❝
The night howled through the dense forest, its trees clawing at the black sky like twisted hands. The moon barely peeked behind thick clouds, casting only fragments of pale light over the trembling man stumbling through the woods.
Leonard ran, his white long-sleeved shirt torn and clinging to him, soaked in blood and grime. Every breath he took was ragged, shallow, burning his lungs as panic surged through him. His boots caught in the undergrowth, the sharp twigs scratching at his legs like the forest itself was trying to claim him.
The only sound louder than his gasping breath was the pounding of his heart, hammering violently against his ribs. His hair, once neatly tied into a low ponytail, now hung loose in sweaty strands, whipping at his face as he pushed himself forward — away from the nightmare chasing him.
But he didn't get far.
In a blink, something snapped around his arm — a whip, slick and cold, like a serpent tightening its grip.
Leonard screamed out as he was yanked backward with brutal force, spinning to face the figure behind him. His eyes widened in terror as he saw him — Zephyrl.
The man he once thought a brother-in-arms now stood before him like a reaper summoned from the pit. The once dignified calm of Zephyrl's features was gone, replaced by a terrifying stillness. His golden eyes — once filled with wisdom — now burned an unnatural, sickening emerald.
Leonard's voice cracked as he struggled for words.
"P-Please! Zephyrl—Landice—let me go! I-I swear, I won't say a thing! Not even a whisper! J-Just spare me!" he begged, stumbling over every syllable.
For a moment, Zephyrl only stared at him, the corners of his mouth twitching into something between a smile and a sneer. Then, with one fluid, effortless motion, he grabbed a fistful of Leonard's hair, wrenching his head back so he was forced to meet his twisted gaze.
"You should have run faster," Zephyrl hissed, his voice a low, venomous whisper.
Leonard whimpered as he was thrown to the ground like a discarded rag doll. He scrambled backward on all fours, mindlessly trying to create distance, only to realize the earth behind him dropped away into nothingness — a sheer cliff that plunged into the roaring sea below.
The salty wind lashed at his face, carrying the scent of impending death.
"No... No, please..." he gasped, tears brimming in his eyes as Zephyrl approached, each footstep deliberate, slow — merciless.
"You call us comrades," Zephyrl said, tilting his head slightly, as if the very idea was amusing. "But tell me, Leonard... When did I ever say we were equals?"
Leonard's lips trembled. He tried to find his voice, but terror gripped his throat like an iron vise. He reached out a shaking hand in a pathetic plea for mercy.
Zephyrl grabbed him by the collar, lifting him off the ground effortlessly. Leonard dangled there, his boots scraping helplessly against the dirt.
"D-Don't kill me! I-I can disappear! I can leave the kingdom!" Leonard choked out, desperate, pathetic.
Zephyrl's expression never changed. Only his eyes gleamed — two pits of cold, merciless judgment.
"You're already dead," Zephyrl whispered, the words slipping into the night like a blade sliding into flesh.
Leonard's body convulsed with terror. His nails raked helplessly at Zephyrl's gloved hand, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The wild thrash of the ocean roared behind him, deafening and merciless. The scent of salt and blood saturated the air.
Above him, Zephyrl's face was carved from stone — cold, remote, a god who had already decided his fate.
"You think pleading will save you?" Zephyrl said quietly, as though the conversation bored him now. "No... you were already damned the moment you opened your mouth."
Leonard tried to speak — to bargain, to scream, to pray — but his voice strangled itself in his throat. His vision blurred with tears, with terror, with the staggering realization that this was real. This wasn't a dream he could wake from.
This was the end.
Zephyrl's fingers tightened on his collar — and then, slowly, almost languidly, released him.
The world tilted violently.
For one horrifying second, Leonard felt his body lurch backwards — weightless, powerless — as gravity snatched him from the edge. The jagged cliff face blurred past the corners of his vision, the ground ripping away from under his feet. His arms flailed wildly, grasping at nothing, at air, at life.
The night wind screamed in his ears, howling like a thousand unseen mouths. He fell. Down — down —
The stars spun overhead in dizzy circles, cold and unreachable.
The salt air tore at his clothes, at his skin, pulling him faster, faster.
Below him, the sea stretched like a great black mouth, yawning wide to swallow him whole. The moonlight fractured against the churning waves, turning them into broken shards of silver and darkness.
Leonard's heart crashed against his ribs, a desperate, useless drum.
In that endless, breathless fall, he saw his life flash — not in comforting memories, but in hollow regrets. All the faces he would never see again. All the promises he failed to keep. And still, he fell. A single, raw scream tore from his lips — lost instantly in the monstrous roar of the ocean. And then — the world rushed up to meet him.
