"Allen," he said slowly, choosing each word with care, "who is Erza?"
For a split second—
Something went wrong.
Allen's smile twitched.
The air around him rippled, as if heat distorted the space. A faint crack split one lens of his glasses with a sharp tink, though they didn't fall.
"…Erza?" Allen repeated.
The name did not sit right in his mouth.
It came out flattened, drained of weight, as if the word itself had been pressed thin and forced through static. Not rejected—processed.
Behind him, the shadow at his feet began to stir.
Not spreading.
Not reaching.
It boiled, churning in on itself like ink dropped into hot water, restless and unnatural. The air in the room tightened, heavy enough that Yuuta felt it press against his lungs.
That was when he understood.
Something was here.
Not watching.
Not listening.
Correcting.
Allen's jaw clenched.
For the briefest moment, his smile twitched—not fading, not breaking, but freezing in place. His head tilted a fraction to the side, movements stiff and mechanical, as if invisible threads had suddenly gone taut around his neck.
"I'm afraid," Allen said at last.
His voice was calm. Polite. Perfectly measured.
Yet something strained beneath it, like metal bending under pressure.
"That no individual by that designation exists within this household's recorded history."
The words landed softly.
Too softly.
Yuuta felt the blood drain from his face.
"No…" he whispered.
His heart began to pound, slow and heavy, each beat echoing in his ears. He took a step forward without realizing it, hands trembling.
"Remember," Yuuta said, his voice rising despite himself, "your so-called eternal mistress. The Dragon Queen. Ruler of Atlantis Kingdom."
The name should have meant something.
Allen didn't react.
No flicker of recognition. No hesitation. Not even confusion.
Instead, his brows drew together—genuine concern creasing his expression.
"Dragon queen?" Allen repeated carefully. "Eternal mistress?"
He studied Yuuta the way a doctor might examine a patient who had begun speaking nonsense mid-sentence.
"My lord," Allen said gently, "there must be some misunderstanding."
He adjusted his glasses with a slow, practiced motion.
"Should I contact a therapist for you?"
Yuuta staggered back as if struck.
"No—no, no," he said quickly, shaking his head. "Not you too. You're a demon. You're not human. You're not supposed to—"
Allen shook his head.
Once.
Firmly.
"My lord," he said, voice still respectful, still calm, "I am a human being."
The words settled into the room like ash.
"There appears to be something seriously wrong with you."
Yuuta's legs gave out.
He sank onto the edge of the sofa, elbows resting on his knees, hands clutching his head. His thoughts spiraled wildly, smashing into one another—memories, contradictions, fragments that refused to align.
Erza's voice.
Her tears.
Her fear of disappearing.
She knew.
His breathing grew uneven.
"What went wrong…" he whispered. "What did you do…"
No answer came.
The house remained silent—obediently silent.
With shaking fingers, Yuuta reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. The screen lit up instantly, bright and painfully normal. His contact list opened.
Everything was there.
Everyone.
He scrolled.
His thumb stopped.
Fiona.
His chest tightened with a fragile, desperate hope. Someone from before. Someone outside this house. Someone the script might not have reached fully.
He pressed call.
The ringing tone sounded far too loud in the quiet room.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Yuuta held his breath.
Please, he thought. Please remember.
The call connected.
"Yuuta?" Fiona's voice came through, sleepy but familiar. "Why are you calling so early?"
His throat tightened.
"Fiona," he said hoarsely. "I need to ask you something."
A pause.
"…Okay?" she replied cautiously. "What's wrong?"
Yuuta swallowed.
"Do you remember," he asked slowly, each word heavy with dread, "Erza?"
Silence.
Not the empty kind.
The processing kind.
Then—
The word reached him through the phone like a misfire in reality.
"…Who?"
Yuuta didn't respond at first. His fingers tightened around the device as if pressure alone could force the right answer back into the world. His chest rose and fell unevenly, breath coming too fast, too shallow, as his thoughts struggled to stay aligned.
"Not you too, Fiona," he said finally, his voice rough and unsteady. "What the hell is going on? I don't understand anything anymore."
There was a pause on the other end. Not the awkward kind, but the careful kind—like someone choosing their words around something fragile.
"Yuuta," Fiona said slowly, concern threading through her voice, soft and careful, the way it always became when she thought something was wrong. "Are you okay? Do you want me to come over… take care of you?"
Yuuta's eyes widened.
That voice.
He recognized it instantly—not just as Fiona's, but as that kind of voice. The gentle tone a woman used when the person she loved was hurting. When they were fragile. When they needed comfort.
It felt wrong.
"…Why are you acting weird?" Yuuta said, trying to be cold , though the sound came out strained.
