He carefully clasped the hand that had come to rest upon his forehead and brought it to his lips.
The instant he did, her figure scattered like grains of sand.
Watching the illusion dissolve with empty eyes, a stifled groan escaped Varkas's lips.
His body trembling uncontrollably as he gripped the bedsheets tightly enough to tear them apart, he suddenly lurched to his feet as though seized by a fit.
He stumbled out of the room, rushed down the stairs in a single breath, and burst through the wide-open doorway, where the wind and rain crashed against him.
Varkas began running aimlessly along the muddy path.
Rain as sharp as blades lashed relentlessly across his face.
It felt as though the entire world had transformed into a deadly weapon determined to carve him to pieces.
How long he ran through the agony of every nerve feeling as though it were burning away, he did not know.
Then, within the dimness ahead, he saw the figure of a little girl.
He stared blankly at the child standing alone in the rain and mud before staggering toward her, reaching out a hand.
But once again...
She dissolved into cold rainwater, slipping quietly through his fingers.
Standing frozen where he was, Varkas eventually resumed his unsteady steps.
He no longer knew what he was searching for.
Cold rain and burning tears mingled together, streaming endlessly down his cheeks.
His ruined body continued to torment him with pain whose source he could no longer understand.
And in his ears echoed screams that could not possibly exist.
He could not admit that this was grief.
He refused to admit it.
Because the moment he accepted it...
Losing you would become real.
"Varkas."
At that moment, a rain-soaked voice whispered beside his ear.
Varkas stopped abruptly and looked around the dark forest writhing beneath the storm.
Within the roaring wind came another lonely voice.
"I hope you're hurting.
Hurting more than you ever have."
His brow twisted.
The truth was...
You began hurting me a very long time ago.
Your words.
Your eyes.
Every part of you became pain that lodged itself deep inside me.
This...
This was the result of pretending not to know.
He slowly closed his eyes before opening them again.
Lifting his head, he saw the window of the room where she had once stayed.
For an instant, her silhouette appeared upon the glass, looking down at him like an illusion.
"Varkas."
Drawn by the phantom voice calling his name, he began walking toward the rear entrance of the castle.
He climbed the dark staircase.
The moment he reached the door to her bedroom, the silence—heavy as a tomb—closed tightly around his chest.
He stood there for a long time, nailed to the spot, struggling to steady his ragged breathing.
Then, staggering forward, he approached the window where she had so often stood.
Beyond the rain-speckled glass lay the main gate of Laedgo Castle and the hill stretching beyond it.
[I'm getting used to watching you leave.]
Varkas gripped the windowsill so violently that his fingernails split apart.
Blood seeped from beneath the shattered nails.
Yet the agony within his chest was so overwhelming that the pain from his body registered as nothing more than distant static.
Resting his forehead against the cold glass, he stared blankly at the hill buried beneath the torrential rain.
Then, little by little...
He sank to the floor.
His eyelids, heavy as lead, finally yielded to the exhaustion consuming his body.
He didn't want to care about anything anymore.
Anything...
* * *
He had no idea how long he had been unconscious.
As he forced open eyelids that felt as stiff as untreated leather, the worried face of the High Priest entered his vision, followed by Daren's rigid expression.
The High Priest spoke first.
"Your Grace, if you continue neglecting your condition like this, there will soon come a point where even my healing magic will no longer be able to save you."
When Varkas offered no reply, the priest continued quietly,
"You are still young, Your Grace. I know this is unbearable now... but is there any wound that time cannot eventually overcome?"
A harsh laugh suddenly escaped Varkas.
At last...
He thought he understood why those words—that even wounds which never disappeared through endless years still existed—had brought her comfort.
The priest looked down at him with troubled eyes as Varkas shook with quiet, unhinged laughter.
Finally, after letting out a heavy sigh, he turned and left the room.
Only then did Daren speak.
"They say... Her Grace the Grand Duchess fought until the very end to protect this land."
Varkas's eerie laughter stopped instantly.
Avoiding his gaze, Daren continued in a heavy voice.
"...She wouldn't have wanted to see Your Grace fall apart like this."
It was the man who had opposed her from beginning to end.
Perhaps even he felt guilty invoking her name now in an attempt at consolation, because his jaw tightened noticeably.
Varkas looked up at him with eyes that had gone utterly cold.
His dry lips parted.
"I'm tired.
Leave me."
His ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) voice was so calm that even he found it strangely unfamiliar.
After hesitating for a moment, Daren quietly left.
Once he had dismissed the lingering servants as well, Varkas slowly rose from the bed.
While he had been unconscious, the servants had apparently removed the empty chests.
The room had been restored to perfect order.
His hollow gaze drifted around the chamber until it settled upon a single chest resting before the desk.
It seemed someone had gathered together everything she had left behind.
He stared at it blankly.
Then his eyes caught the stack of parchment piled upon one corner of the desk.
His heart lurched.
For a fleeting moment, he wondered whether the servants had found something she had left behind.
But when he snatched up the papers, they contained nothing except reports detailing the political upheavals that had unfolded across the continent while he had sat lost in his grief.
Expressionless, he read through them.
The engagement between the Crown Prince and the daughter of House Bleston had been successfully concluded.
Marquis Oristein had successfully repelled the political offensive launched by the Empress's radical faction.
The postwar negotiations were entering their final stages.
Every report pointed toward the same conclusion.
At last...
The Empire was regaining stability.
Unless another lord rose in rebellion...
Roem would stand firm for many years to come.
The world without you...
Would march toward dazzling prosperity as though nothing had ever happened.
Staring vacantly at the parchment, Varkas suddenly lost control of the emotion swelling inside him.
He tore the documents into countless pieces.
Then—
Among the fluttering scraps of parchment, his eyes landed upon a single jeweled box resting alone at the edge of the desk.
He stared at it for a long while.
Surely...
It was something she had treasured for years.
Remembering the key he had found in the annex, he staggered toward the coat rack against the wall and retrieved the still-damp coat.
Reaching into the pocket, he found the tiny key.
He inserted it into the jeweled box's lock.
With a soft click, the lid lifted slightly.
He carefully released the clasp and opened the box.
Inside...
It was filled with completely dried flower petals.
Varkas blinked blankly.
He picked up one pale white petal.
The brittle fragment crumbled into ash-like dust between his fingers.
His eyes followed the drifting pieces before returning to the box.
With trembling hands, he gently brushed aside the petals.
A neatly folded handkerchief.
A small brooch.
And a tiny stone that appeared to be an uncut gemstone.
A memory flashed through him.
His breath caught.
Almost afraid to believe it, he searched the bottom of the box.
Then...
Nestled among the dried petals...
He found a tiny button no larger than his thumbnail.
He froze.
Picking it up with bloodless fingers, he held it beneath the flickering light.
The crest of the Roem Knights faintly emerged upon its surface.
His trembling hand slowly covered his mouth.
A memory buried for so many years unfolded vividly before his eyes.
Fifteen-year-old Talia, pouting as she threatened that if even a single strand of her hair was damaged, she would never forgive him.
And himself...
Patiently trying to untangle the strands of her hair that had become caught around his button while enduring all of her childish complaints.
"Ah..."
A rough groan, like the growl of a wounded beast, tore through his dry throat.
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