Cillian tapped Blane's shoulder not hard, but enough to pull him back from something unseen. "Blane," he said quietly, holding his breath that was still heavy from the long sprint, "what's wrong with you?" There was no answer. Blane remained standing, his shoulders tense, his jaw locked as if restraining something from spilling out. His eyes twitched not merely from exhaustion, but like misfiring impulses, neurons colliding without coordination. Cillian observed more closely. This wasn't physical fatigue. Something deeper had been triggered.
"Blane." This time, firmer.
But the voice sank.
Not because of distance. Not because of the wind.
But because Blane's awareness had already been thrown far away from Arnel Hill. His body was still there, standing in the middle of the training path but his mind was not.
And in a single second that felt like a fracture in time.
He returned.
[One year ago]
The Varkon Republic.
A nation that stood not upon bloodline alone, but upon law. Rationality. Structure. A system designed to suppress human chaos through measured logic. At its center stood the Evalin family, a symbol of control, order, and expectations that never diminished.
Blane grew up there.
Not as a child.
But as a function.
Every decision evaluated. Every mistake calculated. Every step… carrying measurable consequences.
At sixteen, he was no longer "learning."
He was being used.
One of his assignments was within the diplomatic institution known as Globe Law a place that maintained balance between nations, where words weighed heavier than swords, and minor errors could trigger conflicts like a chain reaction.
That day, after finishing his duties, Blane walked along the immaculate streets of Varkon. Too clean. Too orderly. The sky above was clear. As if the world was forcing itself to appear stable.
That was where he met Dict.
His friend.
His only one.
Dict stood by the roadside, running his hand through his hair in undisguised frustration. "I need a recommendation," he said bluntly the moment he saw Blane approaching. "If I don't get this, that university will stay a dream. By the way… let's continue our education at the same place."
Blane looked at him, not answering immediately. "That depends on my father."
Dict scoffed. "Everything depends on your father."
Blane remained silent.
"If you keep living like that," Dict continued, his gaze sharpening, "you'll never truly choose anything in your life."
The words weren't harsh.
Not emotional.
But they landed.
Blane stared at him for a moment.
Then… smiled.
Back at the Evalin residence, everything returned to structure. Sarah stood in the study, arms crossed, irritation clearly visible. "My father assigned me to follow you from now on," she said.
Blane chuckled lightly. "If you don't want to, just refuse."
Sarah shot him a sharp look. "You'd let my aging father become your secretary?"
Blane leaned back in his chair, relaxed. "That sounds interesting."
Sarah scoffed, then tossed a document onto his desk. "Celis Workshop. New project."
Blane opened the file, his eyes scanning rapidly across each line. Sarah watched his expression. "You look tired," she said, her tone softer. "You don't have to take everything. Even the president doesn't require this."
Blane didn't respond. He kept reading.
Seconds passed.
Pages turned.
"This… is interesting."
Sarah closed her eyes briefly. "You're not listening, are you?"
"Who's overseeing this project?" Blane asked suddenly.
Sarah raised a brow. "Not decided yet."
Blane stopped.
"Assign Dict."
Sarah froze.
"Dict Permist," Blane continued calmly. "He'll handle this well. Give him full support."
Sarah studied him, hesitant.
Then nodded.
That night, Dict laughed freely. "You're serious?" he said, disbelief clear. "You're really giving me this?"
Blane nodded once. "Do it properly."
"Don't worry," Dict replied, his eyes bright. "I won't disappoint you."
The following days passed quickly.
Too quickly.
Blane moved between Globe Law and project reports. Data streamed in. Graphs. Simulations. Progress metrics.
Until one night.
He reread the Celis Workshop file.
More carefully.
More deeply.
And this time.
He stopped.
His eyes locked onto a section.
Fusion energy.
Blane stood abruptly.
His chair slid back with a sharp sound.
"…Impossible."
Cold sweat formed along his temple.
Fusion energy was unstable. Still experimental. Not fully tested. Under certain conditions, the interaction between fusion energy and mana could produce extreme instability—a state where energy fluctuations increased exponentially without control.
Sarah entered at that moment. "Blane-"
She stopped when she saw his expression.
"What is it?"
Blane explained rapidly. Too fast. His words collided.
Sarah froze.
"If that energy interacts with a magical system…"
Her sentence trailed off.
But they both knew.
Chain reaction.
Explosion.
Total system failure.
And at that same moment.
It came.
An explosion.
Not far.
Blane rushed to the window.
And saw it.
Celis Workshop.
Light.
A wave of energy sweeping everything away.
His eyes narrowed.
"Dict…"
He didn't wait.
He ran.
By the time he arrived, it was too late.
The air was filled with dust and unstable mana residue. The structure had collapsed. Residual energy pulsed like an open wound.
No one had made it out alive.
Blane entered.
Ignoring warnings.
Ignoring logic.
He walked through the ruins.
Unti he saw him.
Dict.
His body destroyed.
Burned.
Broken.
Yet still alive.
Barely.
Blane dropped to his knees beside him, lifting him.
"Dict-"
His voice broke.
For the first time.
Dict opened his eyes slightly.
His vision blurred.
And he smiled.
Strangely.
"We… ended up in the same place, huh…"
Blane couldn't answer.
"But you… Prince of Varkon…"
His breath faltered.
"And I… just…"
Blane held him tighter.
But before the words could finish.
Dict whispered.
Soft.
Too soft.
But enough.
"Don't... blame yourself..."
"It wasn't... your fault..."
"Just... keep living..."
"...see you... at the university..."
His hand fell.
His eyes closed.
And the world fell silent.
Blane didn't cry.
Didn't scream.
Didn't move.
But something inside him,
fractured.
Shattered.
He wanted to say something.
Anything.
But his body didn't respond.
Only one conclusion remained, carved into his mind like an absolute law.
I killed him.
I killed them all.
"Blane!"
The voice returned.
Blane jolted.
His eyes snapped open.
Arnel Hill returned.
The wind returned.
But the memory had not faded.
In front of him, Cillian stood.
Waiting.
Without truly knowing,
that he was standing before someone who no longer believed in the meaning of friendship.