“Archmage…”
“…Yeah.”
The battlefield they had just finished cleaning up paled in comparison to what they were witnessing now.
“You’re telling me Vanitas was dealing with this?”
Soliette couldn’t believe it. A withering forest. The remnants of a dead spirit, and in its place, something that could only be described as evil incarnate emerged.
“This is beyond your expertise, Sword Saint,” Soliette said. “I suggest you leave. Now.”
“….”
Aston glanced at her, noting the seriousness in her tone. Despite being recognized as the strongest, he understood his limitations especially against spirits.
It was no secret that spirits were the Sword Saint’s natural counter, his Achilles’ heel.
He gave a small nod. “My job here is done anyway. It was good seeing you, Archmage. Come to the Theocracy sometime. The Saintess would be very happy to meet you.”
“I can’t promise anything,” she replied.
Aston let out a breath that resembled a scoff. He had never seen Soliette look this uneasy before.
“If Araxys really returns…” he said. “…Do you think I’d even stand a chance?”
“….”
Silence.
It was answer enough.
“That’s why,” Aston muttered. “I’ll kill everything else so that it never happens. And if Vanitas Astrea is somehow involved with Araxys…”
He trailed off.
“Would you stop me?”
He knew Soliette cared about the boy. He was her disciple, after all. But Aston had his doubts.
How could he not?
The spirit, Abyss, reeked of traces of the Dragon Bones.
And Vanitas Astrea… he had made a deal with that thing.
Soliette didn’t answer. She only said, without looking at him, “Just go, Aston.”
With that, Aston turned and left, leaving Soliette in the presence of Abyss.
——It’s been a while, Archmage Soliette.
“I don’t understand….”
Soliette just stared at the figure that had materialized before her, one hand brushing along a large tree stump. The spirit had taken the form of a little girl, with black-hair and a blurry face, as if reality itself refused to render her features.
Still, the energy she exuded was undoubtedly that of Abyss.
——Ah, I see. This is your first time seeing this form. No wonder you’re confused.
Soliette remained silent.
——When was the last time we met? Ten years ago? A few more?
That day, when Soliette had fallen into a ravine and stumbled upon traces of Abyss. She hadn’t recognized it at the time. Back then, the traces of the Dragon Bones were unfamiliar to her.
She remembered how she endured the spirit’s twisted games. But the consequences had been dire.
Since that day, her mana core had been tainted by dark energy.
In the years that followed, Soliette lost her sense of taste. The corruption spread gradually, eating away at her body from within, and eventually rendering her right arm incapable of gathering mana.
Forced to adapt, she became left-handed.
For most mages, that would have spelled the end. Learning to cast magic again with their non-dominant hand, reconfiguring muscle memory, mana flow, and so on would’ve taken decades.
But Soliette was different.
She was born with overflowing talent and abundant mana. And so, within five grueling years, she had mastered her left hand, eventually becoming the Archmage.
“But… why are you here?”
Abyss’s presence made no sense. Theoretically, it had no reason to exist in this place.
——Why wouldn’t I be?
As Soliette took a cautious step forward, the scent surrounding Abyss grew heavier with the traces of Dragon Bones and something else. A putrid, stench that was familiar, yet utterly repulsive.
——Ah, you noticed?
“….Vanitas.”
That was where she had sensed it before. The smell, this otherworldly signature reminiscent of demons that clung to Vanitas. To be more accurate, it wasn’t the smell of demons entirely, but now Soliette had a clearer picture.
A dimensional trace not perceptible to the average person. Only those with heightened sensitivity could sense it.
——Hehe.
“You’ve been following him this entire time,” Soliette said slowly, brows furrowing.
Then she shook her head.
“No. Not just following, you’ve been with him. All this time. Was it a pact? An agreement? A contract? How did Vanitas even manage to win you over?”
——I’ll leave that for you to guess. You’ll never reach the right answer anyway.
“Answer me!”
Her voice rang through the forest, shaking the trees and ground beneath them.
“What are you plotting? Where are the bones? Are you really just a remnant, or are you…”
——Yes.
The single word cut through the air.
Yes? To what?
But somehow… Soliette understood. Her breath hitched. Her pupils trembled.
Abyss and Araxys…
They were one and the same.
