Horus figured he had to be out of his mind to bring a monster—one that had appeared in a graveyard—back home, and even let it take over the only bed.
"Won't you come sleep with me, love?" the monster asked, feigning innocence, lifting the covers so that one pale, slender leg slipped into view.
Horus frowned almost instinctively. After a long silence, he replied, "Not a chance."
And everything had begun a day earlier.
[I. The Red Monster]
In the swaying carriage, Horus flipped through the yellowed map in his hands. Dense markings covered the parchment, until his gaze settled on a border town of the Kingdom of Mirikandel—Arnosy.
Rumor had it that three days ago, a creature drenched entirely in red had appeared from the frontier. As an exorcist, Horus had been commissioned to travel to the town and eliminate the threat.
Over the years, he had wandered across kingdoms, slaying ghosts and subduing demons, all while searching for clues about his own past.
Yes—his past. Horus had lost his memory.
It was cliché, yet undeniably real. He didn't know how it had happened. He only remembered having an extraordinarily long dream before waking.
When he opened his eyes again, he was already on the continent of Kemet. And he had remained there for three hundred years.
Relocation had become routine for him, all because of his unchanging appearance. If he didn't want to repeat the same mistake—being treated like a monster—moving periodically was the wisest choice.
So he lived as a wandering exorcist, seeking his origins while ridding the world of evil.
After a day and night of travel, he arrived at Arnosy under the cover of night.
Even before entering the city, Horus sensed something was wrong. It was well past bedtime, yet the town was brightly lit, tension hanging heavy in the air.
"Have you heard? At this rate, that thing will reach the city tonight!"
"That can't happen! If it gets in, it might eat all of us!"
"I heard the capital tried to negotiate with the monster!"
"Negotiate? Are they insane? Negotiating with a monster?"
Negotiate? What was going on? Horus wondered, stopping a passerby.
"Pardon me. Could you elaborate on this negotiation?"
The man replied frankly, "Tonight, the king issued a final ultimatum. The graveyard outside the walls is the boundary—if it crosses, kill it."
Another scoffed. "And the result? It ignored us and insisted on coming! Tell me that's not ridiculous."
"I heard the monster is red… like blood. An ill omen. I bet it's a demon."
"Same here! It came from the frontier—no way it's human."
The frontier lay in the southern desert of the Kemet continent. Legend said it was shrouded year-round in sandstorms and smoke, a place even sunlight could not reach.
No expedition had ever returned alive.
Some claimed the far end of the frontier connected to Duat—the final resting place of all souls.
If something emerged from there, calling it a demon wasn't unreasonable.
But if it was a monster, why negotiate?
Carrying that question, Horus made his way to the city wall.
As he approached, a gate guard stopped him.
"Civilians must leave immediately!"
"I'm not a civilian," Horus said.
"Then who are you?"
"An exorcist sent by the capital." He produced the commission letter.
The guard's attitude immediately changed. "My apologies, sir. Please follow me."
Horus climbed the wall under the guard's guidance. Priests stood ready with staffs; rows of archers drew their bows, as though facing a great enemy.
Looking at the tight formation, Horus felt uneasy. The capital's forces were strong and well-organized—why hire a lone exorcist at great expense?
If manpower were lacking, mercenaries would make more sense. Appointing a single individual seemed unreasonable.
Unless… the exorcist's role was never to slay the monster.
"You've noticed it too," the guard said quietly, pointing beyond the wall. At the edge of sight, a crimson figure pushed through the sandstorm, slowly approaching the town.
Why negotiation instead of immediate execution?
Horus finally understood.
The monster everyone feared looked almost human. The only difference was the vivid red hair that even the sandstorm couldn't hide.
Unfortunately, in the beliefs of the Selrom people, red was taboo—an omen of misfortune.
"The king's ultimatum—if it crosses the graveyard boundary, kill it. That's the 'negotiation,'" the guard said. "And now… we just need someone to carry it out."
Before the words finished, the archers turned in unison.
Their arrows pointed at Horus.
Horus remained strangely calm, as if he had expected this.
The capital intended to use the exorcist as bait. If negotiations failed, the sacrifice would justify killing the monster. That was the true purpose of hiring him.
Horus walked to the edge of the wall.
"Negotiation, huh… Conveniently enough, I was thinking the same."
And before anyone could react, he leapt down.
Dust billowed as he landed. Moments later, a figure emerged steadily from the sand, brushing dust from his sleeve—completely unharmed.
"Is he even human?" the guard muttered.
Horus had asked himself that many times. After all, his appearance hadn't changed in three hundred years.
And you—are you human?
He drew his sword, dragging its tip across the ground, leaving a long mark as he approached the ominous figure.
"Turn back. Don't come any closer. They'll kill you," Horus said coldly.
The figure ignored him and kept walking.
Horus placed his sword across the monster's path. To his surprise, the figure stopped when it touched the blade.
Messy red hair covered his face. His skin was cracked, his body covered in wounds—none of it intact.
Horus raised the sword under the man's chin, lifting his head.
Black, murky eyes—dark as ink, as if no light could reach them.
Horus remembered.
He had seen this face before.
In a dream he had repeated countless times.
"Hel… me…"
Pale lips moved, words unclear.
Horus's grip loosened for the first time.
Then the monster spoke again, voice hoarse and desolate:
"H-help… me…"
Thud.
The red-haired figure collapsed into the sand.
[II. A Dream Within a Dream]
It was a strange dream.
Horus stood with blood on his hands. Corpses littered the ground, rivers of red flowing. People knelt before him, begging forgiveness.
Stunned, he woke in a dim room.
"What? Not satisfied?" a voice asked.
He looked down. Beneath him lay a red-haired man, a teasing smile hiding stubborn defiance.
His gaze dropped to the dagger clenched tightly in his hand. The blade had already sunk into the red-haired man's abdomen.
"Who are you?" Horus demanded.
The man smiled meaningfully.
"Your lover," he said at last, touching Horus's face. "Remember this, Horus. Next time, don't forget me again."
He leaned forward, pushing himself deeper onto the blade.
"You—" Horus released the dagger, rare shock in his eyes.
"You were never good at playing ruthless," the red-haired man smirked, arms sliding around Horus's neck.
Night fell. Candlelight flickered. The red-haired man leaned in, sealing the distance with a kiss. Their shadows merged on the wall, breaths entwining.
As Horus's eyes closed, blinding light filled the space.
He remembered.
He had dreamed this countless times.
And as he awoke, the prophecy sounded again:
"This is your story. In it, you will forget him three times, hate him three times, love him across three lifetimes… and in the end, willingly—die before him."
Back in the frontier desert, sand swirling, Horus looked at the collapsed red-haired monster.
Without hesitation, he hoisted him over his shoulder and turned toward the city.
The storm raged behind him, but his steps had never been more certain.
Three hundred years.
This time, we finally meet—outside the dream.