* * *
Maybe it was because he’d finally seen a trace of Vivisian after searching for days.
Hesia, for the first time, dreamt of Vivisian as a child.
In the dream, the boy had neatly braided black hair, and looked up at him with gentle eyes.
Hesia played with him for a long time before waking up—and laughed quietly to himself.
He hadn’t noticed in the dream.
But upon waking, it struck him: the child didn’t quite seem like young Vivisian.
He looked like a blend of Hesia and Vivisian.
There were no surviving pictures of young Vivisian, and the only child Hesia had seen was himself.
So maybe it was natural that the child born from the image of Vivisian would resemble himself too—but still, it left a strange feeling.
“It’s like… a child between me and Vivi…”
That little indulgent thought colored his pale cheeks with a faint blush.
Then, realizing how absurd it was, he let out a bitter smile.
“What a ridiculous fantasy.”
Murmuring gloomily, he leaned heavily against the back of the chair and gazed out the window, trying to recall the dream.
The sun had already set.
“Slept too long… I won’t be able to sleep tonight.”
He stood with a mutter, realizing he was in trouble.
Haen had said he’d send the pots in the afternoon, so they were probably waiting with food at the door.
As expected, when he stepped outside with a calm expression, there were food and flower pots set neatly by the door.
Hesia brought them inside and placed them side by side on the dining table.
Whether Haen knew the reason why Hesia had insisted on blue flowers, or he simply associated blue blooms with Vivisian instinctively—either way, the flowers in the pot had the same hue as Vivisian’s eyes.
Hesia touched the petals gently, like handling something precious and dearly missed, and smiled faintly.
“You got me a beautiful one.”
Of course, that didn’t mean Hesia had forgiven Haen.
He still couldn’t understand him.
But he remembered the look on Haen’s face when he asked if Vivisian had truly been innocent—shocked and tangled with grief.
And the way he sometimes called him “Vivi,” like he’d truly cared for him.
Putting all the pieces together, there was one thing Hesia couldn’t reconcile: if they’d been that close, how could Haen not have known that Vivisian wasn’t the kind of person who’d hurt others?
Just how blind must he have been, to have overlooked that?
Hesia had thought it pathetic—but then he froze.
“I’m no different. No matter what I say, it’s like spitting in my own face.”
The realization hit him, and he blinked slowly, then burst out laughing.
He too had let himself be blinded by one man’s death—tearing apart the lives of others who had gone on living.
“But those people treated Vivi like absolute shit first… and in the end, he died.”
Vivisian had been kinder than anyone, someone who loved the world.
Remembering the face that worried for him until the end, Hesia buried his face in his hands and exhaled a long, trembling breath.
Maybe he could understand Haen.
And maybe that was exactly why he hated him so much.
“Haen de Winter, how did we both end up this pathetic?”
As he toyed with this feeling—something close to self-loathing—Hesia let out a faint laugh.
✽ ✽ ✽
Hesia spent his days quietly in the spacious annex.
On days when he found himself worrying about Vivisian—wondering how he might be doing now—he tended to the flowers with even greater care than usual.
And when even that wasn’t enough to soothe him, he’d ask Haen for another canvas and fill it with portraits of Vivisian.
Time passed, as it always does.
Hesia heard that Retian had been officially disowned by House Teian, and that Vivisian had been posthumously reinstated.
It would’ve been a lie to say he never wondered— ‘Did Vivisian even want that reinstatement?’
But the world revolves around the living, and the dead have no voice.
Those who survived, burdened with guilt, did whatever they could to lighten that weight with their hollow repentance.
People gathered to mourn Vivisian.
A shrine was built in his name.
But to Hesia—who knew that Vivisian’s body still hadn’t found peace in some faraway land—it all felt like a joke.
He spent each day scoffing at the foolish, pathetic people around him.
All the filthy slanders that once followed Vivisian’s name had vanished, as if they were never there.
Maybe now, at last, his body could find rest.
Hesia kept to himself in the annex, waiting for the moment he could say goodbye to Vivisian with his own hands, in his own way.