There was a brief pause on the line.
"Why would you come over?" he asked, his grip tightening around the phone. His voice lowered, urgency slipping through despite his effort to stay calm. "Just tell me one thing. Tell me you remember her. Tell me you remember Erza."
The silence that followed was heavier than before.
It stretched on—just long enough for his heartbeat to grow loud in his ears, just long enough for something cold to coil in his chest.
"…Why are you mentioning a random woman's name, my love?" Fiona finally said, her voice gentle again, almost soothing. "Are you really okay?"
The words struck him harder than any shout ever could.
Yuuta went completely still. The room seemed to tilt, the walls subtly leaning inward as if listening.
"Love?" he repeated, slowly, carefully. "What do you mean by that?"
Fiona gave a soft, confused laugh, the sound painfully familiar yet horribly misplaced. "How can you forget already?" she said. "I'm your fiancée."
The air left his lungs.
His hand trembled, knuckles whitening as he clenched the phone. His thoughts scattered, colliding with one another in a mess of denial and disbelief.
"What are you saying?" Yuuta demanded, his voice rising despite himself. His grip tightened around the phone as if that alone could anchor reality. "I'm married. I have a wife. Why are you making this bullshit up?"
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line.
Fiona didn't answer immediately. When she did, irritation bled through her voice, raw and unmistakable. "I'm not making up bullshit, Yuuta. You idiot." Her tone hardened. "Your wife is dead. She's been dead for a long time. How can you stand there pretending you're married?"
The words struck him like a blow.
Yuuta froze where he stood, his body stiff, his thoughts grinding to a halt. "What do you mean… my wife is dead?" he asked quietly. Fear crept into his voice despite his attempt to suppress it. "Do you remember her?"
"Of course I remember her," Fiona replied, her voice lowering. "Everyone does. Her death was unexpected. It shook all of us. Why are you acting like you don't know that?"
Yuuta swallowed hard. His mouth felt dry. "Then… what was her name?" he asked.
There was no hesitation this time.
"Elsa Kounari."
The name crashed into his mind like shattered glass.
Yuuta's fingers went numb. The phone slipped from his grasp and hit the floor, the screen splintering on impact. He didn't even flinch. The more he tried to chase the name Erza, the more the world pushed back—layering confusion upon confusion, burying the truth deeper.
He stood there for several seconds, phone still shattered on the floor, staring at nothing. His mind refused to settle, each thought tearing into the next. Allen spoke like a human. Fiona called herself his fiancée. Grandpa was gone. Erza was gone and instead Elsa was exist.
And Elena.
Mama went to the sky and became a star.
A cold pressure bloomed behind his eyes, spreading slowly, deliberately.
"No," Yuuta whispered, shaking his head. "This is a spell. Someone cast a spell."
He said it again, louder this time, as if the house itself needed convincing. "That's why they forgot. That's why everything changed."
Slowly, Yuuta turned his head.
Allen stood nearby, watching silently.
"Who is Elsa?" Yuuta asked, his voice hollow.
Allen bowed his head respectfully, as though answering a question long settled. "Elsa Kounari," he said calmly, "is your late wife, my lord."
Something inside Yuuta twisted painfully.
Now he understood.
This wasn't simple forgetting. It wasn't a mistake. It was far more intricate—woven tightly into the fabric of reality itself. Erza hadn't merely disappeared. She had been replaced. Rewritten.
Yuuta clenched his fists.
"Take me," Yuuta said, his voice steady, but there was a flicker of something darker beneath it. His eyes met Allen's, sharp and unyielding. "Take me to Elsa's grave."
Allen froze, uncertainty flashing across his face.
"If she's dead," Yuuta pressed, his tone rising with frustration, "then there has to be a grave for her, like you mentioned before."
Allen bowed his head slowly, the weight of obedience in his posture. "Certainly, my master. Her body… was never recovered. But a grave exists—a place for memory, for those who need to honor her."
Yuuta's hands clenched at his sides. Rage and longing mingled in his chest. "Take me there. Now."
Allen hesitated for only a heartbeat, then nodded. "As you wish, my lord."
And with that, Yuuta took his first step toward the truth he was no longer sure he was meant to uncover.
Allen drove in silence.
The road stretched thin and uneven as the city slowly fell behind them, replaced by neglected paths and overgrown land. Trees pressed closer the farther they went, their branches arching overhead like ribs closing around something long forgotten. The place felt abandoned—not recently, but deliberately, as though people had chosen to forget it.
Yuuta sat in the back seat, staring out the window without really seeing anything.
The car itself was wrong.
