Lucius's perspective
Time passed… Two months since the kingdom's reconstruction began.
A lot happened. Dante's attack on Isolde and me. Our parents' battle against the dragon. And then… that turning point I couldn't help but glance at sideways, like a smudge on the cracked glass of a broken window.
Isolde was having nightmares. Not the fleeting kind. The kind that wake you with a scream you don't recognize as your own. Where were we staying? The castle. Ironically, the same castle that endured a collapse and yet survived almost intact. Not with the sacred perfection of the Cathedral, but enough to remind us of what didn't fully break.
But back to Isolde… she wasn't okay. She hadn't left the room we were assigned. She screamed at night, and when she did, I held her. Sometimes she calmed down. Sometimes she just trembled harder. Ever since she killed that man, she swore she saw him every day. Said he watched her, haunted her. As if the judgment didn't come from the world, but from the echo in her own mind.
I worried… too much, maybe. Mom and Dad thought it was just the aftermath of what we'd been through. And while that was partly true… it wasn't the whole story. I wished I'd been the one to kill him. Maybe then, the reflection in her eyes wouldn't be so dark.
And then, a revelation. Reginald said someone called "Vritra" had returned. Isolde and I had heard that name from Dante's lips. But from the adults' conversation, the threat was far deeper than we'd dared imagine.
This Vritra… is a god. An ancient one. There was a war against him five hundred years ago. Warriors, long gone, gave their lives to defeat him. But according to the records, the only way to beat him was to pray. Not fight. Pray to Paradox, the god of this world.
I consulted the Scriptures of Paradox. What they said… was almost poetic. A light descended from the sky and ended Vritra. Since then, he hadn't attacked. Until now.
I sighed. Looked at the white ceiling, its structure, the chandelier hanging in the center. For some absurd reason, the pattern of lines on the ceiling reminded me of the exact moment satisfaction coursed through me at the sight of that corpse.
I clenched my fist.
I tried to forget it. But the truth is, I couldn't. I thought I'd changed. Thought I could do it. I was wrong. Confused. Maybe just naive. I shouldn't have listened to Ha-Neul. Not about that.
I turned to the window, more a wound open to the outside than a wall. Dusk was creeping in slowly. Then I looked back at the bed. Isolde was sleeping, trembling.
I got up from the floor and knelt beside her. I stroked her blonde hair, gently tangling my fingers in it. She opened her eyes slowly, with the fragility of someone who's lived a thousand deaths without moving.
"You okay?" I asked softly.
"He haunts me, Lucy…" Her voice was a broken whisper.
"I know."
"Every time I close my eyes… he doesn't yell. He just watches. Like a shadow. Like he knows I didn't want to kill him… but I did anyway…"
I closed my eyes.
"The first time is the hardest. Not because of the blood. Or the scream. Not even the body. It's because of you. The part of you that dies when you take someone else's life."
"Did you see them too?" Isolde's voice quivered.
"All of them," I nodded, opening my eyes. "An endless line. Women. Men. Children. Even those who didn't beg. They all showed up in my dreams. Until I stopped dreaming. And then there was just silence."
"How did you stop seeing them?"
I looked at her seriously. Set aside the cruelty.
"I didn't stop seeing them. I changed how I looked at them."
"What… What do you mean?"
I looked away for a moment. Then locked eyes with her again.
"The mistake wasn't killing, Issy. The mistake was thinking you'd stay the same after. You're not. No one is. You're not a little girl anymore, even if you still have that body. You carry a weight most will never know. But that weight doesn't have to crush you… if you learn to walk with it."
"But I… I don't want to kill again…" she whispered. Her voice was a thread about to snap.
And for some reason, I smiled. Not with joy. With the kind of melancholy that gathers like dust in the corners of the mind.
"And that's why you'll do better than me. I killed because it fed my need for control. To erase what I didn't understand. But you… you did it to survive. Out of fear. By mistake. Or because there was no other way. But now you know what it means… and that makes you dangerous. Not because you can kill. But because you've stared into the abyss… and chosen not to surrender to it."
"Then… I'm not a monster…?"
"Why think you are?" I took her hand gently. "No, Issy. You're not. But now you know monsters. And you know how easy it is to become one. That awareness… it's what'll let you kill again, if you must… without losing yourself."
Isolde sat up, still holding my hand.
"I don't want to keep killing… but if I have to… I want to choose it. Not tremble. Not close my eyes."
I watched her in silence.
"Then open your eyes now."
She squeezed my hand. A faint pressure… but heavy. I couldn't help but wince slightly, though I hid the pain.
"No one would forgive me… but they wouldn't want me weak either. Right?"
I nodded faintly.
"No. No one who's ever loved you would want to see you destroy yourself over something you can't change."
"You know what was the worst?" Her voice no longer trembled. "It wasn't killing him. It was that a part of me… felt alive for the first time. Like I finally had the power to do something. To change something. And then I hated myself for feeling that."
"That wasn't evil. It was freedom. Brutal, raw, cruel… but freedom. The important thing isn't feeling it… it's deciding what to do with it."
Isolde looked at the wall. She didn't want me to see her face.
