* * *
Hesia, who had been staring intently—almost obsessively—at Letiyan lying on the floor, turned his head as he sensed a gaze from the side.
Meeting the blue eyes flickering with shock, denial, and a hint of helplessness, Hesia gave a faint smile.
“…First, let him go. I think we need to have a little talk.”
At his heavy-toned words, the knights who had been hesitantly holding onto Hesia, realizing something about the situation was off, reluctantly released him.
Far from being flustered by the sudden freedom, Hesia casually rolled his once-captive wrist as if he had expected this, and looked over at Haen.
“Follow me.”
Slightly irritated by Hesia’s calm demeanor, Haen spoke stiffly and took the lead.
Following behind, Hesia began humming a lullaby Vivisian used to sing often.
Hearing the familiar melody, Haen let out a soft sigh.
So this wasn’t a personal vendetta—it was related to Vivisian.
No matter who he was, that wasn’t something easily reversed.
Already feeling a headache coming on, Haen sighed inwardly.
They entered the nearest room.
The moment Hesia stepped inside, Haen closed the door and asked:
“Is everything written on the wanted poster really true?”
“It is.”
“…But when we investigated back then, the only conclusion was that Vivisian was guilty.”
“Letiyan had quite a few people helping him. They’re all dead now, except the former butler, who stayed out of it for fear of being dragged down too. I mean, I killed the worst criminal alive—you should be thanking me, don’t you think? Why so quiet?”
Haen narrowed his eyes and took a deep breath, glaring at the mocking man with heavy eyes.
He didn’t need to be told why those who helped Letiyan had died.
It was obvious.
Letiyan had killed them all.
‘If the “what if” is about erasing the root cause of the sin from the beginning…’
‘……’
‘Then of course, it must be erased. You can’t let something like that remain. It’ll only get worse. Eliminate it and make yourself pure.’
The memory of that old conversation resurfaced, and Haen glanced once more at the wanted poster in his hand.
“After Vivisian’s death, the body wouldn’t burn nor decompose in the coffin, which raised suspicions…”
“After death…”
He had always thought it strange that Letiyan rarely visited prison over the past eight years—was it because Vivisian had escaped?
Once Vivisian—the root and origin of that sin—disappeared beyond his control, was that why Letiyan suddenly panicked?
Was it because he realized someone else, someone willing to kill in his place, was now beside him?
Haen let out a trembling breath, cursing his past self for avoiding anything related to Vivisian, simply because he didn’t want to see him.
The paper crumpled in his tightened grip.
Staring blankly at the wrinkled sheet, Haen let out a bitter laugh.
“So you’re saying… Vivisian was innocent?”
“Yep. He’s dead now. Died unfairly—and because of that, he still can’t rest in peace.”
“…Vivi is dead?”
“Dead. The duke you served killed him. Or maybe… you did.”
“Why would I kill Vivi—”
Haen instinctively raised his voice, but Hesia, with a cold expression, cut him off and whispered the sin.
“You were the one who led the charge to throw him in prison. You’re the one who most insisted on his guilt, claiming everything he did must never happen again.”
“Vivisian was killed by the duke, by you, and by everyone who screamed that he was guilty. Why did you trust Letiyan so much? The investigation showed that from a very young age, Letiyan hated Vivisian and committed quite a few wrongs himself.”
Wouldn’t it have made more sense to trust Vivisian?
Hesia smiled, as if Haen’s choices were incomprehensible.
“…Don’t speak as if you know everything. Back then… back then, no one had a choice.”
“Ah, wonderful. Selfish justification—loud and clear. I have no desire to talk to you anymore. Whether you lock me up or let me go, just hurry up and decide. Don’t you have a lot to do? Or are you planning to cling to me all day?”
With a smile that hinted he actually wouldn’t mind that, Hesia narrowed his eyes.
Seeing that annoyed face, Haen realized he wouldn’t get anything more out of him and finally opened the door.
Then, facing the confused and anxious onlookers standing outside, he calmly gave instructions.
“He’s an important guest. Prepare a guest room for him and clean out the west annex thoroughly. Escort him there.”
“Wow, you even figured out who I am? You’re sharp. But funny how someone like that couldn’t trust a friend and messed everything up like this. Guess that’s a talent too.”
