Nicholas emptied the last goblet.
The dark red wine evaporated in his throat, but the image remained etched in his mind: the copper-toned child's face, his bewildered blue eyes, and his small hand unconsciously twisting a lock of his hair.
Suddenly, his hand trembled.
It wasn't the wine that made it shake… it was the blood.
He looked at it.
It was stained.
Not with a light spot, but with a thick, dark layer, still warm. The stench of rotting flesh assaulted his nose again—the same smell that clung to his clothes, reminding him of his first day in that "room."
And he saw the image of his father, holding that very axe.
"Impossible…" he whispered.
Then he ran to the mirror above the sink.
There he found it: his mature eyes, but his mouth… the mouth of a child crying silently.
He tried to scream, but his voice was stolen from him.
Nothing came out except a faint moan, like that of a man being tortured by his father in a biting winter.
*Thud… thud… thud…*
Footsteps. Heavy. Slow.
Approaching his room's door.
The same footsteps he used to hear every night at the time
his father returned from "work."
He froze in place.
His heart stopped beating, as if being crushed.
The door opened slowly.
But it wasn't his father.
It was William—his face pale, his eyes carrying news he didn't want to reveal.
He spoke in a low voice, as if afraid of waking the dead:
"Nicholas… Jack the Ripper isn't just a killer. We found a necklace around his neck. And it's… bleeding." Real blood.
Nicholas didn't answer.
But his hand—stained with fake blood—trembled again.
This time, the blood wasn't imaginary.
It was real blood.
The past was no longer just a memory.
It had returned… and demanded a heavy price.
Then William left, leaving Nicholas alone with the gas and questions he couldn't answer.
Victor woke up early in the morning, excited for today's training session.
He woke before everyone else and headed to the bathroom. He began washing his face with slightly cold water, his hands trembling a little. He washed his handsome face, his skin flawlessly white. Then he combed his hair, which was as black as the darkness of night.
His hair was short, black, reaching his neck. It felt coarse, as if it hadn't seen a comb in weeks. His hair looked disheveled, reflecting his life full of struggles. This messy hair added to his strong and mysterious appearance, making him
seem tougher. Anyone who saw him at first glance would think him strong, even though he had no muscles. In truth, he was weak and couldn't defend himself, which was why he'd been eagerly awaiting this training for many days. He wanted to change himself and find out what happened to his uncle, Ternal Metin.
He went to the training yard. The training yard was large and filled with tools and weapons, and the air had been cold since early morning—bitterly cold, as if winter had forgiven no one.
Victor was waiting at the back courtyard, his hand trembling slightly—not from fear, but from anticipation.
Only one night had passed since William said, "Training will be a matter of life or death."
Yet Victor was still smiling. A smile that didn't reach his eyes.
From afar, he saw Nicholas approaching.
He hadn't washed his clothes. The smell of blood still clung to him, like an undeniable shadow.
His eyes were bloodshot, as if he hadn't slept at all.
He passed by Victor without looking at him, like a ghost returning from a place humans aren't allowed to see.
"Are you ready?" William asked, placing a wooden sword in Victor's hand.
"I'm always ready," Victor answered.
Training began.
But Nicholas didn't leave.
He stood under a dry tree, watching.
Every strike Victor delivered… every stumble… every breath he gasped…
Nicholas felt it in his own body, as if he were being dragged back to that dark room where he learned how to break bones without flinching.
Suddenly, Victor stopped.
He looked at Nicholas and said,
"Why are you watching me? Do you think I'll fail?"
Nicholas didn't reply.
But inside, he heard his father's voice saying:
*"If you run away now, you'll collapse forever."*
So he said softly, as if speaking more to himself than to Victor:
"No… I'm watching you because I'm afraid you'll **succeed**."
William turned toward them, his eyes narrowing.
Something about that last word… it wasn't a warning.
It was a **confession**.
William noticed Nicholas wasn't himself today, so he went to him and asked, "What's wrong, my friend?" Nicholas looked into William's eyes. "Nothing. It doesn't matter," while Victor trained.
While Victor was tying his shoelace before training, he noticed the lace was made of faded blue thread—the same kind used to make the uniforms of the Eastern Alliance soldiers.
He asked William about it.
William replied coldly, "We recycle everything now. People don't even eat garbage anymore." Just like before.
Then, gazing at the birdless horizon, he added, "Ever since the kingdoms fell in the Bla