Araxys, the being long believed to have been sealed over a millennium ago, hadn’t vanished, but had toyed with humanity for centuries… hidden in plain sight.
“….”
At the moment, Abyss didn’t seem to be hostile toward her.
“Then… what do you want?” Soliette asked.
——To stay by his side. To take away his guilt.
A pause lingered. The spirit’s voice was strangely gentle.
——Just like I always have.
Just like now, like in the ages long past, and in the ones yet to come.
——Even if the whole world turns its back on him.
* * *
“….I just can’t beat you at this.”
Vanitas chuckled at Margaret’s grumbling. They had been playing League of Spirits occasionally in the following days, and she had barely won any games.
Pushing himself up from his seat, he stretched lightly. “I’ll prepare dinner.”
“Can I help?” she offered.
“Sit down. You’re a guest.”
“I’m also your knight.”
“You still remember that?”
“I swore an oath.”
Vanitas considered her for a moment before relenting. “Very well.”
Margaret watched as Vanitas moved toward the kitchen.
She leaned in, hands clasped behind her back as she peered over his shoulder. “What’s for dinner today?”
“Beef stew,” Vanitas answered without turning, his attention fixed on the vegetables he was chopping.
“Oh?” She brightened, rocking slightly on her heels. “What should I do?”
Vanitas paused his preparations. A small smile touched his lips as he considered how best to include her.
“For now, you can help me prepare the vegetables.”
He moved aside to make space at the counter, selecting a paring knife from the block.
When Margaret reached for it, he hesitated just momentarily before placing it carefully in her palm, guiding her fingers into the proper grip.
“Like this. Just like a sword, but gentler. The knife should do the work. You’re only guiding it.”
He stepped back slightly to give her space.
“Try with this one first.”
“Yes.”
Margaret took the carrot he offered, pressing the blade against it with more concentration.
The knife felt awkward in Margaret’s hands as she pressed it against the carrot.
Her first attempt produced a lopsided slice that tumbled sideways off the cutting board. The second fared better, though still uneven.
By the third try, she’d found some semblance of rhythm, though the results alternated between translucent slivers and thick, clumsy chunks that barely qualified as sliced.
It was painfully clear kitchen work wasn’t her forte.
The sheltered upbringing of a princess had left no room for domestic skills, and her subsequent life after Illenia’s fall left her with even less opportunity to learn.
The irony wasn’t lost on Vanitas as he watched her struggle.
This woman who took every meal with such earnest enthusiasm, yet couldn’t produce even the most basic preparation herself.
With a snap of his fingers, flames surged around the stove and Vanitas began cooking.
After he finished, he set the steaming pot between them with a thud.
“I made a lot today. Eat as much as you want.”
Margaret’s eyes widened at the generous portion. “Really?”
“Does it not look like enough for you?”
Her hands fluttered nervously near the ladle. “A-ah, yes! It’s so much! Gosh, I wonder if we can even finish all this!”
The way she said it suggested she was already thinking how many helpings she could reasonably take without appearing impolite.
Vanitas raised his cup to hide his knowing smile. “I wonder. You could probably finish all this by yourself, couldn’t you?”
“….”
Margaret’s spoon froze halfway to her mouth. A faint blush crept up her neck as she stared resolutely at her bowl.
“Just eat,” he continued. “You’ll need your strength for tomorrow’s training.”
“….Yes.”
The silence between them stretched comfortably as they ate, broken only by the occasional scrape of ceramic.
After a while, Vanitas looked up from his meal. “How’s your progress? Can you feel your stigmata yet?”
Margaret’s grip tightened around her spoon. “…Sorry.”
“It’s fine. These things take time.”
She hesitated, then added, “Though I might have made a dent…. I’m not sure.”
“A dent?”
“A small crack in space.”
“Are you sure?”
“Maybe I was seeing things. I don’t know.”
“That’s great.”
Margaret nodded without meeting his eyes. The weeks spent with Vanitas in this small cabin made her realize how pleasant it was to be with him.
But at the same time, the realization brought on a disgusting feeling, a selfish desire to keep him here indefinitely.
“….”
Her grip on the spoon tightened. She couldn’t indulge that impulse, no matter how tempting.
Because Vanitas wanted to return him.
And she didn’t want to be the one to take that from him.
* * *
“Vanitas! I’m ba—”
Margaret’s voice died as she entered the empty cabin. Silence greeted her.
