Two days had passed since their return from the city.
And Kael had not opened his eyes once.
Elric sat by his bedside, her hand never leaving his. At first, she told herself it was only exhaustion—that perhaps he had simply overexerted himself. But as the sun rose and fell again, unease began to claw at her heart.
Robert stood near the window, arms folded, though his eyes betrayed his worry. He had checked Kael's pulse, his breathing, even his mana flow. Nothing was wrong. He looked almost peaceful, as if simply sleeping. And yet…
"Elric," Robert finally said, his voice low, "he should have awakened by now."
Elric tightened her grip on Kael's limp hand. "I thought he was only tired… but another night has passed. And still…" Her words trailed off, her lips trembling.
Sebastian, standing at the foot of the bed, frowned deeply. "Perhaps… perhaps his dagger might stir him. The first time, the sword hilt drew a reaction, did it not?"
Robert considered the suggestion. Without hesitation, he went to the bedside table where the dagger lay wrapped in cloth. He unbound it carefully, then guided Kael's pale hand over the hilt. The metal gleamed faintly in the dim light as Kael's fingers curled loosely around it.
Nothing happened. Not even the faintest spark.
Elric's breath caught in her throat. Robert slowly withdrew the blade, shaking his head. "No reaction…"
"What happened before he collapsed?" Sebastian asked, his eyes flicking between them.
Robert glanced at Elric, letting her answer.
"We walked in the city," Elric said softly, recalling the evening. "At the fountain, I could see he was fighting to stay conscious. But he recovered on the way back in the carriage. I thought… I thought he was fine."
Her gaze dropped to Kael's sleeping face, so calm it was almost cruel. She reached with trembling fingers to brush his hair aside, her tears blurring her sight.
Memories pressed upon her—memories of when Kael had first lain in a coma, when days had stretched into months, when hope had been nothing but a flickering flame she refused to let die. And now… here he was again, silent, unreachable.
"Kael…" her voice broke as her tears fell onto his hand. "You promised we would go walk in the city again…"
Robert, watching her, spoke quietly, his tone careful. "I don't think it's because of that. Something must have happened in the cave."
Elric's mind raced, and then a spark of realization flickered. She turned sharply toward Robert and Sebastian. "The fragments," she whispered. "They drained our mana, but not his. Perhaps… if he touches them again, it might rouse him."
Her eyes locked on Sebastian. "Where are the remaining fragments? There were two left, weren't there?"
Sebastian hesitated, his face tightening. He bowed his head. "Forgive me, my lady… I do not know where they are. The last I knew, His Majesty Reinhardt kept them here, within Delcra Castle. But their exact whereabouts…" He shook his head in defeat.
Elric rose swiftly to her feet, her voice commanding now, her sorrow turning into resolve. "Then order everyone to search. Every corner, every hidden chamber—find them. Kael may need them."
Sebastian bowed deeply. "At once, my lady." He hurried from the chamber.
Elric turned then to Robert, who was still standing silently by the window. Her tone softened, though it carried an edge of urgency. "Tell Reinhardt about this. He must know."
Robert's emerald eyes flickered with unease, but he inclined his head. "Yes, my lady. I'll inform His Majesty immediately."
As he left, Elric sat once more beside Kael, clutching his hand tightly to her chest. Her tears had dried, but her heart was heavier than ever. She would not allow him to slip away again.
This time, she swore she would drag him back to the world of the living—even if it meant tearing the castle apart stone by stone.
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Darkness. Silence. Then—ruins.
Kael found himself sitting on a weathered bench, his eyes sweeping over a city reduced to ash and rubble. He remembered this place. The same lively streets he had walked not long ago—the baker's laughter, the children playing, the musicians filling the square with their melodies. Now, before him, only desolation remained. The fountain was shattered, the streets broken, and the air hung heavy with silence.
He knew it was a dream. But he didn't know how long he had been sleeping.
