"The same red as his."
Rowan's voice came out barely a whisper.
"...It's my book."
Rowan understood instantly. The terrifying reality of the situation weighed heavily on him.
Aneouz snapped his gaze back forward and started marching ahead.
"Stop," a slightly quivering voice commanded. "Just tell me what you want, and where we are going."
Aneouz didn't hesitate. He was ready to move forward fearlessly. One step. One more step.
Rowan screamed, "Be ready—I'm going to attack!"
But Aneouz couldn't take another step.
The air itself turned against him. Aneouz was suddenly surrounded by a dense bloodlust wind, swirling around him like a razor-sharp cage.
He—who had been moving forward without a shred of fear—froze in place, unable to twitch a single muscle.
"Do you really understand the situation you are in?" Rowan asked.
A long, suffocating silence stretched between them.
Slowly, Aneouz's eyes started turning back to normal, fading into a deep dark.
Aneouz's thoughts rushed all at once.
The air is moving too fast. My eyes can't track it. My mind failed to sense it—when and how did it even appear? It covers me from every angle. And the most important thing I realize is... if I move a single finger, this bloodlust will cut me down instantly.
Panic gripped Aneouz—until the wind suddenly vanished.
Rowan withdrew the bloodlust wind. Aneouz slightly moved his fingers to make sure. When he was certain Rowan wasn't going to cut him down, he slowly turned to face his master.
The first thing Aneouz noticed was the severe look on Rowan's face, his brows tightly furrowed. Rowan stared back with sharp, intense red eyes.
It was so overwhelming that even knowing a retreat was useless, Aneouz instinctively stepped back a little.
Aneouz was shocked. He hadn't seen Rowan this deadly serious in a very long time.
Now, Aneouz had space to move freely.
Suddenly, Aneouz's eyes snapped back to red, flickering wildly like a dying flame.
Rowan mumbled quietly, his voice wavering in pure shock. "Kiara..."
Before him, a spirit was gently cradling Aneouz's neck, resting her ethereal head on his shoulder, staring directly into Rowan's soul.
Rowan could see Aneouz standing in front of him, but the boy's soul was entirely somewhere else.
Trapped in an abyss, Aneouz couldn't see anything, feel touch, or smell. It felt like a deep, suffocating sleep. Yet, a voice echoed.
The spirit whispered just one word into Aneouz's mind: "Rowan."
Synchronously, a ghostly screen manifested in the physical world, floating in the air before Rowan. Written upon the screen was the exact same name the spirit had spoken.
Aneouz didn't hear an external voice. It appeared inside his head as a perfect mimicry of his own thoughts—no outside sound, just a word that felt like his own.
Aneouz mumbled to himself in the dark, "Where am I? Where did that sound come from?"
The spirit replied, using his own mental voice against him, "You don't need to know where you are. What you need is to listen to your mind."
Aneouz demanded, "Tell me who you are. I know this is some kind of trap."
The spirit whispered softly, "The voice of your heart... Tell me—don't you want to kill Rowan? He let your sister die."
In the real world, Aneouz raised his hand forward. The bloodlust wind started gathering. He saw his own hand jerking wildly up and down.
He watched the bloodlust wind swell to a massive size, only to instantly shrink into a chaotic, unstable spark.
Rowan charged forward. As his boots pounded against the asphalt, his eyes scanned the glowing text on the ghostly screen:
[ There is no need to hold back. Rowan is the one serving demons. Demons kill millions of people—if he wanted, he could save them. But he stands by, enjoying all of this. ]
"He can't control it," Rowan realized. "This is my only chance."
Aneouz unleashed the erratic energy. But because his hand violently twitched downward at the final millisecond, the deadly arc of wind veered off target.
It roared past Rowan's torso, merely grazing his left forearm, leaving a shallow, bleeding laceration.
The recoil of the unstable blast threw Aneouz off balance. Before the boy could raise his trembling hand to launch a second strike,
Rowan capitalized on the opening. He closed the remaining distance in a flash, appearing directly in Aneouz's blind spot.
Rowan thought Aneouz had fully lost control. With a swift kick, Rowan struck Aneouz's wrist, dispersing the gathering bloodlust wind.
Rowan attacked with his hands, launching one strike after another. Aneouz managed to dodge the initial blows, but he was no match for Rowan in hand-to-hand combat.
A heavy punch landed squarely on Aneouz's face.
