135.

“It’s all over.”

Thankfully, my voice didn’t shake as much as I feared.

When I murmured those words, it felt more like I was reassuring myself than anyone else. Ophelia let her tears fall silently, saying nothing.

“See? This time, I survived.”

I said, extending my free hand toward her. It was an unconscious gesture, an attempt to reach across the emotional chasm between us.

The moment my hand moved, Norma’s arms tightened protectively around me as if he thought I might slip away. To reassure him, I squeezed his wrist with my other hand, anchoring him to me.

Ophelia stared at my outstretched fingers, her gaze captivated as she crept forward on her knees, one step at a time. She stopped just short of my touch, close enough that I could feel her breath if she leaned in further.

She looked at me like someone struggling to believe the evidence before their eyes. Her tear-streaked face scanned me, taking in every detail, as if confirming I was truly there.

Caught in her gaze, I found myself whispering words I wasn’t even sure I meant to say.

“I won’t choose you this time, either.”

It wasn’t for any grand reason. Just as I had once signed the imperial decree that declared her a fugitive or abandoned her amidst the clamor of those overwhelmed by their own emotions, I simply couldn’t place her first.

But this time was different. This time, I chose someone else entirely—for Aisa McFoy. In some ways, it was an even more selfish decision than before.

My words must have sounded like a final dismissal, a declaration that I would erase her from my life entirely now that the danger had passed. Yet Ophelia seemed to understand. She nodded silently, her face resigned.

Her quiet acceptance felt like a blow to the chest. I closed my eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady myself.

“I still need time,” I admitted.

When I opened my eyes again, Ophelia had started to reach for me but froze halfway, her hand trembling.

“I can’t see you—not completely,” I continued, my voice soft but firm.

“I can’t see you as just you yet. Every time I think of you, I’m dragged back into the past. It’s strange. It feels like I’m trapped there.”

I let the truth spill out, knowing it wasn’t flattering or kind. Some wounds don’t heal quickly, and memories don’t fade overnight.

“But I’ll get better. I will,” I said, as much for myself as for her.

“Someday, I’ll stop clinging to the past so tightly. I’ll learn to live in the present—with the people I love, with the life I want to live.”

I believed it. Even if it took time, I would improve.

Ophelia nodded again, her movements jerky and automatic, much like a certain someone holding me from behind. The thought nearly made me smile.

“I’ve never had the time to reflect before,” I admitted.

“But now I do.”

For ten years, everything had been overwhelming. I barely had a chance to think about myself, let alone anyone else.

“But now I can try to understand you. And in doing that, maybe I’ll come to understand myself better, too.”

“I… see.”

Ophelia murmured, her voice faint and shaky.

“It’ll take time. Maybe a lot of time. But everything gets better with time, doesn’t it?”

“Yes… yes, it does,” she replied, nodding so hard her eyes squeezed shut. This time, her answer felt certain.

“I survived. I’m going to live—truly live—and do the things I want to do. So, I’m fine now. I’ll be fine.”

The truth of my words settled over me like a warm blanket. I squeezed Norma’s wrist tighter, grounding myself.

Ophelia’s face crumpled into a tearful smile, and she nodded again, her voice catching as she managed to whisper another
“Yes.”

To be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure what I was saying anymore. There were more things I wanted to tell her—words that felt just out of reach. Maybe I had always wanted to ramble like this to her, letting all my chaotic thoughts spill out.

“Ophelia.”

The reality of the moment was still hard to grasp. Seeing her here in broad daylight, fully grown, while Nyx lay defeated, and I was alive—against all odds—felt surreal.

If this were all just a desperate hallucination conjured in my final moments, it would be laughable. But even so, there was something I had to say.

“So, go live your life,” I whispered, withdrawing my hand slowly.

Her movements stilled as if I had struck a nerve.

“It’s okay to do that,” I added.

Her eyes widened, those familiar blue orbs brimming with shock. It was a look I had seen on her before, one that almost made me laugh. Maybe I did laugh.

“I’ll do the same.”

For a long moment, she didn’t respond. She simply stared at me, her expression unreadable.

Then, finally, she whispered, “I will.”

Her voice was so quiet, so fragile, yet it brought me an unexpected sense of peace.

My eyelids grew heavy, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on me. I tried to form the words “Thank you,” but they came out only as a faint movement of my lips.

There was more I wanted to say—that I had missed her, that I was glad to see her—but I kept those thoughts buried in my heart.

As my vision blurred, the list of things I needed to do flashed through my mind: soothe Norma, check on Antoinette, thank Glen, deal with Nyx, and manage the knights.

But all those tasks faded into the background as I succumbed to the pull of unconsciousness.

I let myself drift away.

* * *

The imperial capital was draped in solemn black and stark white. What was meant to be a celebratory festival for the Empire’s founding had turned into a mourning period for the Crown Prince. Nobles who had gathered for the festivities were now attending the hastily arranged memorial in somber attire.

