* * *
This time, I prayed that the gods would heed my plea as I barely managed to move my limp fingers.
Using up every last bit of strength before carving out my own heart, I looked at Haen one last time.
He held me down firmly, keeping me from thrashing on the ground, his gaze filled with a mix of frustration and grief.
“Why… Why are you trying to die now? You’ve stayed alive all this time.”
“It’s not that I wanted to live. I just… couldn’t die.”
“Why do you keep saying things I can’t understand?”
“Right… And why can’t you understand something this simple?”
I let out a dry chuckle at the look in his eyes, as if he were staring at someone trying to escape their sins through death.
His face, so beautiful in a way that words could hardly describe, was a mess of conflicting emotions, distorted beyond recognition.
He looked so much like his mother, the Countess de Winter, who had smiled so gently when she entrusted her son to my care.
The resemblance made my heart ache.
Just as Haen had loved his mother, I, too, had loved the Countess, the only one who ever saw me as just a child.
And yet, he truly believed that I had killed her.
My childhood friend—still foolish, still just as young.
He had needed someone to blame, and without hesitation, he chose to hate me.
Even now, he hadn’t moved on. He was no better than Sia.
As my fading vision settled on his face, he seemed so terribly boyish.
He didn’t even look hateful anymore.
Slowly, I parted my bloodied lips.
“My poor friend… You still don’t know who really killed her, do you?”
Haen’s face twisted violently as he caught my words amidst the chaos.
“Vivisian! What the hell are you—!”
As always, I answered his demands with silence.
If Herel truly revealed everything in my stead, what kind of expression would Haen make?
The thought crossed my mind for the first time.
Perhaps, if we were still the boys who once believed they knew everything about each other, I could have guessed.
But now, after all these years apart, I couldn’t even begin to predict it.
One thing was certain—whatever face he made, I would never see it.
Even if an afterlife did exist, there was no place for someone like me, who had rejected the gods’ gift of life time and time again.
The only place left for me was hell.
But I’d already lived in hell while alive, so dying and going there wouldn’t be so terrible.
I muttered the thought inwardly like a joke, trying to distract myself as I lowered my gaze.
My barely-beating heart had finally been torn out, rolling across the dirt floor.
Feeling the hollow emptiness in my chest, I exhaled the last of my breath without regret.
Even knowing that none of it would ever belong to me again, I had clung desperately to the things I once loved.
And though it was only natural, there had been times when I ached for the “us” that no longer existed.
The way you once called me your one and only friend.
The way I once thought of you as my future.
But I swear upon my death—none of it, not anymore, not a single thing, do I miss.
So…
“…Ian, Vivisian. You can’t die like this! Vivisian!”
My dearest friend, whom I once loved.
“This is truly… goodbye.”
Never again. Never. Forever.
I let go of the struggle to force out words through the pain and surrendered to the abyss pulling me under.
Beyond the blurred figures staring at me with vacant expressions, I saw a past self—happy, always laughing as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
I gazed at that boy endlessly before my consciousness faded.
Sunlight poured down over me, and I remembered the day I first heard the gods’ whispers.
Somewhere, distant yet achingly close, a voice, both merciless and infinitely gentle,
[Dolor, my child…]
A strange voice rang through my soul.
✽ ✽ ✽
Vivisian, the sinner, was dead.
Everyone who heard of his passing cursed him, saying he had used death to escape his sins.
But four days after his death, whispers began to spread—what if that wasn’t the case?
As if to prove his innocence, the heretics who only appeared when an Apostle was murdered began emerging after his death.
And more than anything, when they tried to cremate his body according to imperial law, no matter what they did, the flames would not consume him.
Though the victims and their families still lived, making it dangerous to speak openly, rumors circulated—something was being hidden.
And then, someone stepped forward in outrage, declaring Vivisian’s innocence.
He introduced himself as an informant, a man who had stayed by Vivisian’s side for months.
It was none other than Herel.
Having promised Vivisian to keep an eye on the child from the Principality of Merien Principality, he had remained behind to help the boy adjust.
