Sunlight brushed gently against Kael's eyelids.
He stirred, a strange heaviness lingering in his body—not pain, but exhaustion so deep it felt woven into his bones. His memories surfaced slowly: the battle, the blood, the moment everything fell apart.
A soft fragrance filled his senses.
Flowers.
Kael opened his eyes.
For a heartbeat, he didn't understand what he was seeing. Then warmth registered beneath his head. He realized he was resting on something soft—someone.
He looked up.
Elric.
Her lap cradled his head, one hand resting protectively in his hair. When she noticed his eyes open, relief washed over her face, and a gentle smile formed. Without thinking, her fingers brushed through his hair.
"Are you okay?" she asked softly.
Kael blinked, still disoriented. He hadn't moved from her lap yet. The faint rocking motion beneath them made him glance around.
The interior of a carriage came into focus.
"Where… are we?" His voice was weak, rough from disuse. "The village… how are the villagers? John?"
Elric flinched at the name—but she steadied herself.
"The villagers are safe now," she said carefully. "There won't be any more ghouls. No demons will attack the village again."
Kael closed his eyes.
Relief washed through him, slow and quiet.
Then his lashes lifted again.
"…What about John?"
The memory struck without mercy—Varyn's fangs, the smell of blood, John's faint smile as the light left his eyes.
Elric's hand stilled in his hair.
She bit her lip, avoiding his gaze. "We…" Her voice trembled despite her effort. "We buried him near the village while you were unconscious."
She waited—tense, afraid he might lash out, afraid she had taken a choice from him.
Kael didn't speak at first.
His eyes lingered somewhere distant. Then he slowly pushed himself upright, carefully lifting his head from her lap.
Elric stiffened. "Kael—"
He turned toward her instead.
His hand rose hesitantly, almost unsure, and gently touched her arm… then her shoulder… then her cheek. His gaze searched her face, her posture, her body—every detail.
"You're not injured… are you?" he asked quietly.
Elric blinked, startled by the tenderness of his movements. Then she laughed softly, a small, breathless sound, and smiled.
Her worry melted away.
She lifted her hand and caught his wrist, pressing it gently against her cheek. "I'm fine," she said. "Thanks to you."
Her eyes held his—knowing, perceptive.
"But I'm more worried about you," she continued softly. "Someone died right in front of you."
Kael pulled his hand back instinctively. His fingers trembled.
Elric didn't let him retreat.
She reached out and held his hand firmly, grounding him. "You already did your best, Kael," she said. "Even if no one else notices… I'm here."
Kael looked at her.
Slowly, he nodded.
"He…" His voice cracked. "John was from the same orphanage as me. The cult experimented on both of us." His gaze dropped. "I thought he died that night—when he lost control. He was killed right in front of me."
His throat tightened.
"I think… that was the moment I lost my childhood memories."
Elric listened without interrupting.
She lifted her hand and gently wiped away a tear Kael hadn't even realized had fallen.
"It's okay," she whispered. "I'm here. I'm listening."
Kael took a deep, shaky breath and tightened his grip on her hand.
"Last night," he continued, "I saw John's memories. He was kidnapped by the cult. They continued the experiments… on him, and on the others who survived the massacre."
The image of the girl surfaced—fragile, brave, doomed.
"John had someone he loved," Kael said quietly. "But he couldn't protect her. She died right in front of him."
His shoulders trembled.
"They were waiting for me, Elric," he whispered. "Just like Licht waited for me. They believed I would come and save them."
Tears fell freely now.
Elric couldn't hold back anymore.
She cupped Kael's face with both hands and gently pulled him closer until their foreheads touched. Her voice softened to a whisper.
"It's alright… it's alright…"
Kael closed his eyes.
"It hurts," he admitted, voice shaking. "Not being able to save anyone… it makes me feel like I'm worthless."
His fingers clenched around her wrist.
Elric smiled—sad, warm, unwavering.
"But you saved me," she said gently. "You shielded me. I wasn't hurt last night because of you."
Kael opened his eyes and looked at her.
"Before you were a Hero," Elric continued, her voice steady and sincere, "you were human, Kael. No one can save everyone. No one is perfect."
She pressed her forehead lightly against his once more.
"But I know this," she said softly. "You did everything you could. And that… matters."
The carriage continued on its quiet path forward.
And for the first time since the night before, Kael allowed himself to breathe.
Elric reached into the satchel beside her and pulled out a bundle of old, worn documents—edges frayed, ink faded by time. She hesitated for a moment before handing them to Kael.
"These are the records we found in the basement," she said quietly. "The ones you asked for."
Kael accepted them with care, as if afraid they might crumble in his hands.
He opened the first page.
Taylor Orphanage – Branch 34, Year 411.
His eyes moved quickly, skipping the formal introductions, the meaningless justifications written by people long dead. He went straight to the numbers.
Total children registered: 38.
Including himself.
The number wasn't large.
Yet, as the pages continued, the list shortened. Names were crossed out. Some marked relocated. Others—deceased, missing, unfit.
Kael didn't linger on what happened to them.
He turned the pages until he reached the section detailing where the organization had found the children.
His hand stilled.
Most of the entries were the same.
Found at the front door of a church.
No parental records.
No known origin.
Children abandoned without names, without histories—left at holy places as if hoping faith would cleanse what the world feared.
But not all of them.
A few entries were different.
Parents volunteered the child.
Born as cursed.
Relinquished by family.
Kael's fingers tightened around the paper.
So some of them had been given away deliberately.
Elric watched him in silence, reading his expression rather than the documents themselves.
"Shouldn't you rest first?" she asked softly. "You hurt yourself badly last night. Even with healing magic, your body is exhausted."
Kael lifted his gaze to her and slowly shook his head.
