Klint felt a deep, unspeakable pity swell in his chest. Chris's words cut sharp—too sharp—because he understood.
He knew what it meant to lose someone you love. Every second without them felt like a dagger twisting in your heart, again and again, never letting you forget.
He knelt beside Chris and wrapped an arm around him, offering what little comfort he could. Divas followed, wordless, and joined the hug.
They stayed like that for a while, a heavy silence wrapping around them.
Then Chris muttered, voice muffled but deadpan, "You guys stink. Stay away… I'm fine."
Klint and Divas both felt an overwhelming urge to punch his smug face in—but instead, they all burst into soft laughter.
Chris stood up slowly, brushed the tears from his face, and started walking ahead in silence. Divas and Klint followed without a word.
After a few moments, Divas broke the silence."When I get back… I'm gonna eat beef stew from my favorite osteria—Ostè del'Abera."He turned to Klint. "You heard of it? It's close to the church."
"All you think about is food, huh? You meathead," Klint replied.
"You haven't tried their stew yet. That's why you're acting like this," Divas shot back. "The granny there mixes something into the broth that's… addicting. You've seen commoners lining up for food—but have you seen noble servants in line? No, right? That's how damn good it is. I'd bet my entire month's wages on it."
Divas spoke with the kind of pride only someone deeply familiar with the city's hidden delicacies could carry.
"Yeah, yeah… whatever, Master of Hidden Delicacies," Klint replied with a dry, unimpressed tone.
They advanced silently.
Raindrops fell against their hooded black cloaks, each one landing with a sharp sting. A deep, fierce rumble echoed across the gray sky, which was growing darker by the second.
The fresh scent of damp earth still lingered, but it was overpowered by the metallic, bitter stench of ether thickening in the air.
Their throats began to dry out, the backs of their mouths coated with that same metallic tang.
They marched through muddy brown water flowing down from the higher ground ahead.
Chris, walking in front, kept scanning the surroundings for anything out of place—but the scenery hadn't changed.
The same towering trees. The same soft patter of rain on leaves and wet ground. The same low howl of wind nudging the tiny droplets side to side.
But that was it.
It had all been the same since the beginning. The same strange atmosphere. The same sickening, bitter air that made even a trained soldier want to retch.
Yet something felt wrong. Deeply wrong.
He couldn't explain it, but it crawled up his spine—a sensation of something unnatural hiding just beneath the natural.
Moments passed, and they came across a narrow black wooden bridge hanging above a deep ravine that looked endless.
Klint and Divas stepped closer, peering over the edge. A sharp gust of wind slammed into their backs, as if trying to shove them into the abyss.
"Don't get too close, you idiots," Chris snapped, his tone sharp.
He approached the bridge. Thick ropes secured it, giving it a deceptively sturdy appearance. Chris lifted his foot and gently placed it on the rain-slick wooden plank.
Creak.
The bridge let out a mild groan. He shifted his weight and placed his other foot. The ropes tightened slightly. The wood responded with a low squeak.
Chris exhaled slowly, gripped the ropes tightly on either side, and moved forward. The sky rumbled above, thunder rolling through the gray clouds. A strong gust swayed the bridge, causing the ropes to tremble in his hands.
His chest felt tight. He glanced down into the ravine but immediately looked away. Just darkness. He forced his eyes to stay forward.
Klint and Divas stayed back, watching him from a safe distance.
Step. Step. Step.
Each movement was deliberate. The distance to the other side wasn't far, but it was enough to make his heart hammer in his chest.
With each gust of wind, the bridge trembled—and so did his legs. His grip tightened until his knuckles turned white. His breath grew shallow. The weight of fear settled in his chest like a stone, but he kept going.
Finally, Chris reached the end. He stepped onto solid ground and jumped forward, splashing into the muddy earth. Without wasting a moment, he raised his hand, signaling them to cross.
Klint looked at Divas and nodded. "Go."
Divas didn't argue. His legs trembled as he stepped toward the bridge.
He stepped onto the wooden planks. The bridge was unstable, constantly rocked by the wind.
His legs trembled uncontrollably. It felt the same as his first time riding a horse—only this was a thousand times worse.
He fought the urge to look down and took each step carefully. He kept chanting the name "Hyinsis," the goddess of healing, in his mind. But for some reason, his lips moved involuntarily, speaking the words aloud. Was it fear? He didn't know.
He reached the center of the bridge. His legs still shook. He took another step and—
He slipped.
The wet wood gave no grip. His knee slammed onto the slick surface, and his hands clutched the rope with all the strength he had.
Klint's eyes widened.
Chris raised both hands in a motion, urging him to stand up. Divas's vision blurred. In those few seconds, a strange memory—both familiar and unfamiliar—flashed in his mind.
It was the day of the assassination. Chaos everywhere. Screams. Panic. People being trampled by others in terror.
But… where was he?
He couldn't remember clearly. Was he standing above it all? Watching everyone run? Then his vision dropped—he saw himself in armor. The same armor he was wearing now.
But something had pierced it.
A long, black spear.
A girl knelt on the ground beneath him, crying. One of her arms was gone, and her blood poured nonstop, staining the dirt a deep red.
Then he saw a red string—sticky and thick—forming where his mouth should've been. The blood dropped onto his boots, which were still hanging in the air above her.
In his vision, he saw his trembling hand, as if it were trying to reach the girl... to wipe the tears from her innocent, beautiful face but it was a futile effort.
His voice echoed in his mind, full of pain — a deep, aching pain — but it still carried a strange warmth. "I-I'm sorry... Please forgive me."
His eyes widened. Tears welled up. A strange, overwhelming feeling overtook his mind.
A muffled voice cut through.
"DIVAS! GET UP!"
It was Chris, standing in front of him.
Divas snapped out of it. He regained his balance and stood upright. In seconds, he crossed the remaining distance and collapsed on the ground, legs trembling.
His eyes were blank. Tears trickled from the corners of his eyes into his hair.
KILL/ME/KILL.
Arc - Désespoir et Mort.