“I had a peculiar dream last night.”

“A peculiar dream, Your Majesty? What was it about?”

“That I died.”

At those words, Margaret fell silent. The Queen, her eyes weary, stared at the ceiling. She was seventy-two years old.

“Ever since that dream, I feel strange. Not as if I am not alive… no, not that. It is, the feeling that I am living far beyond the age I was meant to. Does that, too, sound strange?”

“…”

“Yes.”

At Margaret’s simple reply, Elizabeth—who, by all rights of fate, should have been dead for two years now—gave a dry, bitter laugh.

In her dream, she was laid in a coffin of lead. Horses draped in black velvet drew her carriage, and atop the casket sat a wax effigy, made in her likeness. The sight of it made the crowds weep all the more bitterly. In the procession that followed, Raleigh led the King’s Guard, his halberd inverted in mourning, tears streaming down his face.

And yet, in the alleys, hidden from view, some could not contain their laughter and raised a toast. The Catholics, the radical Puritans, all those who had been oppressed and murdered during her reign.

And when her coffin was finally interred in Westminster Abbey, a hand of fire suddenly reached for her. No one else saw it. The wax effigy atop the coffin melted, the lead warped. Even as they tossed the dirt and flowers, her body was engulfed in flame. Her soul screamed, but no one could hear. Finally, Walter Raleigh approached, flower in hand. He, too, with sad eyes, simply passed her by.

No one. No one could save her.

She was, just like that—

“…”

The Queen’s hand trembled, and Margaret, noticing the change, rushed to take it. The shaking soon ceased, but as Margaret attempted to pull away, the Queen gripped the saint’s hand with all her might.

“Do not let go.”

“…”

“I-I do not want to die.”

“…”

“Seeing me cling so, I will surely go to hell.”

“No, Your Majesty. The Lord is surely waiting for you.”

“Those words.” The Queen’s cold and sharp eyes fixed on Margaret. “Can you promise me that? On God’s name?”

“…”

“Do not act so much like a true saint.”

The Queen’s grip relaxed, and Margaret’s hand slipped free. Even if she hadn’t let go, Margaret could have easily pulled away.

“It just makes one hope.”

“…”

The Queen was old now, and the strength in her grip was no longer sufficient to hold on to anything.

She let out a sigh and looked quietly out the window. Roanoke Island was dull. If she were to die, she did not think she wanted to die here.

“Is that a ship over there?”

“Pardon?”

“I am growing restless. I must go out to Chesapeake again. It has been too long.”

“B-But, Your Majesty, we must first ask, ah, the Emperor, for permission.”

“I wish to go. We will speak of it later.”

“…”

“Is that not allowed?”

Margaret, troubled by the deep, unknowable emotion in the Queen’s eyes, couldn’t bring herself to refuse. She bowed her head, thinking, “She’s an old woman, living close to death. Just this once, it should be fine to grant her request.”

Meanwhile, she wasn’t the only European in Chesapeake awaiting an old death. Most Europeans who crossed the sea to this land were between twenty and forty. Crossing the ocean as an old man was a feat only the dauntless, like Elizabeth, would attempt. Most, but not all.

“Hhh… hhhk… hhhrrrk.”

“Papa? Are you, alright?”

“Eleanor… Hhkk… kkegh.”

“Papa! I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you come out.”

“I am… fine, child. I was the one who insisted on coming out. It is, just, just something caught in my throat. It is, only.”

One, alone, was the exception.

“I am… fine. I am. Do not worry.”

John White comforted his daughter, slumping onto a nearby rock. Perhaps it had been foolish vanity, to insist on coming out to Chesapeake to work when his body could barely move.

“There is, nothing… to worry about.”

As he spoke, John White looked up at the sky. The sunlight, striking him, forced his eyes closed. Silence rushed in behind his eyelids. He was terrified of that silence. Terrified of the encroaching dark. Oh, good Lord… why is the time allotted to man so short?

“…”

White, exhausted, fell asleep sitting up. His daughter and the others, seeing him drifting in and out of consciousness, moved him to a nearby guesthouse. Then, Eleanor sent word to all the other Apostles. They were to gather at the Chesapeake shore. At the holy ground where the cathedral was being built.

