Seamus arrived at the Velstrath manor's foyer.
The place was still as gloomy as ever—its vast marble halls heavy with silence—yet somehow more alive than the nightmare illusion they'd escaped.
The air was cold but real, and that alone was enough to remind him he was still breathing.
But still… even after everything he had done, the world outside kept spinning the same.
People laughed, worked, lived freely, while he carried the weight of sin and grief. Acting like a hero that saves the whole town but found no meaning in it.
His hand clenched over his chest. It hurts to breathe. He'd thought abandoning his father would bring relief, but instead, it only hollowed him out.
The guilt pressed like a stone in his lungs.
"You're okay, Seamus?"
He felt a light touch on his back, Isolde's hand was soft and cold. The concern in her voice only deepened his resentment.
"Shut up. Don't talk to me, and don't pretend you care." He slapped her hand away.