The moment Leonard's body vanished into the black depths below, Zephyrl stood still for a heartbeat. A lone breeze whispered through the forest, carrying with it the scent of salt and something darker. His eyes remained on the horizon for a moment longer, though no trace of emotion crossed his face.
Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, Zephyrl straightened his coat and glanced back at the forest, as if the fall he'd just orchestrated were nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with a gloved hand. "Now where were we again?" He muttered to himself, as though he had lost his train of thought in the middle of a conversation. His eyes scanned the area, devoid of any lingering thoughts about the man he had just discarded.
"Ah, right..." His voice was flat, and he turned on his heel, heading back toward the trees. There was no hesitation, no sense of urgency in his steps. He moved with the same measured precision he always did, his movements as sharp and deliberate as the glint of his eyes.
"As soon as I return to the embassy to His Highness," Zephyrl continued, his words casually flowing as though Leonard had never existed at all, "I'll need to brief him on the royal duties we've yet to attend to. The matter with the southern borders... and the talks with Helbor. I'm sure that I can't wait."
His mind, already moving on to the next task, ticked through the list of formalities. The thought of Desmond's royal duties, his responsibilities, seemed almost amusing to Zephyrl. Desmond was so consumed with his obsession that it often felt like the weight of the kingdom rested solely on his shoulders. He couldn't help but feel a strange, detached amusement.
Zephyrl's fingers brushed the smooth edge of his sleeve as he adjusted it with precision, as though the very fabric of his clothing required perfect order.
"Politics are politics, nobles are nobles" he murmured to himself with a slight sneer. "It never ends."
A quiet chuckle escaped him as he thought of the crown prince. The man could hardly focus on anything that mattered beyond his twisted desires, yet Zephyrl would carry the burden, as he always did. The game was far from over, and for now, all Zephyrl had to do was wait.
In the silence of the night, his footsteps echoed through the trees, the faintest shadow of a smile on his lips.
As Zephyrl turned away from the cliff's edge, he could feel a tightness in his temples, a dull throb beginning to pulse through his skull. The air around him had grown inexplicably heavier, as though the world itself was pressing in on him. He paused for a moment, narrowing his eyes, trying to steady himself. A strange unease settled in the pit of his stomach, but he brushed it aside with a shake of his head.
"Another headache," he muttered under his breath, though the discomfort lingered. His feet continued to carry him back through the forest, the familiar path to the embassy ahead.
But then, through the rustling leaves, a faint whisper reached his ears. At first, it was so soft, so distant, that he thought he had imagined it. Yet it came again, clearer this time, like a voice just on the edge of hearing—calling his name.
"Landice!!"
He stopped, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his dagger, though his movements were slow and controlled. The woods were dark now, the moon barely a sliver in the sky. The voice came again, this time more urgent, more familiar.
"Landice!"
It wasn't just any voice. This was a voice he had heard a thousand times in the echoes of his memories—soft, gentle, and full of warmth. It was someone he knew… a girl. His heart clenched at the thought of her, a stab of pain in his chest, as though the wounds from her death had never fully healed.
He spun around, his breath catching, but there was no one there. Just the trees. The wind.
He stood still for a long moment, his mind racing. That voice, it couldn't be her. She was dead. She had been for years now, and yet…
"Landice…"
The voice was closer now, closer than it had ever been, a whisper in his ear, as if she was right behind him. His hand gripped his dagger tighter, his knuckles white, his pulse quickening. He whipped around again, this time his eyes scanning the surrounding darkness.
Nothing.
He let out a sharp exhale, his breath shaky. The pressure in his head only seemed to worsen. A headache, the kind that felt like a deep, pulsing ache behind his eyes, threatened to split his skull in two. He rubbed his forehead with a grimace, muttering to himself.
"How foolish of me to believe those voices… Casta's already dead."
But the voice had been so real, so hauntingly clear. He felt her presence, the memory of her touch, the warmth of her voice.
Zephyrl's stomach churned, and for the first time in years, he felt vulnerable. But he refused to show it.
"Enough!" he growled, shaking his head violently, trying to clear the thought from his mind. "She's gone. She can't… she can't be here."
He turned away quickly, forcing himself to move forward, to leave the voice behind. He couldn't afford this weakness, not now. Not when everything was so close to falling into place. He had a role to play, and he couldn't let the past drag him down.
The voice faded, slipping away like the last remnants of a dream. But the headache lingered, throbbing at the base of his skull, and the eerie silence around him seemed to press in closer with every step.
"I know it's hard to believe. She's gone from this world, but she lives on in my memories, in every breath I take."