"I'm not going to lie to myself anymore. I'm not going to hide behind 'I'm sorry.' If I have to kill again, I'll do it head-on. No tears. No apologies. Just resolve."
I smiled. A shadow of pride, subtle, invisible to anyone who didn't know to look for it.
"Good. That's all it takes."
Isolde let go of my hand and stood on the bed, steady.
"I'm not a killer. I'm someone who knows what killing means."
"And that's why… you'll survive."
She looked at me. Then knelt and wrapped her arms around my neck.
"I love you, Lucy."
I hugged her back.
"I love you too, Issy."
Sometimes… to overcome something, people turn to specialists: psychologists.
In my past life, that was the "right" way to deal with trauma, aftermath, fears. They went expecting to be fixed, as if the human mind could be repaired like a rusty lock. Me… I never went. The thought never even crossed my mind.
My first kill wasn't planned. It was a brutal, abrupt reaction. It left me… between exhilaration and terror. The kind of mix that makes you wonder if what you feel is adrenaline or the start of madness. I couldn't tell anyone. The fear of prison was like a knife grazing my neck with every thought.
My only solution was to dismember the body. Hide it. Bury it in some corner of the house, as if covering the evidence could silence what was inside me.
It was a stupidly dangerous choice. I know. But I had no other. I was paralyzed by fear. My mind didn't work with logic. Only panic.
No help. No therapy. No confession. Just silence. At night, that girl's figure appeared in my dreams, pointing at me. Talking to me. Repeating over and over what a despicable creature I'd become.
And so the years went. Until the second kill.
It wasn't intentional either. It was like my body moved on its own. As if the trauma's repetition had programmed an automatic response: I squeezed their neck… and then came silence.
The fear returned, yes. But it was different. More… familiar. Easier to contain.
Still, she came to me too. In dreams. Or even walking down the street, among passersby. An apparition disguised as normalcy.
Over time, I stopped running. Stopped pretending I could seek forgiveness. Instead, I embraced them. My ghosts. My shadows. The rot growing inside me. I became worse. Not because I wanted to… but because I didn't know how to be anything else.
I didn't want Isolde to become that. I couldn't bear the thought of my sister crossing that same line, not out of necessity, but desire.
So I took on a role no one asked of me. Her emotional support. Her anchor. Her refuge. I thought I was guiding her to safety, but… maybe all I did was push her down a different path than I'd imagined.
At least her shadow seemed to fade. And that gave me peace. A small, quiet peace… but enough.
Sometimes, all it takes is family. Someone who's there. Not to judge. Not to fix. Just to exist with you in the abyss.
Isolde pulled away and looked into my eyes.
"You okay?" she asked, frowning.
"I'm fine… Why do you ask?" I replied, guiding her hand to my cheek. Cold.
"Because… because of me, you had to kill again…"
"Oh… that. I'm fine. Don't worry. It was a choice the situation demanded."
"Don't lie, Lucy," she pressed her forehead to mine, closing her eyes.
I placed my hands on her cheeks. Sighed.
"I did it to protect you. To keep you from having to do it again. If I let you repeat it, it'd be harder to help you overcome the trauma."
"I'm sorry for making you do that…"
"Don't worry, Issy. From now on, I won't let you kill again… unless it's absolutely necessary. I'll protect you… even if it costs my life."
"Lucy… don't say that. You can't die. Because without you… I'm nothing."
Her voice was a mix of sadness and reproach. And she was right.
"Sorry… then I'll try to live. For you."
"That's better."
I smiled faintly, pulling away from her. I climbed into bed, staring at the ceiling. She hugged me, and I offered my arm as a pillow.
"What now?" I asked, emotionless.
"Get out," she murmured, on the verge of sleep. "I can't stay here anymore. Plus… we have the trip with Mom and Dad."
"Right… I forgot."
"That's unlike you."
"What?"
"…Forgetting…"
Isolde fell asleep. And I kept staring at the ceiling. Silence. Thoughts.
"Trip."
More like a visit to the other continent. A diplomatic and emotional pretext to reconnect with family. Mom's idea. The king approved while the kingdom remains in ruins. And no one argued. Not because they didn't want to. Because no one had a better option.
For me… it was the perfect chance. To meet my grandmother in this world. A kind of empirical test of a silent hypothesis: that my family, in my past life, was broken from its foundation.
Also a chance to explore this world beyond its visible borders. Expand the map. Trace new mental routes.
The only problem was the transport: ship.
Two weeks. Open sea. Isolde gets seasick easily. She sways with the slightest motion. And the storms this time of year aren't natural phenomena. They're living, furious entities… monsters that tear the clouds and roar from the depths.
And then there are the krakens. Not mythical. Real. Beasts with hunger and no conscience.
In short: ship destruction, risk of wreck, possible death. A maritime disaster waiting to happen.
I was scared. I'll admit it. But if I didn't go… I'd never know if I was right.
The probabilities were many. I know. But sometimes I prefer the comfortable ignorance of assumptions to the brutality of concrete facts.
It was obvious I had to prepare. So that same night, I started planning what to bring.
Because if the abyss comes for me… at least I want to be dressed for it.