Night did not fall all at once.
It descended slowly, like a careful hand lowering a veil over the city.
Lanterns flickered to life one by one along the stone streets, their warm glow reflecting off wet cobblestones left behind by an evening drizzle. The sky above carried a quiet moon—half-hidden behind drifting clouds—its pale light spilling softly through open windows and broken rooftops.
Inside the old residence they had claimed for the night, everything was still.
Too still.
The kind of silence that only existed when the world itself had decided to rest.
Aarna slept.
At least, her body did.
Her mind… did not.
She stood barefoot on unfamiliar ground.
The sky above her was vast and colorless—not dark, not bright—just endless. The land stretched out in broken layers of stone and light, like fragments of different worlds stitched together by force rather than design.
Something felt wrong.
No—something felt old.
Very old.
Aarna took a step forward, and the ground responded—not with sound, but with memory.
Images flickered at the edges of her vision.
A throne made of fractured light.
Chains—countless, invisible chains—pulling at something unseen.
And then—
Him.
Not the Vicky she knew.
Not the quiet boy who frowned when thinking too much.
Not the one who pretended not to care when she teased him.
This Vicky stood tall, his presence bending the space around him. His eyes were calm—but not gentle. They carried weight. Authority. Finality.
Behind him, shadows of worlds burned.
Aarna's breath caught.
"Vicky…" she whispered, though she wasn't sure he could hear her.
He did not look at her.
Instead, he looked forward—toward something she could not see.
A woman stood before him.
Her face was blurred, like a memory refusing to be fully remembered. But her posture… her devotion… it was unmistakable.
She knelt.
"Master," the woman said, her voice echoing like it came from multiple timelines at once.
"I failed to protect what you entrusted to me."
Aarna's chest tightened.
Master?
Vicky's voice answered—low, steady, terrifyingly calm.
"You did not fail," he said.
"The world did."
The ground trembled.
Aarna felt pressure building in her head, like something was pushing her out—
"No!" she cried, stepping forward. "Stop—!"
The vision shattered.
Aarna woke up with a sharp gasp.
Her heart pounded violently against her ribs as she shot upright, hair clinging to her face, breath uneven.
For a moment, she didn't know where she was.
Then she smelled it.
Old wood. Faint ash. The familiar presence of mana lingering in the air.
The room.
She slowly turned her head.
Vicky was still asleep.
He lay on the narrow bed beside her, turned slightly to the side, one arm bent awkwardly beneath his head. His expression was peaceful—almost unfairly so—like the weight of the world had finally decided to leave him alone for a few hours.
Moonlight brushed softly against his face.
Aarna stared.
Her heartbeat slowly calmed.
"…It was just a vision," she whispered to herself.
But her fingers trembled.
She hugged her knees, eyes drifting around the room.
The cracked ceiling. The small table with half-empty cups. Luka's faint presence on the other side of the building, barely noticeable but always there. Even Feno's aura felt distant tonight—quiet, as if he too was resting.
Everyone was safe.
For now.
Her gaze returned to Vicky.
He shifted slightly in his sleep, brows drawing together for a second before smoothing out again.
Aarna's expression softened.
"You look so normal when you sleep," she murmured.
Carefully—so carefully—she leaned closer.
She studied his face like she was afraid it might disappear if she blinked too long. The faint scar near his collarbone. The dark circles beneath his eyes. The way his hair refused to stay in place no matter what.
He looked… thinner.
Her lips pressed into a small pout.
"…You really don't take care of yourself," she whispered.
Slowly, hesitantly, she reached out.
Her fingers hovered near his cheek for a moment—uncertain.
Then she touched him.
Warm.
Real.
Aarna let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.
She leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.
Just one.
Soft. Careful.
Her face flushed immediately, and she pulled back like she'd done something forbidden.
Vicky didn't wake.
Aarna smiled.
In her mind, she spoke quietly—words meant only for herself.
I like you like this, she thought.
This version of you.
Not the one from my visions.
Not the one standing above burning worlds.
Just… you.
She lay back down, turning onto her side to face him.
Minutes passed.
Then—
"Aarna."
Her eyes snapped open.
Vicky was still asleep.
She frowned. "…Huh?"
His lips moved again, barely forming words.
"…Don't go."
Her heart clenched.
She reached out again without thinking, gripping the fabric of his sleeve.
"I'm here," she whispered quickly. "I'm not going anywhere."
His breathing steadied.
Aarna stayed like that, holding his sleeve, afraid that letting go might cause something to break.
Morning came gently.
No alarms.
No explosions.
No visions tearing through reality.
Just light.
Soft sunlight filtered through the cracked window, casting pale gold across the room.
Aarna stirred first.
She blinked, then froze.
Vicky was still asleep.
But this time, he was closer.
Somehow, in the night, he had turned toward her. Their shoulders nearly touched.
Her face heated instantly.
She swallowed and tried to pull her hand back—
Only to realize her fingers were still tangled in his sleeve.
"…Oh no," she whispered.
Carefully, painfully slowly, she tried to free herself.
Vicky shifted.
"Mmm…"
Aarna froze like she'd been caught stealing.
He didn't wake.
She relaxed slightly.
"…You're going to give me a heart attack one day," she muttered.
Eventually, she managed to pull her hand free.
She sat up and stretched, glancing around the room again.
Everything felt… normal.
Too normal.
Her expression dimmed slightly.
The vision lingered in her mind.
The throne.
The chains.
The word master.
"…What were you before?" she whispered, eyes drifting back to him.
Vicky stirred again, eyes fluttering open.
"…Morning," he said groggily.
Aarna jumped.
"M-Morning!" she replied far too loudly.
He blinked at her, confused. "Why are you shouting?"
"I'm not!" she snapped, then quickly added, "I mean—good morning."
He squinted at her, then smiled faintly.
"You're acting weird."
She looked away, cheeks red. "You're imagining things."
Vicky sat up slowly, rubbing his neck. "Did something happen last night?"
Aarna hesitated.
Then shook her head. "No."
That wasn't a lie.
Not exactly.
"…Just a dream," she added quietly.
Vicky studied her for a moment longer, then nodded.
"Alright."
He didn't push.
That made her chest ache more than if he had.
Later, as they prepared to leave the room, Aarna lingered near the doorway.
Vicky paused beside her. "You okay?"
She looked up at him.
For a second, the weight of everything—the visions, the past, the fear of what he might become—pressed against her chest.
Then she smiled.
"Yeah," she said. "I am."
He returned the smile, unaware of how much it meant.
As they stepped out into the waking city, Aarna glanced back once more.
At the quiet room.
At the bed where he'd slept so peacefully.
If the world tries to take this version of you away, she thought, fingers curling slightly,
I won't let it.
The wind shifted.
Far away—beyond the city, beyond time—something stirred.
And watched.