Liora couldn't sleep.
Even with her head buried under soft blankets and the windows locked, the memory of the sword fight, Seraphina's dagger, and Derick's blood haunted her. Her hand still tingled where he had held it. Her chest still ached from the look in his eyes.
"You'll have to kill me to get to her."
Why had he said that? Why did it sound like he wasn't just talking about tonight… but about something more?
She sat up, hugging her knees.
In the quiet of the room, she whispered, "Who are you, Derick?"
Derick sat under the old tree behind his home, the wind brushing past him like ghostly fingers. His shoulder was wrapped in a fresh bandage, but the pain inside him wasn't from the wound.
It was from the past.
He looked at his hands. They were shaking.
I was too slow again.
He clenched them into fists.
I should've killed Vance. I should've ended it.
He hated that name. Vance—the smiling traitor. The one who'd helped Seraphina kill Liora in their past life. The one who acted like nothing had happened. Like he didn't have blood on his hands.
I let him live. Why? Because she was there? Because I still hesitate?
His eyes burned.
"I can't lose her again," he whispered.
Back in the ducal mansion, Seraphina paced the stone hallway. Her eyes glowed with fury.
"He's getting in the way again," she hissed. "That cursed boy... always there."
Vance leaned against the wall, arms folded. "You had your chance. You hesitated."
Seraphina glared. "Shut up."
"You care too much. It's obvious. Your little sister has always been your weak spot."
A vase shattered against the wall behind him.
Seraphina stormed away, breathing heavily.
She wouldn't fail again. Next time, there would be no mercy.
Liora drifted into a restless sleep. But it wasn't peaceful.
This time, she dreamed.
A strange dream—cold and sharp like glass.
She stood in a field of white flowers. Blood stained the petals. A girl with her face—only older—lay dying in a man's arms. His face was shadowed... but the tears falling onto her cheek burned like fire.
Then, a voice.
"Why... Why her?"
She woke up gasping, her heart pounding like a drum.
The dream felt real.
Too real.
She rushed to the window and looked out.
In the distance, past the hills, she saw the forest.
And she felt it.
Something was waiting there. Something calling her.
Derick was already there.
He stood by the edge of the forest, eyes on the moon.
He'd tried to stay away. To focus on the mission. On revenge.
But Liora haunted him.
Her laugh. Her tears. Her bravery.
He wanted to protect her—but the more he cared, the more dangerous it became. If he let his heart win, his blade would hesitate again. Just like before.
He couldn't risk it.
But… do I have the strength to push her away again?
Footsteps behind him.
He turned.
Liora stood there, wrapped in a shawl, her eyes filled with questions.
"I couldn't sleep," she said.
He looked away. "You shouldn't be here."
"Why do you always say that?" she asked, her voice rising. "You act like I'm made of glass. Like I'll break if you tell me the truth."
Silence.
He didn't move.
Then she stepped closer.
"I saw something," she whispered. "In a dream. A girl who looked like me... dying. And you were crying."
His body tensed.
Liora searched his face. "Was that real?"
He didn't answer.
She reached for his hand.
And for a second, he didn't pull away.
Their eyes met.
The world slowed.
Her hand moved to his cheek.
"I don't understand what's happening," she said softly, "but I know how I feel."
Derick leaned in, so close their lips nearly touched.
Then he stopped.
"No."
He pulled away.
"Not yet."
Liora stared at him, heart breaking.
"Why?"
He turned his back. "Because if I love you... I won't be able to protect you."
Then he walked away, leaving her standing there in the moonlight—lost, confused, and full of questions.