122.

‘What’s the point of going back when he’s not there?’

Sighing heavily, I collapsed onto the altar. It was a blatant act of sacrilege, but with no one around to see, I sprawled out comfortably. The rhythmic sound of raindrops and the dark, oppressive atmosphere made drowsiness that had been piling up for days finally come crashing down on me.

The stone altar, however, was anything but comfortable. I tossed and turned, trying to find a better position, only to meet the gaze of the statue overlooking the altar. After an extended stare-off with the oddly crafted figure, I found myself speaking aloud as though entranced.

“…At first, I thought you hated me and that’s why this disaster happened to McFoy.”

Of course, I wasn’t truly picking a fight with the statue. It was more a matter of venting stale thoughts that had long since gathered dust in my mind.

“Lately, though, I’ve come to think such an idea was pure arrogance.”

Perhaps Mehra’s only interest was in Ophelia, and all other humans—including myself—were as insignificant as ants. Maybe everything happening to McFoy and me was simply the result of Mehra’s complete indifference.

“And the fact that it’s been nearly a year without incident suggests that sparing one ant doesn’t really upset the balance, does it?”

Barely had I voiced this idle notion when a thunderous crack split the air. A flash of lightning illuminated the prayer room through a small, weathered window, and the rain began pelting the glass with renewed ferocity.

“…Good grief. Of all days…”

Though I was entirely sober, the impeccable timing of it all made me feel as though the goddess—silent all this time—had suddenly chosen to respond. My heart raced despite myself.

“I must be more starved for meaning than I thought.”

After glancing warily at the statue for a few more moments, I concluded that all of this was Norma Diazi’s fault for not being here. Having reached that conclusion, I decided to end my conversation with the statue and all its sentimental nonsense.

The rain continued to lash against the fragile glass with no sign of relenting. Surrendering to the inevitability of it, I closed my eyes.

I don’t know how long I stayed like that, but I must have dozed off. The silence around me was striking. Had the rain finally stopped? Slowly, I tried to open my eyes.

“Are you happy?”

The sudden voice pierced my mind like a blade. It was as if the forces that threatened me had chosen this moment to remind me they were alive and well, striking at me wherever and whenever they pleased.

The voice was uncanny, seeming both impossibly close and immeasurably distant. The disorienting sensation jolted me into full awareness. I opened my eyes wide but saw nothing. I was alone in a vast, blank expanse of white.

‘I was lying on the altar, dozing off. Was I kidnapped? But Sir Dogman was right outside the door…’

Utterly baffled, I scanned my surroundings and cautiously rose to my feet.

‘Are you happy?’

The words echoed again, hauntingly familiar. It was the question Ophelia had once asked me. What’s more, the voice itself felt eerily like one I’d heard before. Realizing this, my heart pounded erratically, an anxious rhythm I couldn’t calm.

“Am I dreaming?”

Still on edge, I turned sharply at the sensation of something nudging my back as though prodding me with a finger. What I saw froze me in place.

Ophelia, smiling sweetly, stood before me.

Her expression was gentle, but the aura she exuded was ice-cold. This wasn’t the same Ophelia I had met in my chambers. Her gaze was haughty, her eyes void of emotion. It was clear—this was not Ophelia.

“Who… who are you? What have you done to Ophelia?”

At my demand, the woman wearing Ophelia’s skin burst into laughter. Her laugh was sharp and loud, cutting through me like a blade. The sheer volume of it seemed to rattle my very bones, and I collapsed forward under its weight.

A deafening ringing filled my ears. My head throbbed, and I felt the sting of involuntary tears, the drip of my nose running, and the convulsions of dry heaves.

“This is the last time. This marks the end of all the ‘twists.’”

Her laughter subsided as abruptly as it had started, and she began to speak, her voice as commanding as it was cryptic.

“Mercy ends here. From now on, it’s all up to you.”

Twists? Mercy? What was she talking about? My mind raced to make sense of her words.

“Remember. What is meant to happen will happen.”

The woman’s tone was unwavering, as though issuing a decree from on high. Instinctively, I knew she was speaking of my death. The death of Aisa McFoy.

Was it inevitable? Was I truly destined to die by Nyx’s hand?

I wanted to demand answers, to throw every question I had at her, but my body wouldn’t comply. My head swam, and the most I could manage was a desperate blink in her direction.

She looked down at me as I trembled, her gaze as indifferent as if I were an inanimate object.

At length, she offered a languid smile and began to turn away. Every moment felt unnervingly slow, as though time itself was etching this scene into my memory.

“The story has already been written.”

The story. The tale of Nyx searching for Ophelia, finding her only after Aisa McFoy had been slain. The tale was as merciless as the voice delivering it, as though it was a verdict against me.

“Aah…”

As the sound left my lips, the ground beneath me gave way. Just as I had in Tartaros, I felt the terrifying sensation of falling endlessly.

Panic clawed at me as the realization struck: there would be no salvation at the bottom of this descent. As I plummeted into an unknowable abyss, a shimmer of golden hair drifted into view. It wasn’t Ophelia, yet for an instant, I reached out, mistaking it for her.

