By the time Raviel reached the small yet, extravagant building that passed as his "home," the sky had already begun to dim, streaks of orange and violet spreading across the horizon. His legs ached faintly, but it wasn't from the walk. It was from the weight in his head—plans, memories, thoughts constantly churning.
He keyed in the door code through tapping it by Arctic on the sleek black panel. The lock clicked, and the heavy door swung open.
The first thing that hit him was the smell.
Coppery. Sharp. Rotten sweet, like metal left too long in the sun.
Blood.
His body tensed before his mind even caught up. He stepped inside—and froze.
The floor. The elegant, marble-white tiles of the luxurious room. Stained. Dark blotches splattered across it, dried at the edges but still tacky in the center. And next to it—vomit, streaked with the same congealed red.
His blood.
At least… it should've been.
Except—he didn't remember. Not a single fragment of memory explained why the floor was painted with it. The moment he woke up in this world, his memories of how he had ended up like this had been swallowed by that damned void in his mind.
For a long moment, Raviel just stood there, gripping the strap of his hoodie, staring at the stains as a knot formed in his stomach. He'd rushed out earlier, forgetting everything but the pounding confusion in his head. And now… it all sat there. Waiting. Accusing.
"...Damn it."
The word slipped out sharper than he intended. He crouched down, tugging a towel from the sleek cabinet near the entryway. The fabric was too fine for cleaning, but he didn't care. He just needed to erase it.
One swipe. Then another. The dark stains smeared first, spreading across the tiles before slowly lifting under his relentless scrubbing. His hands moved automatically, almost violently, as though by cleaning the floor he could scrub away the question pressing against his ribs.
When? How? Why can't I remember?
The towel grew heavier, saturated with a mix of blood and water. His breathing grew harsh, ragged, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Not until the polished floor shone again, as though nothing had ever happened.
Finally, he sat back on his heels, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The house was silent again, pristine and cold, yet it felt different. Like he was living in someone else's crime scene.
He let out a bitter chuckle. "Hell of a way to start a new life…"
For a moment, he considered tossing the ruined towel in the trash. But instead, he folded it, set it aside carefully, and washed his hands under the faucet until they were raw. The faint pink of diluted blood swirled down the drain, vanishing without a trace.
And just like that, the evidence was gone.
But the unease stayed.
Raviel leaned against the counter, staring at the empty space where the stains had been, a hollow pit in his chest.
If I can't even remember the blood I've spilled… what else am I forgetting?
Raviel had just slumped into the leather chair by the desk, his muscles still buzzing faintly from the exhausting task of cleaning, when a soft chime pulsed from his wrist.
He blinked down. The sleek Arctic interface lit up in pale blue across the curved glass.
[1 New Message]
The sender name made him still instantly.
Chimera.
The corner of his lips twitched—half smirk, half grim acknowledgment—as he opened it.
{ Chimera: The Fragment of Echoes will arrive in two days. Delivery will be made directly to your location. Input your preferred coordinates.}
So he finally messaged me on this account,
No greetings. No pleasantries. Not even a trace of the suspicion Wilson had radiated earlier. Just obedience, laced with the urgency of a man who had been cornered.
Raviel leaned back, the chair creaking under his weight. His purple eyes reflected the light of the message as he tapped his finger against the armrest.
Two days.
That was all it took.
So he broke faster than I expected.
He closed the message without replying, then flicked his Arctic open again to set his delivery location. The interface asked him to confirm coordinates. For now, he simply tagged his residence, then hesitated—his gaze flickering toward the window, out at the sprawling cityscape glowing under the night.
The smart move would be to change it later, if he thought Wilson might set a trap. But for now, the man was too desperate to risk anything. Raviel could feel it.
His chest tightened faintly, though not from fear. More from something else—a quiet dissonance.
That cold, detached voice of his earlier. The way he had stripped Wilson bare with words sharper than knives. And now, seeing the message, it had worked. Exactly as intended.
But it still unsettled him.
Since when… did cruelty come so easily to me?
He pressed the Arctic dark, shutting out the glow, and whispered under his breath, almost too soft to hear.
"…Two days, huh?"
He leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet hum of the city beyond the glass walls. The world outside moved on, oblivious, while he sat here with blood still drying in the laundry bin and shadows he couldn't explain coiling in his head.
Two days until the Fragment of Echoes.
Two days until the next piece of this new, terrifying cycle would fall into place.
Raviel stared at the Arctic interface a long while, the glowing message from Chimera still hovering in his vision. His fingers hovered above the input, silent, thoughtful.
Then, without hesitation, he keyed in a transfer.
[Transfer Amount: 130,000 Zen]
[Recipient: Chimera]
[Reason: Medical expenses]
The Arctic chimed softly. Transaction Complete.
Almost instantly, a reply shot back.
{ Chimera: Don't even think for a second I'm on your side.}
Raviel's eyes narrowed, the faintest curl of a smile tugging at his lips. He could almost hear Wilson's voice behind those words—gruff, panicked, clinging to some scrap of pride while his hands shook with relief.
He typed nothing back. He didn't need to.
Leaning forward, Raviel rested his elbows on his knees, purple eyes glinting faintly in the dim light of the room. Of course he isn't on my side. He's on hers. Charlotte. The girl who makes even a man like him bow to the dirt.
That was exactly why Wilson would never betray him. That was why Raviel could trust this transaction more than a thousand flowery oaths.
Not loyalty.
Not trust.
Not even fear.
Just desperation.
And desperation was the most reliable leash of all.
He closed the Arctic, the faint blue glow vanishing, and sat there in silence for a moment. The city outside buzzed faintly, muted by glass.
His chest rose and fell slowly as he muttered to himself—half cold observation, half bitter amusement.
"Side or no side… you'll do what I need." for the time being.