But upon hearing of Vivisian’s death, he rushed back—bringing with him overwhelming evidence, along with the very steward who had played a role in making Vivisian a criminal.
✽ ✽ ✽
From the moment Sia was forcibly taken back to the Principality, he had thrown a fit, refusing to sleep properly for a full week, demanding to return to the Empire.
He was so utterly insufferable that even the locals—who had never been fond of foreigners—sought Herel’s help.
Vivisian had asked him to watch over Sia, so Herel had been unable to leave, forced to spend his days blankly waiting in the palace.
And during that time, he had done everything in his power—pleading, coaxing, even threatening the child.
He had cried, begged, and scolded.
But the most effective thing, the one that had finally broken Sia’s tantrum, had been—
‘What do you think Vivisian would say if he saw you like this?!’
Even now, the thought was ridiculous.
Sia hadn’t cared about the Grand Prince, the most powerful man in this palace and his own family.
But Vivisian—who wasn’t even here—Sia had cared about his opinion.
Herel sighed, exhausted, watching Sia finally sit still in his chair.
The courtiers who had witnessed their confrontation looked just as drained.
It was hard to tell whether they despaired because of the boy’s wretched personality or because the heir to their country was so determined to return to the Empire.
But one thing was certain—no one in this room was happy.
And the one who had made them all miserable sat huddled in a corner, utterly dejected.
His extravagant, heavy robes dragged along the floor, but he didn’t care.
Like an upset cat, he had curled himself up in the farthest corner, his entire presence radiating despair.
Herel swallowed the bitterness rising in his throat and rubbed his stomach, already aching from stress.
His mind was full of admiration for Vivisian—how had he ever managed to handle this impossible brat?
Even a stray kitten, barely weaned, would have better social skills than Sia.
And yet, Vivisian had tamed this feral creature completely.
Herel sighed again and looked down at Sia, who was slumped over, his shoulders trembling.
“I’ve been abandoned again…”
Sia murmured miserably, letting his head fall against the wall like a cat left out in the rain.
Seeing him like that, Herel felt the faintest flicker of pity—one that had nearly burned out, but was now quietly rekindling.
Right. Sia isn’t at fault.
He was sold to a slave caravan, tossed around from place to place, and then suddenly dragged out of that hell and exposed to Vivisian’s unconditional affection without any way to resist it.
Like a duckling imprinting on the first thing it sees after hatching, it was only natural that Sia knew nothing but Vivisian.
Even so, Herel still thought this level of tantrum was excessive.
But the fact that Sia wanted to go back—it made sense.
Nodding to himself, Herel spoke in a calmer tone, trying to soothe him.
“No, that’s not it. Do you really think Lord Vivisian, who treasures Your Highness so much, would just abandon you? And even if he did, you’re planning to go back anyway, so why are you whining so much?”
The sheer rudeness of his words made the people standing behind him flinch.
But Sia, the one they were directed at, didn’t react at all. He simply stared straight ahead, expression blank.
Then, after furrowing his puffy eyes—swollen from all the crying—he turned his head to look at Herel.
“If that were the case, he wouldn’t have sent me here alone with you, Asis, of all people—someone who doesn’t even like me.”
At times like this, Sia was far too Sharp for his own good. Herel squeezed his eyes shut.
Whatever pity he had felt was instantly shattered.
He slumped back, sighing as he stared at the rightful owner of the room, who had holed himself up in a corner.
“Ha… If you were going to act like this, you should’ve just clung to Lord Vivisian until the end.”
“I did! I clung to him, but Vivis still sent me away. He even used his power to do it. He wasn’t feeling well, and he still used his power….”
The gloomy muttering left Herel at a loss for words.
He couldn’t argue—after all, he had been sent to the Merien Principality in much the same way.
As Sia pressed his forehead against the cold wall, he let out a small whisper.
“What do I do? I already miss Vivis so much. Do you think he misses me too? …No, he wouldn’t. If he wanted to see me, he wouldn’t have sent me away like that.”
Seeing him so utterly dejected, Herel could do nothing but part his lips silently.
* * *
