In another world.
Emilia slowly opened her eyes. A sharp, throbbing pain gnawed at her skull, the kind that clung even after waking. She had just clawed her way out of another nightmare. It wasn't surprising—ever since she had entered the Sanctuary, every night was shackled by the same visions. But this one… this one had been different. Too vivid. Too real. As if the line between dream and truth had been erased, leaving only a cold, cutting memory etched into her heart. She could still feel the icy breath of that dream lingering on her skin, crawling across her back like invisible frost.
Shivering, she pushed herself upright. Her chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, each inhale heavy as though the very air resisted her lungs. The silence of the room pressed down on her, thick and suffocating. She had grown accustomed to Subaru's presence, the steady comfort of knowing he was nearby—even in his silence, his existence steadied her. So when her gaze drifted instinctively to the chair where he should have been, and the familiar absence twisted into something uncanny, her heart faltered. A faint violet shimmer sparked in her eyes, betraying the tension crawling beneath her skin.
The chair was not empty. But it was not Subaru sitting there. No… it was..?
Her breath hitched, disbelief rippling through her body. Emilia squinted, rubbing her eyes with trembling fingers, as though she could wipe away the vision like a stain. Yet when her sight cleared, he remained—still, solid, undeniable. By his side, Puck hovered quietly, frozen midair, his small face stricken with confusion. The spirit, usually quick to react with sharp words or playful banter, said nothing. Even Puck's wide eyes were fixed on the figure before them: Geuse.
His body trembled, every line of him wracked with barely contained emotion. His pale face carried the hollowness of someone resurrected from the grave, a ghost forced back into flesh. His lips parted slowly, the sound scraping from his throat as if each word had to fight its way into existence. "E-Emilia-sama…"
The sound pierced her. She flinched, heart stuttering violently. "Y-you… Geuse? Is it really you?" The words escaped her in a desperate whisper, her mind scattering into fragments of memories she could never silence. Flashes of a man who had once protected her, who had once laughed gently in her presence—shattered now into something unbearable.
In an instant, Geuse lurched forward and wrapped his arms around her. His embrace trembled with unsteady strength, his shoulders quaking as sobs tore free. The dam inside him broke, tears streaming down his cheeks unchecked. "Yes… yes, it's me, Emilia-sama. I'm so sorry. I failed you. I couldn't protect you. I wasn't worthy of my role." His words spilled out like broken glass, jagged and raw.
Emilia's throat constricted. Her chest felt as though it would collapse under the pressure. Tears welled, and once they began to fall, they would not stop. "No… no, Geuse, it was me! I ruined everything! I froze everyone… all of it was my fault!" Her voice cracked with a sorrow too long buried, each syllable heavy with the weight of years spent drowning in guilt.
Geuse pulled back slightly, his own tears still streaking down his face, but his gaze burned with conviction even as grief threatened to swallow him. "Emilia-sama, no. You were only a child. You bore no responsibility. The failure was mine alone. It was my duty to shield you, to protect you from all of it… and I failed. The blame lies with me, not you." His fists tightened until his knuckles blanched, nails cutting cruelly into his palms as if pain could atone for the truth.
A silence settled, thick as iron chains. Emilia could hear only the frantic pounding of her heart and the faint rustle of Puck shifting uncertainly in the air. The room seemed to hold its breath, trapping them within their shared torment. Within her, the voice of the frightened little girl she once was screamed endlessly, begging for forgiveness she could never grant herself.
Then—
A low chuckle crawled across the air, thin and sharp, slicing through the stillness. The sound did not belong, an intruder to the fragile space between them. Emilia's chest clenched tight, while Geuse froze in place, his spine rigid. Together, their eyes shifted toward the corner of the room.
From the shadows, a figure emerged. His steps echoed with a lazy, deliberate rhythm, each one dripping with disdainful amusement. His presence filled the space like smoke—stifling, poisonous, impossible to ignore. The smirk curled across his lips like a predator savoring its prey. His eyes gleamed with dangerous fire, mocking and merciless. Flugel.
He leaned casually, hands buried deep in his pockets, posture radiating the arrogance of one who believed himself untouchable. His gaze swept across them like a bored spectator. "Ah… please, don't let me interrupt. Go on. Cry into each other's shoulders a little longer. It's touching."
Emilia stiffened. Her brow furrowed as violet light flared in her eyes, sharp and furious. The sorrow still clinging to her was stripped away, transmuted into something harder, more unyielding. "What's so funny to you? Are our feelings nothing more than a joke in your eyes?" Her voice rang out, trembling but resolute.
Geuse reacted instantly, his arm lifting in a silent plea for caution. His jaw tightened, his lips twitching with unease. He knew too well—mocking Flugel, challenging him so recklessly, was akin to dancing on the edge of a blade.
Flugel only grinned wider, his arms spreading theatrically, his head tilting as though he played at innocence. But his tone betrayed the sharp edge beneath. "What's funny is how predictable you both are. Each of you scrambling to claim the blame, drowning yourselves in guilt. A tragedy, yes—but such a tired one. How melodramatic. How… dull." His words slithered into the room, corrosive, digging at their wounds with cruel precision.
