Chapter 130
Theo only managed to catch the final silhouette before the girl disappeared from sight, vanishing toward the destination she had chosen without waiting for anyone.
And indeed, it didn't take long before Erietta truly vanished from all reach.
As if the world had closed its door behind her, leaving the air still holding the faint trace of her departure in a fragile, lingering silence.
'If only they understood how chaotic those days were…'
Fhhhh!
'I wrote with trembling hands, chugging energy drinks like a drowning man clinging to a piece of straw.
Eight days without sleep, chased by deadlines as if chased by death.
But when everything ended, when the final revision was completed, it felt as though the whole world lifted its weight from my shoulders.'
Huuuuh!
'Then I slept soundly for three days—without dreams, without sound.
Only silent darkness, and for the first time… true peace.
Strange, isn't it?
Memories that should have felt torturous instead feel warm to me now.'
In such a state, Theo's memories moved slowly like the pages of a book turning on their own, bringing him back to the time when he was still writing the middle chapters of Last Prayer.
There had been a nearly maddening passion in that period, a blaze that made time feel like nothing more than meaningless numbers drifting past.
To finish that part, he drank dozens of body refreshers, forcing his eyes to stay open while his mind kept spinning, searching for the exact shape the world he was building needed.
Eight days without sleep wasn't merely a record of stubbornness, but proof that he was willing to trade his health for the certainty that every sentence sat exactly where it belonged.
He remembered how his body sometimes trembled in refusal, yet his fingers kept moving, dragging words one by one like someone pulling a net full of dreams from the depths—refusing to stop until everything reached the surface.
Only when the final revision requested by his editor had been neatly completed did he allow all that weight to fall from his shoulders.
The moment his head touched the pillow, the world seemed to shut itself off.
He slept for three full days, sinking into a silence that had perhaps been waiting for a long time while he forced himself awake.
When he woke up, there was a strange emptiness in his chest—a blend of relief and loss, like someone just returning from a long journey only to realize how quiet the room they left behind had become.
Now, as that memory brushed against him again, Theo could only let out a small sigh.
There was something he almost missed from that madness.
'Need to be fully prepared for tonight.
The Ilux time-wind that speaks is far too biting.'
Hooooh!
'Thick jacket, scarf, layered undershirt, wool gloves—mandatory.
Also a thermos of hot tea and a foldable blanket.
Better to prepare early than freeze all night.
That near-death experience at the lake must never happen again.'
The evening light seeping slowly between the gaps of the duel arena still left a faint golden trace when the figure finally closed the small yellow notebook that had been in his hand all this time.
His movement appeared simple to anyone watching, but there was a subtle weight settling behind that small decision, as though his mind had just returned from a long, unspoken journey.
Theo stood with steady, measured motion, as if he was maintaining a rhythm so as not to disrupt the fading quiet around the training grounds.
Cold air began to creep in, brushing the ends of his hair and his nape, reminding him that the coming night would carry a sharper chill than the brief evening breeze drifting past.
There were preparations to be made, and he knew well how fragile a human body could be when facing the night described countless times as the coldest era in the game's scenario.
His steps left the training grounds with a calm firmness, yet within his mind lingered memories of the times he had written and lived simultaneously.
He recalled how Ilux once spoke to Aldraya about faith and resolve, a story that grew into a discussion of betrayal that would one day shake the Berkeley universe.
That moment always held the shadow of a chill that never truly left his imagination, even when life had moved far past its point of origin.
It was as if the world brushed that feeling across him again every time he approached the night, as though the past and present pressed against each other between the strands of wind.
That was why he decided to return to the dormitory.
Not just to rest for a moment, but also to retrieve the equipment that could support his body when the entire night air later became a testament to how fragile humans were in the face of uncompromising cold.
The hiking bag he often used waited in the corner of his dorm room, carrying the scent of old fabric and long journeys never written down.
Theo counted his equipment between the pages of the yellow notebook like a ritual, making sure not a single detail slipped from his careful preparation.
A thick sweater became the first layer of defense, followed by a loyal wool scarf that had accompanied him for years.
Gloves held warmth behind their rough fabric, while a stack of spare clothes stood ready to shield him once the cold began its hunt.
And among all of that, the thermos of tea and foldable blanket were the perfect finishing touches.
Of course, the coming night was no ordinary night, but one that seemed to echo an old story they had once written with trembling hands fueled by exhaustion and resolve.
'Why does today feel heavier than usual?
I haven't even opened a single one of these letters, yet it feels like they're already noisy before I even read them.'
Buuuk!
'But at least… this small note is done.
Whether it helps or not, what matters is that it's finally out of my head.'
His steps moved quickly but never turned into a run, like someone chasing time without wanting to show that he truly was in a hurry.
The corridor leading to his dorm room was filled with pale light seeping through the long windows, making each of Theo's footsteps appear as though they floated above the cold stone floor.
Occasionally he lifted the small yellow notebook again, jotting down a few brief words that flashed in his mind—memories he refused to let fade away.
The writing flowed between the rhythm of his steps, and when his room's door finally came into view at the end of the hall, he closed the notebook again as though shutting a door to the small world inside his head.
A gentle silence greeted him, as if the room had been waiting for his return all along.
Upon entering, he closed the door with a measured motion, as though unwilling to let the outside air disturb the calm of the room that had witnessed his long days of exhaustion.
He tossed the yellow notebook onto the bed, landing softly among the folded, messy sheets.
But his hands were far from empty, for dozens of wrapped letters crowded his grip, each with a different shape and weight.
One was pinched in his right hand, another tucked under his left arm, and another pressed tightly beneath his right arm, making him look like a courier of nameless messages gathered by the world for reasons he himself had yet to understand.
Those letters carried the scent of paper that had waited far too long, as though each package held a small pulse longing to be opened.
To be continued…