FYTE 24

Chapter 24

“I was just a lodger along with Sephiros… ah, if I start explaining how Sephiros suddenly barged in, the story will get too long, so let’s skip that. Cade and Laine were Mirea’s parents. And Hureo was her younger brother.”

“They say her parents passed away… then, her brother…”

Aris hesitated, but her meaning was too obvious. Paulo answered calmly.

“The three of them died on the same day, five years ago. To be precise, Cade’s body was never found… but judging from the circumstances, it’s hard to believe otherwise.”

“Five years ago… was it June 17th, 3011…?”

Aris forced out the date, one she could never forget, as if chewing on a blade. Paulo, without showing any emotion, confirmed it.

“Yeah. That day.”

Aris fell silent. That first night Mirea had insisted she had a right to be curious about Aris. Now the meaning of that ‘right’ finally sank in.

Whatever the process, the result was clear: Aris was the perpetrator, and Mirea the victim. For a victim to want to know about the perpetrator—it was, in a sense, only natural. Hearing the story of the perpetrator and deciding where to direct one’s aimless rage was something victims often sought.

Not knowing the reason only deepened the sense of injustice. Mirea was the same. She had been curious to know what kind of person Aris was. Judging by her reaction, whatever decision Aris had made that night must have somehow shifted something in Mirea’s heart—likely toward forgiveness.

Paulo looked up at Aris and asked:

“What are you thinking?”

“The same thing I’ve been thinking for the past five years.”

“And what’s that?”

“Useless thoughts. Completely pointless.”

Paulo cleared his throat and spoke like a bard.

“Long ago, though not so long ago, the Archduke of the Luad Empire, Marapines Rigenwood Virche Panidrau, was murdered by the Emperor. His son, Ludekias Reminna Ryu Panidrau, invoked the power of Derkaide to summon demonic beasts to the continent of Roa Mena to avenge his father. But the Emperor survived, and Ludekias vanished. The beasts he summoned rampaged across Roa Mena, devastating the land, and many of them gathered around the cursed sword in the Empire’s northwest, forming a dark zone that repelled all other life. From that day, people called Ludekias the ‘Black Wing of Derkaide,’ adding the epithet ‘the Worst,’ and feared and hated him. Thus ends that little old tale.”

Aris blinked, bewildered by Paulo’s dramatic conclusion. Paulo smirked at her reaction.

“Well, that’s the story as the world knows it. But you’ll notice—the account never includes anything told by the man himself.”

He put the cigarette back between his lips.

“I’m no saint who magnanimously forgives every sin. Everyone close to Sephiros knows Emperor Mertius provoked you, and you fell into his trap. So I don’t want to blame you. Blaming someone doesn’t solve anything, anyway.”

He flicked away the ash.

“Actually, Sephiros blamed himself for not stopping Mertius.”

“Sephiros did?”

Aris lifted her head, surprised.

“He has the duty of maintaining the world’s balance. He had sensed Mertius was up to something, had been watching carefully. But Mertius acted at an unexpected time, in an unexpected way. Still, formally, it was a failure of Rashvalen.”

Paulo gave a bitter smile.

“Five years ago, I was away from Roa Mena on business for a few years. By the time I heard that the beasts had appeared in Roxanne, it was already over—I couldn’t do a thing. When I rushed back, Mirea was the only one left. The rest of her family was gone. She didn’t want to return to this house, saying the wound in her heart was too deep. Sephiros didn’t explain properly, either. Once I steadied myself, my wife and I left for another branch. And so, before I knew it, this house had been left abandoned for five years…”

He sighed when he saw Aris’s expression.

“For Mirea, this house is full of pain. But if she brought you back here after five years, don’t you get it? That girl doesn’t hold even a shred of resentment toward you. And if I had thought otherwise, I would’ve killed you outright—I wouldn’t be sitting here drinking with you.”

It was a question Mirea herself couldn’t bring herself to ask, out of shame. But Paulo, as one of those involved, voiced it freely.

“If she judged it was fine, then it really is fine.”

Then Paulo’s voice softened, tinged with melancholy.

“But maybe it’s the alcohol, or being back in this house after so long—I find myself missing the dead.”