And so, ships rose from every corner of the Commonwealth, converging on Chesapeake. The people gathered.

And.

“It has been some time… Well, where shall I stay this time? The guesthouse by the cathedral, I presume?” “Yes? Ah, I-I suppose so. I will call for a carriage, please wait.” “No. Let us not cause a commotion. Let us just go, the two of us.”

The Queen, too, had arrived in Chesapeake.

***

White opened his eyes, only to close them again. He moved his body, then lay still once more. Days passed by like the wind, each moment scattering like a grain of sand in its wake. As he tried to grasp at the hazy, intermittent memories, he opened his eyes once more.

“Papa!” he exclaimed.

“Ah,” came a response.

“You’re awake? How is your body?”

“…”

He understood. My daughter. My Eleanor. He looked around and saw his granddaughter, the Apostles, and so many other faces from his life. They had all brought him here, to a room in a corner of the still-unfinished cathedral, and were waiting.

Why am I here? He wondered. I had asked to come. I had wanted to see this place, even if it was still just a construction site. Why were the others here? Because my daughter had summoned them. And why had she summoned them?

“…”

Because I am going to die.

White weakly lifted his head and looked down at his body. It was an emaciated frame, like a poorly built hut, all bones and angles. He felt his eyes trying to close again. Every time he blinked, the clock on the wall seemed to skip forward—ten minutes, thirty minutes, gone. It would not be long now.

“Hhh… ugh.” 

I must be dignified. A true Christian must be dignified in the face of death. 

“Uuugh.” 

Just as the Apostle Peter asked to be crucified upside down for his Lord, just as the martyrs calmly accepted their doom… 

With that thought, White closed his eyes again, trying to stop the tears from flowing. The darkness that lurked beneath his eyelids rushed in to claim him.

“Ugh, aaah… AAAAAH!”

“P-Papa? Are you alright? Lord Nemo will be here soon! So you don’t have to worry.”

“N-No, No.”

He had accomplished everything he had ever desired in life. He had aspired to establish an English colony in Chesapeake Bay, and today, thousands of English people resided on this land. He had sought a legacy that would endure beyond his demise, and now he was a Knight, known as ‘Sir’ John White. He had envisioned his daughter and granddaughter living happily, and now Virginia had grown into a beautiful young woman.

Yet, amidst this joy, a profound fear gripped him. He was terrified that his physical form would decay and rot. He was terrified that this earthly existence would end abruptly, just as it had begun. It was an unsettling thought, a stark contrast to his life of unwavering devotion and the certainty of a heavenly afterlife. Was this fear a sign that he would not reach heaven, a testament to his unworthiness?

At that moment, a fresh chill ran down his spine, and tears streamed down his face. The people gathered in the room murmured in alarm, while his daughter and granddaughter joined him in their tears. But White could not suppress the torrent of grief and terror that overwhelmed him. His hands trembled uncontrollably. He yearned for an end to this suffering, a wish that the Lord would intervene and take his life before he could even comprehend it.

Balkak.

The door opened. In an instant, the noise ceased. Everyone naturally parted, clearing a path between White and the door. The man who opened it walked forward, backlit by the twilight sun. He walked toward White, who was clutching Eleanor’s hand and sobbing. And.

Shhh.

“Mr. White.” He grasped the old man’s shoulder. “It’s me.”

That one phrase was enough. White’s trembling body grew still. He matched the man’s breathing, inhaling and exhaling deeply, calming his heart. Through it all, ‘He’ never broke eye contact with White.

“N-Ne… mo.”

“Shh. It’s alright. You don’t need to try and sit up to greet me.”

At those words, White suddenly remembered the pathetic display he had been making, and his face flushed with shame. What had he done? Hadn’t he been clinging to his daughter’s hand, weeping in front of everyone that he didn’t want to die? How disgraceful.

“And impious, isn’t it?”

“Pardon?”

“How shameful… and impious… to fear the end… so much.”

