majestic structure, filled with a sacred and dignified aura.
So before leaving, he wished to leave such a structure for God.
This was his final gift to God.
He believed that God would surely like it.
At last, a stone structure imbued with a sense of primitive solemnity rose upon the altar, enclosing the statue at its center.
It was tall and sturdy, with thick pillars and a slanted roof, as if it could converse with the starry sky.
Apollo looked up at this magnificent structure, and a word naturally surfaced in his mind.
“Temple.”
He softly spoke the word.
It felt incomparably fitting.
And the statue within the hall, under the presence of this “Temple,” appeared even more majestic and profound.
“Apollo.”
God’s voice sounded.
At the same time, a radiant figure emitting boundless light slowly manifested before the Temple.
The light was not blinding, yet it made it impossible to look directly upon its true form.
Apollo was about to kneel in excitement, but felt a gentle force supporting him.
Within the light, a hand slowly extended. Light gathered in its palm, ultimately condensing into a stone tablet.
On the tablet was carved a simple yet profoundly meaningful image:
Three tense and expectant tribal youths stood beneath an ancient totem pole, and a single beam of starlight shone only upon the youth in the center.
That was the beginning of everything—the start of divine grace, the moment Apollo’s fate turned.
“God!”
Apollo’s face flushed instantly, like a boy whose secret had been exposed.
He did not understand why the stone tablet he had carved with a stone knife—recording his greatest fortune—had appeared in God’s hand.
God seemed to chuckle softly, the sound like a breeze brushing across a sea of stars.
“Apollo.”
God’s voice carried a guiding tone.
“Do you wish to learn ‘writing’?”
“Writing?”
Apollo looked up curiously.
This word, to him, was as unfamiliar as “cultivation” and “animal husbandry” had once been—
Yet he instinctively sensed that it contained a power capable of transcending time.
On the stone tablet in God’s hand,
Beside the simple image, starlight began to flow, condensing into strange symbols.
They were different from drawings. Each symbol corresponded to a specific meaning.