After yet another failed loop, she had come straight to him, as always.
A disturbing realization settled over her. Somewhere along these endless loops, she had started looking forward to these returns.
The thought should have alarmed her more. She was slowly starting to accept the innumerable amount of failures, evident by the way she now poured less effort into saving anything with each reset.
Pushing the unease aside, she moved further inside, scanning the room for any sign of him.
“Vanitas!”
However, there was nothing. His usual chair was vacant. The fireplace was cold.
She sank onto the couch to wait.
Seconds stretched into minutes. Minutes bled into hours.
The longer the silence stretched, the tighter the knot in her chest became.
’What if the last loop opened some sort of barrier that had finally let him leave?’
’What if he just ran away? What if he’s tired of me?’
’What if he’s tired of seeing my face again and again?
’What if he’s tired of my failures?’
’What if he’s tired of waiting for my sorry excuse of progress?’
Her hands clenched in her lap.
Margaret forced her breathing steady and turned toward Vanitas’s room.
She’d already checked it once, but perhaps she’d missed something. Perhaps a note or some clue to his absence.
Her hands moved through the drawers until one slid open to reveal rows of pill bottles.
“….”
She froze.
Anxiety medications. Muscle relaxants. Sleeping pills. And at the back, nearly empty, a container labeled for oral chemotherapy.
“….”
The sight punched the air from her lungs. Her fingers hovered over the bottles.
“Chemotherapy…?”
Her hands trembled as she gripped the drawer’s edge.
A hundred questions collided in her mind.
“Why is he taking this?”
It was ambiguous. This had to be a mistake.
——Margaret.
The voice cut through her thoughts. She turned slowly to find Vanitas standing in the doorway.
For a moment, neither moved. Then he strode forward and snapped the drawer shut with more force than necessary.
He cleared his throat once, then spoke, “You already know I take medication.”
“…Yes,” she admitted. “But where are you getting these?”
“I leave sometimes. There’s a pharmacy in the empire.”
“Is that where you were today? Buying more?”
“Yes.”
Margaret hesitated, the image of the chemotherapy pill burning in her mind.
“…Vanitas, what about that one? The—”
“Wrong prescription.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. That made sense. Of course it did.
They returned to the living room, where Margaret distractedly set up another board game. But she couldn’t shake the thought so easily.
Across from her, Vanitas watched with careful eyes. He was growing desperate.
The lie had been too easy.
There were no pharmacies here that sold oral chemotherapy, at least, specifically for him.
These were the last of his prescribed doses, given to him by Yves before entering this space. He had been rationing them, taking them only when the pain became unbearable.
Because once these ran out, there would be no more.
At least, not until he left this shitty hellhole.
* * *
Every return to Illenia began the same way, with smiling faces and warm welcomes.
“….”
But Margaret had learned how quickly those smiles could twist into screams.
Sometimes it was demons that came first. Other times, betrayal. The flames and explosions always followed, reducing everything she loved to ashes in variations of the same tragedy.
Life had never been kind to her.
Yet these loops granted her the chance to see her parents’ faces again and again, even if only temporarily.
The reset meant her efforts were ultimately meaningless, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was those fleeting moments of reunion before the cycle repeated.
The loops made her immortal without the curse of true eternity. Death became meaningless when it only brought her back to the beginning.
And there was another consolation.
Each cycle meant another chance to see him. A week with Vanitas in his secluded cabin, then a week with her family before the inevitable collapse. The pattern had become her entire existence.
Margaret had long since stopped becoming shocked at the sight of her parents’ deaths.
She’d seen every possible variation. Her mother’s despair, her father’s bloodied corpse, the terrible sight of a hanged body swaying from rafters or tree branches.
She’d watched Illenia fall to invaders more times than she could count. The horror had numbed into routine.
Through it all, she had come to realize one thing.
There was only one Vanitas Astrea in this world.
Just one man who had abandoned everything to live alone in a forgotten corner of the countryside.
In this cyclical existence, Vanitas remained the sole constant that anchored her.
As long as she had someone to share the burden, Margaret could endure this endless repetition, even if the thought of binding him to her suffering was undeniably selfish.
Through countless loops, she had finally learned to utilize her stigmata, though clumsily.