Tilting his head, Kael looked at the sky. Though it was noon, darkness stretched overhead, as if the heavens themselves had been smothered. His gaze lowered to his own hand, and memory stirred—the warmth of Elric's grip, the comfort of her presence at his side. He glanced beside him. The bench he sat on was the very same where he and Elric had rested that night.
A sudden crack split the silence. Kael froze. From the ruins ahead, a massive shadow emerged, its form towering, indistinct, moving with deliberate steps. A voice rumbled, deep and resonant, though it carried no malice.
"You… have come."
Kael flinched and rose sharply from the bench. His eyes caught the flutter of crimson—a butterfly, delicate and radiant, drifting toward him. It landed lightly on his shoulder, as if whispering to him not to be afraid.
The shadow halted, its presence looming but strangely mournful.
"Do not be afraid… You used to never fear me."
The voice carried sorrow, and Kael's trembling legs gave way. Slowly, cautiously, he lowered himself back onto the bench, though his body shook with unease.
The shadow shifted, settling opposite him. Still veiled in smoke, its form remained hidden.
"You are different," the voice murmured, its tone almost aching.
Kael stiffened. His eyes strained against the haze, trying to discern the figure.
"How is my gift?" the shadow asked softly. "Is it useful?"
At that moment, the crimson butterfly lifted from his shoulder, circled once, and alighted on his hand. Without realizing, Kael found himself holding a sword.
His eyes widened. The blade—the one he carried now—gleamed faintly in the dream. Did the shadow mean this sword had been its gift?
"…I… am not the Kael that you used to know," Kael said, his voice trembling. He tried to steady it, terrified that his admission might bring wrath upon himself.
But instead of fury, the shadow's response was a hollow, aching laugh.
"I know," it said quietly. "You are not my Kael… the Kael I once knew."
A weight pressed in the voice, and Kael felt the sorrow dripping from each word.
"He is no more… gone from me…"
The great shadow's form trembled. A sound followed—ragged, broken. The beast was crying.
"I hurt him," it wept. "I promised to protect him… and yet…"
Kael sat silently, his chest tightening with guilt. He wasn't the Kael this beast grieved for. He had no right to answer its sorrow. Yet as his gaze fell to the sword in his hand, he realized how carefully it had been preserved—polished, cared for. The old Kael must have cherished it deeply.
The beast's sobs quieted. From the smoke, it turned toward him once more.
"Even though Kael is no longer here… you came."
Kael lifted his head, startled. "What do you mean?"
The shadow tilted its massive head, its tone both knowing and mournful. "You should be able to see it… Kael's past. He was the one who planted the memories—of me, and of this sword."
The shadow raised a hand, vast and clawed, extending it toward him. Kael flinched, expecting a strike. But the hand stopped before him. He looked down and recognized it—the same dragon's hand he had glimpsed in another dream.
The beast gestured toward the sword.
"You've noticed, haven't you? Each time you touch the fragments of this blade, your body grows lighter… and you glimpse pieces of memory."
The crimson butterfly danced around the dragon's talons before alighting on the sword's edge.
"If you gather all the fragments," the shadow continued, "you will see the complete memory Kael hid from everyone."
Kael's grip tightened on the weapon. His lips parted, voice quiet but steady. "Then… I will find the answer on why you died in the cave?"
The beast laughed, low and bittersweet. "Yes… And thank you—for finding my remains."
Kael's heart twisted at the words. An ache swelled inside him, as though something unspoken pressed at the back of his throat, begging release. But he did not understand it—not yet.
Without warning, the dragon's claw brushed against his hand. The touch was surprisingly gentle, tender rather than crushing.
"I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"
The beast's voice broke again, heavy with grief. Its massive form trembled, and yet Kael did not move away. He simply sat in silence, allowing the creature to touch him.
He felt no threat anymore. Only sorrow.
And a strange, fragile bond that tied them both to the same forgotten past.
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Kael opened his eyes.