In the grand hall, veiled in grief, rows of nobles took their seats. The hurried assembly revealed numerous absences; many high-ranking aristocrats remained entrenched in their territories during non-conference years.

The Emperor entered, leaning heavily on his attendants for support. He was a shadow of his former self, visibly diminished by sorrow. The hall fell silent as all bowed deeply in respect.

Following a brief moment of silence, discussions commenced regarding the Crown Prince’s funeral. Agreements came swiftly, but the harmony didn’t last.

The tranquility shattered when the Duke of Morgoth, uncle to the late Crown Prince, let his grief and fury spill over.

“This tragedy occurred during the Crown Prince’s coming-of-age ceremony! The High Priest must be punished, Your Imperial Majesty! Strip him of his rank and execute him to set an example! And the Diazi family must also face consequences for failing to restrain the heretic!”

Murmurs of agreement spread through the hall, heads nodding in concurrence. The Emperor, his head bowed as though battling a migraine, remained silent.

It was Duke Milan of the Diazi family who finally broke the tension.

“The position of High Priest is not determined by man but chosen by Mehra. Moreover, the treatment of priests falls outside the jurisdiction of nobility. Surely, Duke Morgoth, you are aware of this?”

“The Empress was not even allowed to see her son’s remains!”

Morgoth roared, slamming his fist on the table. The mention of Empress Adrienne, who had secluded herself since the tragedy, cast a heavy pall over the room.

The Emperor’s features contorted with sorrow. After a long, oppressive silence, he spoke, his voice weary.

“The High Priest will be sent on a three-year pilgrimage across the continent. As for the Diazi family, while they bear responsibility for their failure, they have also delivered the heretic’s head through their knight’s actions. No punishment, nor accolades, will be given.”

The Emperor’s verdict was calm yet resigned, the decision of a man utterly defeated by the loss of his children.

The Empire buzzed with unprecedented unrest. News of a heretical cultist wielding unholy power, sacrificing a Rodensi royal to gain strength, and attacking McFoy, had spread like wildfire. The whispers of miracles—golden light spilling from the heavens and obliterating the heretic’s strength—had turned Mehra’s intervention into legend.

Morgoth, however, was not ready to concede.

“Then, Your Majesty, I beg you to deal severely with Princess Merke! Her actions led to the Crown Prince’s demise—issue a warrant for her capture at once!”

The room fell silent again, and all eyes turned to the Emperor.

“Have mercy on Empress Adrienne, Your Majesty,” Morgoth implored, his voice dripping with righteous indignation.

The Emperor’s eyelids fluttered in exhaustion. Beckoning his chamberlain, Ivan, he whispered his decision.

“From this moment forward, Merke is no longer a princess of the Empire. Do with her as Morgoth sees fit.”

The announcement hung in the air like a death knell.

Satisfied, Morgoth bowed deeply. Yet before the dust could settle, the Emperor raised his hand once more, summoning Ivan to relay another command.

“When Merke’s daughter reaches adulthood, she shall become my successor.”

The hall erupted. Morgoth and several nobles stood in defiance, vehemently opposing the decree.

Ignoring their protests, the Emperor fled the hall, his retreat leaving the grand chamber buzzing with chaos. He had no choice but to declare the child as heir; his ascension to the throne had been paved with the blood of his siblings, leaving only Merke’s child to continue the line.

Amid the uproar, someone asked the question that lingered in the air like smoke:

“And what of McFoy’s lord? Did she survive the ordeal or not?”

Rumors swirled like mist—Lord McFoy had narrowly escaped death but remained in critical condition.

* * *

I woke from a long, indistinct dream to find myself in a familiar bed. Slowly blinking, my gaze landed on a pair of golden eyes watching me intently.

The scene was achingly familiar. Though my vision was blurry, I recognized the face before me immediately.

Even half-asleep, something felt off. Normally, by now, he’d be smiling at me a hundred times over, but today, he wasn’t. His unwavering stare, unblinking and silent, sent a jolt of unease through my chest.

Why are you looking at me like that? What’s wrong? Who hurt you? Whoever it was, I won’t let them off…

I wanted to say all of this, but my throat was parched, dry as sandpaper.

Norma’s gaze shifted slightly when my eyes began to tremble with worry. After a moment’s hesitation, he parted his lips as if to speak but closed them again, leaving me agonizingly suspended.

Finally, he whispered, “You didn’t wake for three days.”

His voice, as gentle and soothing as ever, melted away some of the anxiety clawing at me.

“Jan says it’s because you’ve hardly slept in weeks,” he continued softly.

“…And because of the curse you endured.”

He faltered, unable to finish the thought.

Half-asleep, I barely understood his words. All I knew was that Norma looked distressed, and his sadness stung me more than anything else.

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against my eyelids as he whispered, “I’ll bring Jan. Please, don’t push yourself and rest more. I’ll stay by your side.”

The promise felt more precious than any declaration. My eyes burned with unshed tears as I drifted back into sleep, murmuring silent words over and over: ‘I love you. I love you.’

When I woke again, two more days had passed.