She had come to realize that her power came at a terrible cost. Each activation slowed her heartbeat. The rift’s existence threatened to stop her heart completely if maintained too long.
A single second of use strained her body. Meaning, proper practice was nearly impossible.
Yet she kept this truth from him. For once, Margaret allowed herself this selfishness. If maintaining their time together required this lie, so be it.
“Vanitas!”
She would wrap her arms around his waist while he washed dishes, pressing her cheek against his back.
“Hehe.”
When he read, she’d rest her head on his shoulder, offering playful commentary.
“You know, those glasses don’t suit you. You’re much more handsome without them.”
Her finger would poke at his cheek, and he would endure her antics silently.
“Vanitas.”
“What?”
“Stay with me here.”
“Don’t joke around.”
“Hehe.”
She teased him endlessly, savoring each ordinary moment. Their time together had become her sole comfort in the endless cycles.
Until the day Vanitas collapsed.
Thud!
Margaret panicked before she remembered the medications.
“I’ll get them!”
She ran to retrieve the assortment of pills. She gathered everything indiscriminately.
Vanitas swallowed whatever she offered in his disoriented state, his complexion gradually stabilizing.
As Margaret set aside the empty containers, her gaze caught on the chemotherapy bottle which had been accidentally consumed with the others.
“Are you alright?!”
“Haa…. Yes…”
“Vanitas… you’re sick, aren’t you?”
“No…”
“Don’t lie.”
The words tasted bitter on her tongue. It was a hypocritical thing to say.
“Let me bring a doctor. With Illenia’s influence, I can get you the best care. We still have a whole week before—”
“No.”
“….Vanitas.”
* * *
Perhaps due to his refusal, Margaret paid close attention to Vanitas.
Tonight, she would finally tell him the truth. That escape was possible. But first, she wanted this one last meal together, a final memory with him.
“I’ll do the cooking,” she offered, already moving toward the stove.
“It’s fine.”
With a familiar snap of his fingers, flames sprang to life beneath the pan.
The gesture sent an odd ripple through Margaret’s memory, but she dismissed it as Vanitas began preparing their meal.
She observed quietly as he worked, committing every movement to memory. When they sat to eat, the food tasted like goodbye.
Like their last supper.
“Vanitas.”
“Yes?”
The lie came easily, masked with a smile she didn’t feel. “I’ve done it. I can get you out of here.”
His fork paused mid-bite. “You’re serious?”
“Yes. You can leave whenever you want.”
He considered this, then asked the question she’d been dreading. “And you?”
“…Like I said before, I’m not going.”
His expression darkened with understanding. All this time, he’d waited patiently, believing he could eventually convince her to leave this cursed reality.
But Margaret was stubborn.
“Margaret. Come with me.”
“I can’t.”
“You don’t belong here.”
“Don’t say that…”
After finishing his meal, Vanitas moved to the fireplace. Another snap of his fingers ignited the flames.
He sank into the rocking chair, gazing at the dancing flames.
Margaret watched the flickering flames across his face, then stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor.
“….”
There was something she needed to confirm.
“I… I need to go.”
“Where?”
“….To confirm whether I’m going crazy or not.”
* * *
“Mother….”
“Yes, my dear?” Her mother’s arms wrapped around her instinctively.
“Please don’t leave me.”
Her mother tightened the embrace. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know…” Margaret buried her face in her warmth. “I don’t understand anything anymore.”
In that moment, a terrible realization took root.
This life was never meant to be hers.
When Illenia’s fall began again in the following days, Margaret found herself listening for one specific sound.
The snap that always preceded the explosions. That excruciating sound that echoed relentlessly in her ears, as if it was the sign that everything she loved was about to be taken away from her.
And when she finally followed that sound through the smoke and rain, she found him.
“Vanitas.”
He, who had always been there to watch Illenia’s fall.
“It was you.”
Her hands clenched at her sides, nails biting into flesh.
“All this time… you were the one taking everything from me!”
The explosions, the tragedies, every loss, was all his doing. From the beginning, up until the end.
Vanitas turned slowly as rainwater streamed down his face.
“Like I told you, Margaret.”
He took a step forward.
“This is not paradise.”
Margaret’s trembling hand found the hilt of her sword.
“This is hell.”
Another step closer.
“And you…”
The blade sang as she drew it, pointing at him as he continued.
“You don’t belong here.”