It was sleek, black, and unmistakably expensive—the kind of luxury vehicle he had only ever seen in advertisements. Polished leather, quiet engine, smooth suspension. And yet, when he searched his memory, there was nothing. No moment of purchase. No reason he would own something like this.
His garage flashed in his mind.
Empty.
The old blue second-hand car he remembered driving—gone. As if it had never existed.
Something had changed. Not just memories. Circumstances. Reality itself had rearranged to fit a different story.
The car slowed.
Allen brought it to a stop before a clearing swallowed by forest. The trees stood tall and dense, their leaves blocking most of the light. At the center of the clearing rose a strange monument—stone worn smooth by time, its surface darkened by moss and rain.
Yuuta stepped out before Allen could say a word.
The air felt colder here.
He walked forward, faster with every step, drawn by something he didn't want to believe. His breath quickened. His boots sank slightly into wet soil as the forest opened fully before him.
And then he saw it.
A grave.
Yuuta broke into a run.
He rushed forward at full speed—only to stop so abruptly it felt like hitting an invisible wall. His body froze, refusing to move closer.
His eyes widened.
There it was.
Elsa Kounari.
The name was carved cleanly into the stone, sharp and undeniable. Above it stood a tall cross, its edges worn. Behind it loomed a statue of a dragon, wings folded protectively, its stone body partially covered in creeping vines—as if even nature had tried to hide it.
Yuuta's knees weakened.
Tears welled up before he could stop them, blurring the letters carved into the grave. His chest tightened, hollow and aching, as though something vital had been torn out and buried here instead.
Then the rain began to fall.
At first, it was light—just a few drops. Then it poured, cold and relentless, soaking through his clothes in seconds. His hair fell into his face, plastered to his skin, water streaming down his cheeks indistinguishable from tears.
Yuuta didn't move.
He stood there, exposed, unmoving, staring at the grave as if daring it to disappear.
Allen hurried after him, an umbrella in hand. He stopped beside Yuuta and tried to open it—
But his hand wouldn't move.
A strange pressure wrapped around his chest, heavy and suffocating. Rage twisted with sorrow inside him, sharp enough to make his breath hitch. His fingers trembled around the handle, but the umbrella remained closed.
Something about this place rejected comfort.
Rejected protection.
Yuuta continued to stand in the rain, staring at the name carved into stone, while the forest watched in silence—patient, knowing, and cruel.
Yuuta laughed.
The sound burst out of him suddenly, sharp and hollow, echoing across the graveyard and crashing against the stone monument. It did not sound like relief, or humor, or madness in the way people understood it. It sounded wrong, as though something else had borrowed his throat.
Allen said nothing.
He stood behind his master, rain soaking through his suit, his body stiff. Something unseen pressed against his chest, heavy and suffocating. For the first time since pledging himself to Yuuta, he felt it clearly—a deep, unnatural resonance, as though their emotions were no longer separate. Yuuta's sorrow, his rage, his disbelief bled into Allen's own heart.
Yuuta slowly lifted his head.
His eyes began to glow faintly, not with magic as Allen knew it, but with something colder. Something older. The rain seemed to hesitate around him, droplets sliding strangely off his skin as if unwilling to touch him for long.
"Absolute authority," Yuuta said coldly, his voice stripped of warmth. "Tell me who Elsa is. Tell me why she is here, buried in stone, instead of Erza—my wife. And tell me why she is dead."
His gaze locked onto Allen.
"What is the meaning of my late wife?"
The words sent a chill through Allen's spine.
For the first time, fear truly reached him. His hair stood on end beneath the rain, his body reacting before his mind could. This was no longer the gentle, broken man he served. This presence felt closer to a ruler of the Abyss—cold, absolute, and waiting to pass judgment.
Allen lowered his head deeply.
"Allow me, my master," he said carefully, each word chosen with precision, "to tell you who your wife is."
He swallowed, rain dripping from his chin.
"I must warn you," he continued, voice tense, "I joined your household only recently. Some details may be incomplete. But the core truth… I know."
Yuuta did not speak. He only stared.
Allen drew in a long breath before speaking again, as if steadying himself against the weight of what he was about to say.
"Long ago," he began, his voice low and measured, "you were born in an orphanage."
Rain continued to fall around them, soaking into the earth, pattering softly against stone and leaves.
"You were alone from the very beginning," Allen said. "Unwanted. The caretakers whispered when they thought you couldn't hear. The other children avoided you, not because you were cruel or loud—but because they were afraid. Your red eyes frightened them. They called you cursed. Some even said you were a demon wearing a human skin."
Yuuta did not react. His face remained unnaturally still, as though carved from wet stone.
"You spent most of your days locked inside your room," Allen continued, his tone careful now. "Silent. Distant. Waiting for time itself to move faster, because there was nothing worth reaching for."