If I hadn’t recalled the bizarre book *Ophelia and the Night* during my time in Tartaros, I might never have clung to the hope that she could save me. But I knew now, she hadn’t abandoned me. I called out for her in desperation, reaching for her as though she were still my knight, sworn to protect me.

But my hand failed to grasp her. Just as the cursed story dictated, Ophelia could not save Aisa McFoy.

Ophelia.

The moment I called her name, a warm light enveloped me, blinding me to everything around me.

Everything felt like a curse. I was utterly sick of it.

* * *

The sound of Aisa’s scream echoed through the prayer room, followed by a radiant burst of light spilling out from the crack under the door.

“Lady Aisa!”

Glen, who had been waiting outside, flung the door open in alarm. The aged hinges groaned in protest, but he paid no heed. Inside, Aisa knelt before the altar, her head bowed deeply. Without a moment’s hesitation, Glen dropped to one knee and reached out to support his liege.

“My lady, what happened?”

His voice was laced with panic as his eyes darted around the room for any signs of threat. Aisa trembled as she slowly raised her head. Her bloodshot eyes locked onto the serene smile of the statue atop the altar, glaring as if it had personally affronted her.

It was then that Glen noticed something unusual lingering in the room. Though the radiant light from earlier had vanished, the faint warmth of its presence remained, enveloping Aisa.

“This… what is this?”

Glen’s voice faltered as realization dawned. He had encountered this sensation before—long ago, when he had been graced by Ophelia’s divine power. That warmth was unmistakable, tender and healing in a way one could never forget.

His expression twisted with dismay. To see Ophelia’s divine energy now surrounding his liege was nothing short of devastating.

Glen had known, in theory, about Aisa’s fragile condition. She had confided in him, explaining her reliance on borrowed time and power. Yet, seeing her now, with Ophelia’s energy cocooning her, brought a grim truth crashing down upon him.

Aisa McFoy had already crossed the line between life and death once. The vibrant woman standing before him was alive, but only barely so, tethered by a thread of divine intervention.

Glen clenched his teeth to stave off tears. The gnawing fear he had temporarily forgotten since her marriage came roaring back, wrapping around his chest like iron chains.

Erika, who had rushed into the room after sensing the commotion, gasped. Her face paled as she took in the scene. Glen’s stricken expression, Aisa’s ashen countenance—everything about this moment reeked of danger. She instinctively raised a hand to cover her mouth, as if to suppress the cry threatening to escape.

“Let’s go,” Aisa said abruptly.

Her voice was raspy and weary, unlike anything Glen had ever heard from her before. She pushed herself up from the altar, shoulders squared, yet trembling with the effort. Her eyes burned with intensity, but her exhaustion was palpable.

“Let’s return to the manor.”

For a moment, Glen was too stunned to respond. He stared at the trembling hand resting on the altar, her rigidly straight posture, and her face, now pale as a ghost.

“Yes, my lady,” he finally managed, his voice thick with emotion.

As he helped her out of the prayer room, Glen glanced at the small, high-set window in the corner. The rain had stopped. Where moments ago there had been relentless downpour, the sky was now clear, deceptively serene, as if nothing had happened.

* * *

Meanwhile, deep within a dense forest, Ophelia and Jack had been moving without rest for hours, deliberately avoiding established paths.

There were no proper places to stop, but this was hardly unusual. After over a decade of living on the run, they were well-accustomed to hardship. They were just about to leave the treacherous terrain of the northwestern edge of the Serria Mountains and step onto a proper trail.

Jack felt a rare lightness in his chest. Ophelia had finally agreed to return to the Diazi estate after completing one last task. Even so, he remained vigilant; Ophelia was unpredictable, and he had learned never to let his guard down.

It didn’t take long for his instincts to flare. When he glanced back, she had fallen behind, standing still and gazing blankly at the sky. Jack sighed, exasperation and worry mingling in equal measure.

“Ophelia, what are you looking at? If we stop now, we’ll lose time. Let’s finish this and head home.”

At the word ‘home,’ Ophelia flinched. Though she had lived at the Diazi estate far longer than she had at McFoy, the word still unsettled her. She had been thinking too much about McFoy lately.

“You’re not stalling, are you? Don’t even think about breaking your promise to return,” Jack called, his tone sharp with suspicion. He had been duped too many times by both his liege and Ophelia to take anything at face value.

“No, it’s not that,” Ophelia murmured, almost to herself.

“What?”

Jack’s voice rang out, loud enough to echo through the silent forest. He stopped and turned, frustration evident in his stance.

“It felt like… someone was calling me,” Ophelia said, her eyes still fixed on the sky.

The way she stood there, as if staring at something invisible, sent a chill down Jack’s spine.

“…You’re trying to spook me again. Quit it. I’ve got a family to think about now. I’m going to be a father soon!”

At his words, Ophelia snapped back to attention, shaking her head with a sheepish laugh.

“No, Jack, I’m serious! It really felt like someone called out to me.”

Jack gave her a flat look, clearly unconvinced.

“Just hurry up,” he muttered, turning away and resuming their path.

‘Great, now he’s sulking.’

Ophelia sighed, quickening her pace to catch up. As she walked, she stole one last glance at the sky. It was a bright, cloudless expanse, framed by gently swaying leaves.

Only the soothing sound of the wind accompanied her, rustling softly through the forest.