Hesia’s sarcastic voice was sweet as honey, purposely grating on Haen.
The knights and servants glanced nervously at Haen, but thankfully, he said nothing.
Soon, the other elders who had just heard the news came running.
Hesia walked on his own, surrounded by guards, toward the guest room.
Once inside, Hesia recognized it immediately—it was the room Mujin used to stay in back when she lived in the castle.
He smiled faintly.
After taking a brief walk around the long-familiar room, he sat on the edge of the bed.
The dried blood on his hand crumbled and stained the sheets.
The white blanket was marred the moment his hand touched it.
Hesia flinched and quickly pulled his hand back.
He felt like his entire body was tainted.
Maybe this is why Vivisian told him to forget quickly.
Because remembering too long would only lead him down the path of revenge—for his sake.
And to do that, he’d have to stain his hands with blood.
He knew it was useless to think too long about someone who was no longer alive.
But Vivisian still lived on in a corner of his mind, whispering to him even in the smallest moments. Hesia justified it by telling himself he had no choice.
That ghost, so vivid and real, was no different than a living person who had simply gone far away.
Hesia still felt like Vivisian was breathing somewhere out there.
Just in a place too distant, too unreachable.
“…I miss you.”
No matter how many times you experience parting from a loved one, no matter how old you get, it never becomes familiar.
For Hesia, death-induced separation didn’t feel real.
It always seemed like the people around him would live forever.
The more time passed, the emptier Vivisian’s absence felt—and the clearer his face became, so vivid it ached.
He didn’t know if that was right or not.
With trembling hands resting quietly on his lap, Hesia slowly gripped the hem of his clothes and whispered again.
“Vivi… I miss you.”
It was a soft murmur, like the whine of a child yearning to go back to simpler days.
Hesia knew full well there was no one left to answer that call with warmth.
Still, he waited, with a calm face, until his eyes burned red from the heat of his emotions—and in that posture, seated on the bed, he quietly drifted into sleep.
✽ ✽ ✽
Hesia was escorted as a “guest” to the meticulously cleaned West Wing.
The West Wing was once the place where young Vivisian was often confined for disciplinary reasons.
Vivisian was the type who would rather sleep on the sands of the desert than inside a cramped tent.
At first, Hesia hadn’t understood it.
But it made sense later—Vivisian had once been confined alone in the West Wing, and had even been imprisoned before.
He hated small, enclosed spaces.
Now fully understanding all those moments, Hesia—just as he always did—wandered the wing as soon as he woke up.
Even knowing that any trace of Vivisian had already been erased, he still roamed the building in search of something—anything—that might remain of him.
Though labeled a “guest,” Hesia was also the one who had killed the duke.
Because of that, no one assigned him any servants, and no one dared to stop his movements.
He ate the breakfast that had been left by the door, like one might feed a criminal, then wandered the villa in casual clothes.
“They nailed the windows shut.”
Not anymore, but at some point, someone had clearly tried to block them off.
A small, shallow groove remained in the wall near the window, hinting at an attempt to seal it.
Perhaps they didn’t have time to do it properly.
Hesia’s fingers traced it, and his expression remained remarkably calm.
“It’s a bit tight here. Hesia, could you open the window?”
He bit down on his lip, remembering the man who would always open a window whenever they were in a small room—who could never resist glancing out.
“If I’d known… I would’ve… done better. I really would have.”
He knew well that, given Vivisian’s nature, he would never have spoken about things like that.
Even if they had lived together for years, Hesia might never have truly known him.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to show weakness—it was that he didn’t want others to worry.
So Hesia couldn’t bring himself to blame him.
Couldn’t even pout.
The more he knew, the more mature and kind Vivisian seemed.
“How can someone be like that…”
Murmuring almost like a sigh, Hesia rested his forehead against the window.
The warmth of his skin briefly fogged the cold glass.
Unconsciously recalling Vivisian’s touch, he scoffed softly at himself and let out a small laugh.
“If I was going to miss you this much, I should’ve said it properly when I had the chance. That I’ve missed you for so, so long… That I loved you enough to see you even in my dreams.”
He didn’t understand why those words had been so hard to say.
Regret for the things that had already slipped through his fingers—regret had no end.
* * *