Hearing this, Aris drained the water in her glass. Paulo finished his cigarette, stubbed it out, and rose with a grunt.

“Are you sure you’re even drunk?”

“I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

Paulo slapped Aris’s back.

“It’s late. Go to bed.”

Aris rubbed her back where she’d been struck, seeing Paulo off.

“Don’t let the change of bed keep you awake. You’ll notice—the attic on the third floor is the best spot. No nightmares up there.”

Paulo shook the half-empty bottle of Pol Pordy liquor and went down the path. Aris climbed the stairs silently, glanced once toward Mirea’s door, then continued up to the attic. Collapsing onto the bed, Paulo’s words echoed in her ears—You won’t have nightmares.

But really—could hearing such words prevent them? Fortunately, the drowsiness from the alcohol pulled her under.

Whether it was Paulo’s words or simply the drink, her eyes drifted shut and her consciousness sank into the depths.

Mirea dreamed.

A window framed with almond blossoms in full fragrance. The emerald shine of the sea. The days spent running atop the white foam rolling in with the waves.

The scorching sand beneath bare feet. The chirping of midsummer insects. The cool autumn breeze as she hoisted a sail and cast a fishing line, reading on the deck of a yacht. Freshly baked scones and warm cocoa that lulled her into a nap, waking to see snowflakes falling one by one outside the window.

A low, familiar laugh.

Fragments of memory spilled in disarray. Realizing she was dreaming, Mirea slowly opened her eyes. Before her stood a door. A wooden door decorated with colorful tiles, secured with a large, rusted padlock. It was the front gate of her home.

She looked around. There was a door, but no walls, no ceiling—just Mirea herself in an endless white space. Yet there was a sky, and from it, snow was falling. Tilting her head up, a snowflake landed on her nose, then melted and ran down.

Cold.

Snow piled onto her lashes and eyelids, melting into drops that slid down her cheeks like tears. Before she could wipe them away, a large hand covered her eyes from behind.

“You should have chosen someone else instead of me.”

The voice, wet with sorrow, made tears run from Mirea’s eyes. As she had countless times in her heart, she answered.

“I don’t regret it.”

“…I see.”

The boy behind her lifted his hand, wiping away the tear trailing down her cheek.

“Then you should’ve come back sooner.”

“…Actually, that was a lie. I do regret it.”

“Is that why you stayed away from this house, as penance?”

“It wasn’t anything that noble.”

“Then why?”

“Because I was scared. A house with no one in it… I didn’t want to see it.”

“Even so, I can’t come back.”

“This house is too big. Too big, and being left alone in it terrifies me. Hureo, don’t leave me alone.”

Hureo’s voice was gentle as he whispered behind her.

“Sis, this is a dream. I can stay now, but when you wake up…”

“I know. But why can’t I do as I please in my own dream?”

She tried to turn and see his face, but Hureo held her shoulders firmly, keeping her in place.

“I want to see your face.”

“I’ll always be the face you remember.”

“That’s meaningless. I don’t want just the memory or a picture—I want the real you.”

Mirea shook her head, her breath scattering white. Hureo gently urged her toward the door.

“It’s cold out here. Go inside.”

“There’s no one inside anyway! I’d rather stay here with you! Even if it’s cold, it’s only a dream—so what?”

He chuckled softly.

“That’s not true.”

Hureo lifted a hand past her cheek and pointed at the door.

“Did you forget? You chose him.”

“Him…?”

In her hand, Mirea found a key.

“Come on. Time to wake up.”

Hureo’s hand closed over hers, guiding it. At last, Mirea saw his face—chestnut curls, amethyst-clear eyes that curved into crescents when he smiled. Just as she remembered him.

“I don’t want to wake up like this.”

He shook his head.

“It’s okay, Sis. You said it yourself—it’ll be okay. So…”

Guided by him, she fitted the key into the lock. The rusted padlock opened smoothly, then crumbled away into black feathers. The door swung open, and a warm breeze scattered the feathers far away.

“This is the last time I can help you.”

Looking into the doorway, Mirea closed her eyes against the dazzling light, then opened them again.