Aneouz stumbled back from the impact, but he saw it as an opportunity.
He backed away rapidly to keep his distance. "Look, Master—what have you done?!" Aneouz said, his voice carrying disappointment, pointing a trembling hand at the ruined buildings around them.
"No sign of life! The only remaining thing is the ashes of our people, our city... everything turned to ashes!
All this because you decided to stand beside demons. You are the strongest—why don't you fight against them?!"
Rowan calmly replied, "It is just a misunderstanding. And this is not even a real place."
"If all of this is an illusion," Aneouz's broken voice asked, tears welling up, "then why did you let her die?
Do you even know how it feels to be all alone?"
Deep within a corner of Rowan's heart, something felt incredibly heavy.
Rowan replied in a voice so low Aneouz couldn't even catch the words, "You know how it feels to survive in the depths of enemy territory. Surrounded by enemies..."
Suddenly, a localized spike of bloodlust wind erupted from behind, piercing straight through Rowan's back and leaving a hollow void through his chest.
An agonizing, sharp pain flooded Rowan's senses. He suppressed the urge to scream, forcing his body into a numb state as he always did, though his fingers curled tightly in agony.
Aneouz's eyes abruptly snapped back to dark. The sheer strain broke his consciousness, and he collapsed onto the ground, completely out cold.
The spirit materialized fully, instantly teleporting behind Rowan.
She wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly from behind.
Though legends claimed spirits possessed no empathy, tears fell from her spectral eyes for the first time in 147 years, soaking into Rowan's blood-stained shoulder.
She forced text onto the ghostly screen.
Rowan's fading pupils tracked the glowing words, written in the ancient spirit language: [ I hope you remember how it started and what I said—I started by giving you power, and I am going to end all this by killing you myself. ]
A gentle smile crossed Rowan's face.
He whispered, "I remember everything. And I understand every single reason behind your actions.
I never saw you cry before... and your tears are enough to clarify the reason why you did all of this."
On the ground, Aneouz slowly opened his eyes. Everything was a blurred mess.
He blinked a few times until his vision finally faded into focus, only to pure shock to freeze his face.
Rowan was standing at death's door.
Rowan's voice barely came out as a rasp. He seriously asked, "Does he have a memory of whatever happened here?"
The spirit whispered, "Yes. He remembers everything."
Rowan asked Kiara, "Can you help me one last time? I want to talk with Aneouz."
She nodded. Her arm stayed around him, holding him up.
Rowan moved toward Aneouz with faltering, trembling steps. Aneouz remained on his knees, his body slumped heavily to the left, his head bowed in deep regret.
He waited, completely defenseless, expecting Rowan to strike him down too.
Instead, a kind and calm voice washed over him. "That is not your fault, Aneouz."
Aneouz slowly raised his head, hearing words he never expected in return after what he had done.
"Listen to me carefully, Aneouz," Rowan gasped, his breath slowing.
"There is a kind known as the Demons.
They want everything. Every life. Every soul. Every piece of this world ground under their feet. They were not forced into this. They chose it willingly.
There is a kind known as the Half-made.
They belong only to themselves. Every act they commit is driven solely by their own whims. They do not value anything else, which makes them entirely unexpected. Their first priority is simply to commit cruel acts, because pain is the only thing that gives them pleasure.
There is a kind known as the Z-Spirits.
They are entities imprisoned by fate—committing cruel acts sometimes, not out of a desire for revenge, but in a desperate, frantic bid for freedom.
But above them all, there is a kind that has no hunger, yet continuously consumes. They know their path causes nothing but pain, yet they walk it anyway. They choose destruction over creation, even knowing there is a better way. They use their intelligence only to profit themselves. They possess a heart, yet they refuse to learn the value of feeling. What they genuinely want is simple: everything.
But you don't have to worry about any of these anymore."
Each word came slower than the last, his life force bleeding away. "I just want to tell you—be happy and safe."
The spirit's voice was barely a whisper. "We have to go."
Rowan smiled—no lingering regret, no sadness, just a pure, genuinely happy smile. "Looks like I have to go."
A frantic, quiet question rose in Aneouz's mind: What is going on?
Then, Rowan fell forward, collapsing right next to Aneouz.
Aneouz's tears were already streaming down his face before his brain could fully process the tragedy. He was frozen in sheer shock.
The man who had every reason to be angry... was gone.
Leaving nothing behind but a smile.
---