“…”

He glanced at Eleanor, motioning for her to step back. She hesitated, but as she moved away, He took her place, sitting on the bed and taking White’s hand in his own.

“C-Can… Can you tell me? That I will be saved? That I will see my wife again, and that one day, with everyone here, I will walk happily in His garden, under His authority.”

“…”

“Ah, I know. I know how foolish I sound. Only the Lord knows who will be saved. How could I ask you, His messenger? B-But, I am so afraid.”

“…”

“M-Maybe… Maybe I will go to hell. I have not lived a purely good life. And that that terrifies me. I am so, so afraid.”

White fretted like a small child, expecting to be rebuked. But he could not stop the words. After pouring it all out, he looked at His face, but could read no emotion there. There was nothing but the same calm he always wore. He couldn’t tell if He was feeling contempt, or scorn, or anger, or pity. And so, White was afraid. Because he did not know. Just as he did not know what came after death, he was afraid.

Now, Lord Nemo was opening his mouth.

He was terrified of what words might come out.

And He spoke.

“I do not know.”

“What?”

“I do not know if you will be saved.”

“…”

The answer was so blunt, so expected, that the tension in White’s body suddenly snapped. The torso he had been holding up began to fall back, but He caught him, a strong arm supporting his shoulders.

“I-I know that. I know I must be obedient unto death, but.”

“Is that what’s important?”

“Pardon?”

“Is it what’s important? Whether you go to heaven, or to hell?”

“…” “…” “…”

To hear such words from an angel, White nearly fainted. Is it important? Is going to heaven, to the Lord’s side, to be saved on the last day, is that important? What in the world could be more important—

“Fear not hell.”

In that instant, every person in the room stopped breathing.

***

Silence enveloped the room, not a sharp, biting silence, but a warm, comforting silence, like the gentle embrace of freshly poured milk. With a voice as soft as a whisper and a tone as resolute as a rock, He spoke again.

“And long not for heaven.”

His words fell into the stillness like a gentle ripple, yet their meaning carried the weight of a tidal wave. Everyone held their breath, stunned by the seemingly blasphemous statement. White felt a surge of panic, his hands instinctively reaching for his ears, his eyes closing in disbelief. These were not words he had ever anticipated hearing from an angel.

“W-What are you saying?” White forced himself to speak, his voice trembling with uncertainty. Then, his hand brushed across his sweat-drenched forehead, a silent acknowledgment of the profound impact of his words.

“I know… that you have lived a good life. Remember only that.”

“B-But how can that be more valuable than eternal life?”

“It is more precious than eternity… because it is fleeting.”

At that, White’s eyes flew open. The being before him would live for eternity. And that was what he was saying.

“Remember only that. You have lived a good life. You only need to remember that.”

White was speechless.

“Your tombstone will read that you were a wonderful father and grandfather. I will carve it myself.”

Through White’s tear-filled vision, a smile shone. It was the smile of an angel.

“It is natural to fear death. Some call those who face death gladly, certain of their place in heaven, ‘faithful.’ Perhaps they are. But my thoughts are different.”

Drip. Drip. 

Each syllable from His lips fell onto his heart like a drop of water.

“Death is, by its very nature, something to be feared.”

The words, falling on his heart, seeped beneath his skin. They passed through bone and blood, and reached his very core.

“Therefore, I will stay here by your side. As your neighbor.”

His heart, soaked in those words, began to beat slower. The focus in his eyes blurred.

Do not worry. I will be here, by your side.

His words did not melt the fear away. He was still afraid. It was still terrifying. This body would rot and decay until the final day. But.

“Ah.”

White blinked, and the tears finally fell. In his clear vision, he saw them. His neighbors from Croatoan. The people of the Commonwealth who owed him their gratitude. The Apostles. Eleanor. Virginia. And.

Ah. Aaaah.

He saw the light.

***

The man lying on the bed closed his eyes one last time.

They did not open again.

***

“Ha, hah.” Leaning against the wall, a woman who had been listening in secret, her eyes wavered. They shook, as if in a frenzy.

The Queen had ‘heard.’