He hesitated, just briefly.
"Until Elsa met you."
Yuuta's eyes widened a fraction, a subtle crack in his composure, but he did not interrupt.
"She was the first person who chose you," Allen said. "Your first love. You spent your days together—talking, dreaming, clinging to each other as if the world beyond those walls did not exist. When adoption came, many families wanted her. She was beautiful. Kind. Desired."
The rain intensified, blurring the edges of the graveyard.
"But she refused them all," Allen went on. "Every single offer. Because she had fallen deeply in love with you, and she would not leave you behind."
Yuuta's fingers curled slowly at his sides.
"You attended school together," Allen said. "Then college. And when you were seventeen, your relationship crossed the line that society so fiercely guards."
His voice softened, carrying a strange reverence.
"From that union, your first child was born. Your daughter."
He paused.
"Elena."
Yuuta's breath hitched, just for a moment, as if his body had reacted before his mind could stop it.
"People condemned you," Allen continued. "Friends turned their backs. Teachers judged you. Strangers whispered. But you and Elsa endured it together. You lived in Luna City, in a small, decaying apartment hidden among the shadows of larger buildings."
Allen glanced at Yuuta, gauging his expression.
"You worked in hotel management. Elsa studied business administration. She was brilliant—far more than anyone expected. In time, she founded Royal Kounari, and the company rose rapidly, becoming one of the most powerful in the country."
The rain soaked through Allen's hair, but he did not wipe it away.
"After that," he said quietly, "you married her. You moved to Nyro City. For a while… you lived what people would call a normal life."
Then his voice dropped.
"Until the accident."
Yuuta's body stiffened, as though the words themselves had frozen him in place.
"It happened during a trip to Gigal New Life Church," Allen said. "You were driving your second-hand car through the hills. The brakes failed near a cliff. Below was nothing but the ocean."
The forest around them felt unnaturally still, as if even the wind had paused to listen.
"You lost control," Allen continued. "And in that moment—when death was certain—Elsa acted."
Rain streamed down Yuuta's face, mingling with tears he did not remember allowing.
"She placed Elena into your arms," Allen said softly. "Then she pushed you both away from the car."
His voice trembled, just slightly.
"You and your daughter survived. But Elsa fell into the sea."
Allen lowered his head.
"Her body was never recovered."
The words settled into the silence like a gravestone being lowered into the earth.
Allen lowered his head again.
"That is how my lady died."
Tears slipped from Yuuta's eyes—hot, heavy, unstoppable—blurring the world before him. They fell not because he believed the story, but because some part of him was being forced to accept it. Deep inside, something screamed that it was wrong, that every word Allen had spoken was a carefully arranged lie.
But lies, when shaped perfectly, did not feel like lies.
They felt like memories.
The grief wrapped itself around his mind like a cage forged precisely to his shape. Too tight to escape. Too familiar to question. The images Allen had described replayed again and again, filling the empty spaces where she should have been.
Where Erza should have been.
Pain bloomed in those gaps—aching, raw, intimate—like wounds that had never existed until someone told him they were there.
Even knowing it was false—
his heart believed it.
And somewhere far beneath the grave, beneath soil and stone and rewritten history, something ancient and patient stirred, as if listening… waiting.
Yuuta clenched his fists and tried to fight back.
He tried to remember Erza.
He focused desperately on the details he loved most, grasping at them as if they were lifelines. Her sharp violet eyes—proud, piercing, impossibly alive. The way she looked at him as though the world itself might steal him away if she dared to blink.
The image trembled.
It wavered, like a reflection disturbed by rippling water.
"No…" he whispered.
Her voice came next—or tried to. It reached for him from somewhere far away, muffled, distorted, like a sound trapped behind thick glass. He could feel it slipping, dissolving before it fully formed.
Yuuta's hand flew to his temple as panic surged through him, sharp and suffocating.
"No, no," he muttered, shaking his head violently. "Don't do this. Don't take her from me."
His breathing grew ragged. Each breath felt too shallow, too late. His chest tightened as the truth finally crashed into him—not as an idea, but as a sensation.
A hollowing.
A thinning.
A terrifying absence where something vital had been.
I'm forgetting her.
The realization did not come with clarity.
It came with fear.
Raw, crawling fear—because he could feel the memories peeling away, layer by layer, like pages being torn from a book while he was still reading it. And no matter how tightly he clung to them, they continued to fade, slipping through his grasp as if they had never belonged to him at all.
Yuuta stood there, trembling beneath the rain, staring at a grave that insisted it held his wife—
while the woman he loved vanished silently from existence.
And the worst part?
The world agreed with the grave.
To be continue...