"I'm fine," he said quietly. "I promised myself… I'll let them all rest in peace."
His voice was gentle, but unyielding.
Elric sighed.
She could see it clearly now—his pallor, the faint tremor in his hands, the way his shoulders slumped as if carrying more weight than one person should bear.
Without another word, she reached forward and gently took several of the documents from his hands.
"Then we'll continue after we reach the castle," she said firmly. "We should arrive soon."
Kael blinked. "You'll help me?"
Elric smiled. "Of course."
Kael looked away, his chest tightening. He wanted—no, needed—to finish this as soon as possible. To close the names, the numbers, the unanswered questions.
But his body betrayed him.
Elric noticed.
She tapped her lap lightly. "Lie down."
Kael looked at her, stunned. "Elric—"
"Take a proper rest," she said calmly. "So you can finish what you started. That's why I'm here."
He hesitated, clearly unsure.
Before he could respond, Elric reached out and gently but firmly guided his head back down onto her lap.
Kael instinctively tried to rise again, but Elric placed a steady hand on his shoulder, applying just enough pressure to stop him.
"No," she said softly but firmly. "I promise I'll let you continue later. But not now."
She brushed his hair back, fingers cool against his warm skin.
"You're pale," she added quietly. "If you push yourself like this, you'll faint again."
Kael fell still.
The documents rested forgotten beside them as the carriage continued its journey. Slowly, his tense breathing eased, exhaustion finally winning over determination.
Elric remained where she was, watching over him in silence—guarding not a hero, but a wounded man who had carried too much for far too long.
-----------------------------------------
Far away from the carriage carrying Kael and Elric, darkness welcomed Varyn home.
The Demon Cultist hideout stood silent beneath the night sky, its torches flickering weakly at the entrance. Guards stationed at the front stiffened when they saw him walking alone toward the gates.
No entourage.
No announcement.
Only him.
They froze for a heartbeat—then bowed deeply, instinct overriding fear. Varyn's face was unreadable as he passed them.
The moment he stepped beyond them, both guards collapsed.
Their bodies hit the ground without a sound.
Dead within a second.
Blood spread rapidly across the stone floor.
Those who stood farther away saw it happen. Their breath caught in their throats, but none dared approach. They stepped back instead—farther, farther—terror etched clearly across their faces.
They knew.
He was in a bad mood.
Anyone who moved toward him was cut down instantly. Blades, claws, or magic—none of it mattered. Bodies fell where they stood. The corridor filled with blood, the metallic stench clinging to the walls.
Varyn walked through it all without pause.
Without looking back.
He descended into the hideout—but not to the usual chambers. His steps carried him deeper, guided not by habit, but by memory.
John's memory.
The basement.
The one from the past.
The one where John had been imprisoned and tortured as a child.
Varyn stopped in front of a cell.
Inside were two children.
Both were girls.
Both had red hair.
Both were cursed children.
They sat pressed together in the corner of the cell, trembling violently as they looked up at him. Blood coated Varyn's clothes, dripping slowly onto the stone floor. The girls' fear was immediate and instinctive—bodies curling inward, hands clutching each other as if that could protect them.
Varyn stared at them.
No expression.
As his gaze lingered, memories surfaced unbidden.
John.
The woman John loved.
The woman who had carried him—Varyn—inside her womb.
His mother.
The one he had killed.
The girls in the cell shared similar features. Too similar.
Something twisted painfully in his chest.
Varyn's hand moved slowly, pressing against his own chest as if trying to grasp whatever that sensation was.
For the first time since his return, confusion crossed his face.
He did not understand this feeling.
He looked at the girls again.
They flinched harder, bodies shaking.
"Hey…"
"…can you tell me why I keep feeling this?"
Varyn's hand closed around the iron bars of the cell. The metal bent beneath his grip, screeching softly.
The girls whimpered, fear escalating.
"TELL ME!!"
The bars snapped.
The sound echoed sharply through the basement.
The girls cried openly now, tears streaking down their faces as they hugged each other desperately.
"please… don't hurt us…"
The plea—weak, broken—hit something inside him.
Varyn flinched.
His hand moved to his head, fingers digging into his hair. Ever since he drank John's blood, the memories had not stopped flooding in—John's hatred, his despair, his longing, his grief.
Emotions Varyn had never learned to name.
He stepped into the cell.
The girls screamed softly and collapsed forward, pressing their foreheads to the floor. Kneeling. Bowing. Submitting. Their bodies shook uncontrollably.
"Why are you crying when I'm asking? Hey! Tell me!!"
His tone pressed down on them like a weight.
Neither girl answered.
They couldn't.
Their heads remained lowered, eyes fixed on the stone floor.
Varyn exhaled slowly.
Silence filled the cell.
John's memories continued to play—fragments of screams, chains, blood, and a hand reaching out in the dark. Varyn lifted his gaze to the ceiling, realization settling in pieces.
His ability.
He could see the memories of those whose blood he consumed.
All this time, it had never affected him like this.
But John's memories were different.
They lingered.
They hurt.
Silence.
Then—
Varyn laughed.
The sound echoed sharply through the cell.
Both girls flinched violently.
In the next instant, one of them was gone.
There was no scream.
No time to react.
Varyn moved once.
The girl's head was already in his palm.
Blood sprayed across the cell, splattering the floor and the remaining girl's face. She screamed—a raw, piercing sound—and scrambled to her feet, running past Varyn toward the exit without looking back.
Varyn did not stop her.
He did not even turn his head.
Slowly, he lifted the severed head. His teeth sank into the torn flesh at the neck, drinking deeply, silently.
No one noticed.
No one dared come close.
As he fed, something warm slid down his cheek.
A tear.
Varyn did not understand why it was there.