* * *
The second body, so similar to Nael, made Killian’s scalp prickle with rage.
This man had a larger build and lacked any signs of resistance.
The corpse was strangely clean.
No bruises, no signs of poison.
For a man that large, to be strangled with no struggle—it didn’t make sense.
Not a single clue.
No sign of how he died.
It was a dead end.
They laid the second body beside the first.
Stored in a thick ice cellar, the corpses wouldn’t rot in the cold air.
The icy blue face looked like something that had just clawed out of its grave.
An eerie sight.
Killian stared down at them, expressionless.
Frost had formed on their still-open green eyes.
Even identifying them was difficult, and the lack of progress only worsened the frustration simmering inside.
“Tongue’s clean. Organs are intact.”
“So… suicide?”
“At this point, it’s unlikely to be murder.”
Norman washed his blood-stained hands.
The clear water instantly turned red.
They’d dissected both men—found nothing.
“Keep looking. It’s no suicide.”
His head pounding, Killian climbed back onto his horse.
His red eyes flickered like flames, unable to hide his unease.
“Your Grace, what will you do?”
“Double the guards on the wall. No gaps. And Nael?”
“The raven’s been sent. We’ll hear back soon.”
“Damn it.”
Killian bit down on his lip in frustration.
A pale breath escaped him.
“I’m heading to the villa. Aiden, you stay and handle this.”
He and the soldiers following him all mounted, snow covering their backs.
It had started like any other day.
He kissed Nael’s forehead as the boy slept quietly in his arms, pulling the blanket up to his shoulders.
His absence was often noticed by Nael’s body before his mind.
When his still-sleeping eyelids would twitch open, Killian would pat his back gently.
[Master.]
Nael’s voice seemed to linger in his ears.
In that instant, an ominous feeling gripped him.
From the moment he took a step forward, unease crept up his spine like smoke.
Killian stared at the sky, streaked with ash-colored clouds.
Aiden, watching him pause, asked cautiously:
“Are you all right, Your Grace?”
Caw, caw—the crow cried unusually loud as it flew in.
A shadow, large as a hawk, drifted through the sky.
A crow landed softly on Killian’s shoulder, its jet-black wings fluttering.
The moment Aiden pulled the message from the crow’s leg and their eyes met—
Killian spurred his horse into a full gallop.
[Lord Nael has not yet arrived.]
He should have gone with him.
He should have stayed by his side.
Together… The regrets spiraled endlessly, rising like a black mist from his chest.
Thunder cracked overhead—it felt as if his mind had been struck, shocked into focus.
Killian raced toward the villa.
The short northern day had already dipped below the horizon, the moon now rising in its place.
The luggage carts that had arrived ahead were moving about in a rush.
He ran past all the servants who had come to greet him, down the corridor, up the stairs—resenting how vast this villa was.
His legs felt unbearably slow, the distance never closing. Had it always been this far?
“Your Grace!”
Gasp, gasp. H
ad he not been breathing?
His throat stung from breathlessness.
“Damn it! Where’s Nael?”
“He has not arrived yet.”
There was a strange darkness.
A blackness that felt like it was mocking him.
Not a single candle lit the corridor, not even a sliver of moonlight from the sky above.
Had there ever been a time this place sat in such darkness?
Even knowing its master was returning—no candles were lit?
And then he realized—his vision had narrowed.
He rubbed his eyes roughly with his coarse palm.
The hallway wasn’t pitch black.
There was light, dim but present.
Was this a dream?
He tried to quiet the sound of his footsteps on the red carpet.
He drew his sword, sharp and cold.
Why had he ignored the small figure standing by the window that morning?
He should have rushed to him.
Nael had been silently begging him not to go.
That damn vassal meeting—he could have postponed it.
What was he so afraid of?
Nael’s voice echoed in his mind, but it offered no answer. Just silence.
Killian stood frozen at the entrance to the bedroom in the villa.
He couldn’t step further in. His head remained hazy, clouded.
Even in the face of death, he had always acted rationally.
“…Nael.”
He drew a deep breath, the cold air stabbing his lungs like shards of ice.
“Your Grace.”
Aiden, finally catching up, called out softly.
Killian shoved him aside and stormed out of the villa.
He turned his horse around, heading back the way Nael might have come.
Somewhere, they must have missed each other.
‘Damn it!’
A growl rumbled from his throat. It felt like claws were raking against his heart.
“Your Grace! We’ll search. Please—calm down—!”
Aiden spoke like someone trying to soothe a wild beast.
Nael Baker.
You think I would let you go that easily?
You’re like a green leaf, delicate and soft, fallen into this desolate winter.
My precious one.
Who dares—?
[In the East, they say there’s a flower that floats on a lake. A pink blossom blooming on a wide, green leaf. Are you that splendid flower drifting on calm water… or just the frog perched on the petal?]
Nael, you are my flower.
[Master… p-please don’t be angry.]
If you return now, I won’t be angry.
I’ll hold your small body in my arms and tell you, “You’ve done well.”
So Nael, please… just tell me where you are.
Killian ripped off the cumbersome cloak weighing on his shoulders.
Light flared from the honed edge of his sword.
He ran—again and again—with the resolve to tear apart whoever dared covet what was his.
He had to find Nael’s traces.
“Release the crows.”
Before long, dozens of crows swarmed the sky like storm clouds.
It felt like he was walking a tightrope, straining not to fall.
His grip on the sword was so tight, the knuckles of his hand turned white.
A bitter wind slapped his cheeks—it was as if the air itself was scolding him, wake up.
He couldn’t lose him.
He wouldn’t lose him.
He would not let Nael disappear like foam melting from his palm.
Nael, my Nael…
He wanted to grab hold of that name, now scattering through the air.
If he called him, Nael would come running, eyes wide, gleaming in bliss, looking up at him with those gently curved eyes.
He’d insist on serving him himself instead of Philip, taking his coat with those delicate yet clumsy hands.
Even as he looked at him, Nael would smile and gently touch just below his collarbone—
[It was red at first, but now it looks like it’s always been there.]
Whenever Killian saw his name engraved on Nael’s snow-white skin, it felt like a flower blooming in a barren world.
Like a small gypsophila blooming in a snowfield.
Small now—but one day, it would blossom into a flower big enough to fill his entire arms.
He was too precious to even hold tightly—he’d crumple, shatter.
If Nael was hurt, he would rip apart whoever did it.
The fury burning in all directions dulled the cold entirely.
He ran and ran, combing through every corner.
The snow was deep, making tracking difficult.
He had ordered the path to be cleared in advance—he’d thought it would be easy to follow the set route.
So who—
There were too many enemies.
Too many with grudges.
He should never have let Nael out of his sight.
He cursed his own complacency.
Now, with all that fury directed at himself, he could hardly bear it.
[Master… I won’t run away. Please trust me. I’ll spend the winter quietly and go south with you.]
Killian drove the horse like a madman.
Every second was precious.
* * *