He was no longer in the ruins, nor in his chamber. Instead, he found himself standing in a small, dimly lit room. The walls were plain, the space narrow, more like a makeshift inn chamber than a noble's hall. The sharp scent of blood hung in the air, so thick it almost choked him.
Several healers and servants rushed frantically around a bed, stripping blood-soaked sheets and replacing them with fresh ones. Their hands moved in desperate haste, their faces pale with fear.
Kael took one step forward—just as a figure darted past him.
Robert.
Younger, much younger than Kael remembered. His face was stricken with terror, drained of all color as he rushed toward the bed.
"No!" Robert's cry tore through the room. His hands trembled as he clutched the edge of the mattress.
Kael followed his gaze—
And froze.
On the bed lay himself. Or rather, a younger version of him, broken and bloodied. His long black hair spilled across the pillow, strands already streaking with white. His chest heaved shallowly, his skin pale as death.
"No, please! You must stay alive!" Robert sobbed. He pressed a hand over the wounded Kael's chest, desperately pushing mana into him. But instead of healing, Kael's body convulsed. He coughed violently, spraying more blood across the sheets. The crimson stains spread faster than they could be cleaned.
Robert's panic deepened. His voice cracked as he screamed at the attendants.
"Where is Reinhardt?! He should have saved Lord Kael before it came to this!"
Before anyone could answer, the door opened.
Reinhardt staggered in.
Kael's eyes widened—he had never seen Reinhardt like this. His golden hair was matted with sweat, his body wrapped in blood-soaked bandages. One hand clutched at his abdomen, where fresh stains seeped through. His breathing was ragged, uneven.
Despite his own state, Reinhardt dragged himself to the bedside. His gaze locked onto the unconscious Kael, grief and fury blazing in his emerald eyes. His trembling hand clasped Kael's bloodless fingers.
"This… This is the Demon King's curse," he rasped. "Damn it all! Even though everything has ended…" His knees buckled beneath him, his body collapsing.
"Brother!" Robert caught him just in time, panic overtaking him once more. He shook Reinhardt's shoulders. "Wake up! Please—don't leave me too!" His pleas filled the suffocating chamber as attendants scrambled, now torn between two failing lives.
The door opened again.
A figure entered.
A woman, her long red hair unmistakable, her presence commanding even amidst the chaos. Without hesitation she strode past Kael—who stood unseen, watching—and knelt beside the bed. A faint glow blossomed from her hand as she pressed it against Reinhardt's brow. His breathing, though weak, steadied. Only then did she turn to the broken Kael on the bed.
Her expression faltered.
"This is… mana burnout," she whispered. All eyes turned to her. "His hair… it's proof."
Before their eyes, strand after strand of black faded to white, until the pillow was crowned with pale, lifeless locks. She pressed her palm against his chest and tried to push mana into him. His body rejected it violently, more blood spilling from his lips as he convulsed. Robert cried out, clutching his hand tighter.
But the mage did not give up. Sweat beaded on her brow as she tried again, healing from the outside. Her magic flared, golden light wrapping around his wounds. The bleeding slowed. The ragged breaths steadied—if only slightly.
Finally, she drew back, her hand trembling.
"We cannot rejoice yet," she murmured, her voice heavy. "I may have pulled him back from the brink, but this burnout… it has taken root too deeply. His pulse is faint—so faint that even a newborn's is stronger." Her hand lingered on Kael's cold fingers. "He may never wake again."
Her eyes glistened. "I should have been there, at his side when he fought. If I had been there—" Her voice broke with guilt.
On the other side of the bed, Reinhardt stirred weakly, leaning against Robert's shoulder. His trembling hand sought out Kael's. The touch of his friend's icy skin drew a fresh wave of despair to his face.
"Kael…" His voice cracked, tears falling onto the sheets. "Don't go. You just saved this world… This isn't fair…"
Kael, the one standing, could only watch. He turned his eyes toward the red-haired mage. Something stirred within him—a flicker of recognition. He had seen her before. In another dream.
But who was she?
And why… did her presence feel so unbearably familiar?