Emilia rose higher on the bed, her body taut with tension, her breaths ragged, every exhale sparking with fury. Her violet gaze locked onto him, refusing to waver. "What do you mean by that?" she demanded, her voice a whip of defiance against the suffocating weight of his presence.
Flugel's smirk deepened, his eyes narrowing with cruel amusement. "What I mean, Emilia," he said slowly, savoring her name, "is that neither of you understands the truth of what happened. You wallow in guilt, forgetting the simplest fact: the one who bears the blame isn't here. The true cause, the root of your suffering, lies elsewhere. Yet here you are, stabbing yourselves with phantom knives. And frankly—" His voice dropped into a cold hiss. "It's pathetic."
Flugel's gaze sharpened, his words laced with mockery, as though he stood far above their pain, detached and untouchable. "Geuse shoulders all the blame because protecting you was his duty—and he failed. And you… you cling to the burden because, in your fear and trauma, you froze everyone with a power you couldn't control. Your child's heart called it a sin, and so you branded yourself a sinner. But both of you… you're blind to the real point."
He stepped forward, the sound of his footfalls echoing against the stone floor. Each step cut through the silence like a drawn blade. His voice lowered, gaining weight, a dark edge sharpening every syllable. "The true culprit is Pandora. Her existence, her manipulation—she rotted everything at its core before it could even bloom. And yet here you are, wallowing in guilt, drowning in self-reproach. It's almost pathetic. To be frank… it's getting tiresome. The same song of regret, played again and again, like a broken instrument that can't stop humming its one mournful tune. Tell me—does a person truly love their mistakes so much that they clutch them tighter than their own breath?"
The words struck like cold iron, reverberating through the chamber. Emilia's chest constricted; inside her, emotions collided in violent storms. Anger at the cruelty of his tone, guilt that gnawed at her heart like a relentless beast, despair that threatened to suffocate her—all three clashed, tearing her spirit in different directions. Tears streamed faster down her cheeks, and yet her eyes hardened, filled with desperate fire. If Pandora is the true culprit… then what weight is truly mine? How real is my sin? How much of this curse belongs to me… and how much was forced upon me? Her thoughts coiled like barbed wire, wrapping tighter with each word.
Geuse's hands shook, fists clenched so hard his knuckles turned white. He looked as if he might break apart, caught between silence and an unbearable urge to scream back. His lips parted, but the knot in his throat strangled his words. All that escaped was the raw blaze in his eyes—fury, grief, and guilt fused into one. His very silence was louder than a thousand screams, a silent cry that rattled the air.
Puck, hovering nearby, did not speak either. His tiny form remained still, but his gaze locked on Flugel with unwavering intensity. Around him, mana rippled in restless waves, betraying the sharp edge of his intent. If the storm inside Emilia was invisible, the one inside Puck was not. The room quivered faintly under its pressure.
The silence that followed grew unbearable. It wasn't an absence of sound—it was a suffocating weight, pressing down on all of them. Three hearts bore three different truths: Emilia, chained by guilt. Geuse, suffocated by regret. Flugel, savoring his cruel amusement like fine wine. In the thick of it, the invisible threads of destiny seemed to tighten, drawn taut by unseen hands pulling from beyond.
And then— From the door, a voice rang out, cutting straight through the suffocating haze like sunlight through storm clouds.
"Hey, oh mighty overdramatic sage! Drop the whole brooding villain act already. You're overdoing it. Seriously, you do know how to talk like a normal human being, right?"
The words crashed into the room with almost comical defiance, shattering the tension that had been building to its breaking point.
That voice… it was Subaru's.
Emilia and Geuse whipped their heads toward the door, disbelief etched across their faces. For an instant, their hearts seemed to stop, skipping a beat at the impossible sight. Flugel's brows furrowed, the mocking gleam in his eyes flickering, dimming just slightly—as though even he was caught off guard. And there, in the doorway, stood Subaru. He stepped inside with the kind of stubborn smile they all knew—the one that refused to die, the one that injected hope even when none should exist. That smile was a rebellion in itself.
He walked forward, his steps steady and unhurried. Strangely, the atmosphere shifted with him, as though the crushing weight of the room had lightened just from his presence. Geuse's face twisted, caught between shame, disbelief, and a spark of yearning that he tried to smother. Emilia's tears blurred her vision, but through the blur she felt it—something flickering back to life within her. Hope. A fragile flame refusing to go out.
Subaru stopped, letting the silence breathe. He didn't rush, didn't blurt out words for the sake of noise. When he finally lifted his head to speak, his tone was calm and steady—not loud, not mocking, but grounded and real, carrying warmth that reached farther than the words themselves. "Don't let him get under your skin. Yeah, maybe some of what he says hits close to the truth. But truth loses its meaning when it's twisted into a dagger. Even the right words rot when they're spoken with poison. Don't let that poison reach you. I won't let it."
Then he moved again, this time with purpose. His pace quickened, his eyes fixed straight on Emilia. He closed the distance until he stood before her, the world narrowing to just the two of them. He took her trembling hands into his own, firm yet gentle, his warmth spilling into her cold fingers. It steadied her heart, slowed the frantic rhythm in her chest.