And today, like always, he rose from bed in the late afternoon, washed up, and had a meal that was something between breakfast and lunch.
Just as he finished eating, a familiar face entered the dining room.
For reasons unknown, Haen had been visiting Hesia regularly for a while now—and today was no exception.
Always pale, he looked even more ghostly these days, with a bluish tinge to his skin. He looked like a corpse walking around, somehow still alive.
“What, didn’t you say you found a distant relative to stand in as duke? Then what’s with that face?”
The formality in their conversations had faded somewhat over time.
Haen, now seated across from him, rubbed his temples before answering in a slow, strained voice.
“…I haven’t been sleeping well.”
His quiet voice cracked at the end.
He really didn’t look well—like someone who was either about to die or about to kill someone.
Hesia took one look at his miserable face and promptly stopped caring.
‘What’s so pretty about that anyway?’ he thought with disinterest as he got up and cleared his own dishes, out of habit.
Haen, watching him silently, murmured under his breath, almost like he didn’t mean to be heard.
“You really seem used to doing everything on your own.”
“I used to be a slave, remember? Anyway, if you’ve got nothing to say, leave. Keep loitering in front of me like that, and I just might kill you like I did that damn duke.”
Haen twitched his lips as if to respond but only let out a faint exhale, something between a sigh and a laugh—more tired than mocking.
“Sorry for bothering you, Your Highness. But… you’re the only one in this place who’s truly innocent…”
Hesia frowned.
He had caught the barely spoken words.
“Innocent?”
“…Never mind. Just talking to myself. You don’t need to think too hard about it. I won’t be bothering you like this again, so please don’t be too angry. Then… may your day be peaceful, as always.”
Haen hesitated after the words “as always,” unable to bring himself to say “good.”
And Hesia, realizing that, sighed quietly.
‘Do I really look that unhappy without Vivisian?’
As Haen left the annex with a graceful bow, Hesia stood still, facing himself—and could only arrive at one conclusion: yes, he did.
“…Damn it. Stir up all my feelings and just walk away like that, huh?”
He had barely been managing.
Or maybe he’d only convinced himself he was.
But having it confirmed like this—that he wasn’t okay—sank his mood like a stone.
Was it because he’d come face to face with his own unhappiness again?
His breath caught in his throat.
Hesia didn’t panic.
He just braced himself against the table and focused on breathing slowly.
Tears spilled from his wide-open eyes.
He had mourned for so long, missed Vivisian so deeply, that he no longer even knew why he was crying.
Was it sorrow? Was it longing?
Unable to name the emotion swelling in his chest, Hesia closed his eyes.
The blurry, tear-stained world dimmed into darkness.
There are people you can only see when you see nothing at all.
People who only smile gently at you when you’re teetering on the edge of consciousness.
Even though he no longer lived in this world, Vivisian’s presence was so vivid, so alive, that calling him “dead” felt like a lie.
Tears kept streaming from Hesia’s dulled blue-gray eyes.
Trails formed down his pale cheeks, the dried streaks catching the light.
When he opened his eyes after crying silently, blue flower petals gently swayed in the breeze coming through the open window.
He remembered those eyes, always smiling at him—half-lidded and long-lashed, the gaze that peeked through them.
“…Vivisian. Vivi. You know, I gave everything back to you. Your name, your honor, your love. Vivi, I did everything you thought was impossible. But… I still can’t bring you back.”
The moment those dazed, spellbound words left his mouth, a strong wind swept through the room.
Hesia’s soft pink hair blew wildly, and in the gust, he thought he heard a faint, bitter chuckle. Vivisian used to laugh like that—pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation whenever Hesia got too stubborn.
As the wind hit his face, Hesia instinctively closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, Vivisian was standing right in front of him.
He reached out in desperation, like a drowning man—but the moment his fingers nearly touched, Vivisian vanished like smoke.
Hesia stood there, staring blankly at the empty space.
And then, at last, he couldn’t hold back. He cried out loud.
A few days later, Haen—who hadn’t visited since—sent someone to summon Hesia.
By the time Hesia got there, it was already too late.
Haen had been imprisoned for assassinating the duke.
* * *