He looked into her eyes, holding her gaze with unwavering resolve. His voice softened, but beneath the softness was steel. "Mili. All I want is for you to stop blaming yourself. Don't let the chains of the past keep dragging you down. Don't let the curse of that day cling to you any longer. Listen to me—I promise you again, and I'll keep promising as many times as it takes. We will wake everyone. We'll break this nightmare together. And Emilia…" His grip tightened, his expression a fierce mix of tenderness and determination. "…I swear to you, I will never, ever leave you alone again."
The words lingered in the air, weaving themselves into something stronger than a vow—an anchor, a lifeline, a promise that refused to break.
Emilia's eyes brimmed with tears once again. The whirlwind of anger, guilt, and sorrow that had stormed inside her slowly began to unravel with Subaru's words. The violet glow that had flared so fiercely dimmed, fading back into her natural amethyst hue. Her hands trembled as she reached out and embraced him, clinging to him as though her soul would collapse without that anchor. Pressing her face into his shoulder, she wept—tears of regret, but also of fragile hope, as if in that moment she had been granted permission to breathe again.
Time seemed to lose meaning around them, the world halting to grant them this fleeting reprieve. Yet the stillness did not last. The door creaked open once more, and two small but determined figures stepped inside: Hikari and Beatrice. Both wore expressions uncharacteristically grave, their presence carrying a weight that belied their stature. Between them, half-dragged and visibly agitated, was Flugel. The smirk that had earlier danced across his face was gone, replaced with a sour grimace and an irritated growl caught in his throat.
Hikari's voice rang firm and steady, sharper than one would expect from so small a frame.
"Flugel-nii. You can't ruin this moment. There's a time for everything, and you're trying to steal theirs."
Beatrice pursed her lips and added with an indignant huff, "Betty doesn't approve of her master's chance at healing being shattered, I suppose. Acting so brutishly… it's really quite disgraceful, in fact." Their words, paired with their sheer resolve, pressed Flugel back despite himself. His eyes narrowed, irritation flaring, but he yielded under their combined insistence. Together, they forced him step by reluctant step back through the doorway, dragging him away until the heavy door shut behind them.
A hush lingered in their wake. For a breath, the room seemed suspended between shadow and light. Then Emilia and Subaru turned to one another, eyes meeting, and their lips curved into quiet smiles. After so much heaviness, that simple exchange was like a streak of sunlight cutting through storm clouds, painting color onto a canvas of grief. Geuse clamped a hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking as laughter threatened to spill out, his tears shifting from sorrow to something softer. Puck hovered, his usual composure barely holding, the twitch of his ears betraying the joy he refused to voice aloud.
Moments later, Subaru leaned close and pressed a gentle kiss against Emilia's cheek. The touch was fleeting but full of warmth, enough to set her heart alight. Rising to his feet, he straightened his shoulders and glanced around the room. His voice, though quiet, carried clarity. "I think there are things you all still need to say to each other. That's why… I'll step out for a while. If I'm here, maybe some words won't come as easily. So please… talk freely. This is your time."
Emilia raised her head to look at him. Her lips parted as if to protest, a flicker of reluctance flashing in her eyes. But Subaru repeated himself, his tone gentler yet steady as bedrock. "Alright?"
She drew in a deep, shuddering breath. Her heart still warred with itself, but the sincerity shining in Subaru's gaze dissolved her hesitation. Reaching up, she cupped his cheek tenderly, her violet eyes shimmering with gratitude. "Just this once, Subaru. Only this once, I'll do as you say."
He answered with a broad, boyish grin that warmed the air between them. That smile alone soothed something deep inside her chest. Turning toward the door, he walked with deliberate calm, but before stepping out, he paused, glancing back at them one last time. He lifted a hand in a small wave, a silent promise lingering in the gesture, before he slipped away.
The corridor beyond greeted him with stillness. Each step echoed faintly off the walls, swallowed into the hush of the sanctuary. After a time, he drifted toward one of the tall windows. Resting his palm against the cold glass, he gazed out into the night. Snowflakes drifted from the sky in gentle spirals, blanketing the earth in white. They fell with a hushed grace, as though even the heavens themselves had wished to honor the fragile moment he had just left behind.
"It's snowing…"
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Yo! Your author here, checking in with all of you.
I want to be honest and upfront—I'll probably have to slow down work on the book for a while. Life has thrown me a challenge: I need to focus on preparing to retake the exam I wasn't able to pass the first time around. It's something really important for my future, and that means I won't be able to write as often or as consistently as I'd like. I know this might come as a disappointment, and for that I truly apologize.
Please know that this doesn't mean I'm giving up on the story or on you, my readers. Quite the opposite—your support has kept me going, and I'll carry that motivation with me while I study. Every comment, every bit of encouragement, every silent reader who keeps turning the pages… you've all given me strength. I just need to put some of that energy into this next hurdle in my life. Once I've given it my best shot, I'll be back to writing with even more determination.
So thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for understanding and for sticking with me through this pause. I promise I'll return, and when I do, I'll make it worth the wait. Until then, please take care of yourselves, and wish me luck—I'll need it!
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