Click—
The only sound that followed the pull of the trigger was a metallic snap.
“I emptied out the barrel. Before we left,” Margaret said, her face shadowed by a grim expression.
“….”
Vanitas couldn’t look at her.
“Don’t take your own life,” she added, stepping closer.
The silence between them grew heavy. His hand trembled around the empty weapon before he threw it away.
“….”
His gaze dropped to the bloodstained ground beneath him.
Margaret didn’t speak. She simply stood there, watching him. Her own hands clenched at her sides, as if holding herself together.
Because if she didn’t, who would?
She couldn’t ask that of Vanitas.
“Just let me…” Vanitas whispered. “I won’t truly die… I’ll just return to a certain point in time…”
His voice was empty, as though he were trying to convince not Margaret, but himself.
Somewhere, deep within his twisted reasoning of his grief, he clung to the belief…
No, the hope that this world, this version of reality, was merely another outcome amongst the many others within rivers of fate.
That if he pulled the trigger again, if he forced the loop, he might wake up in a time before all this.
But even that hope… felt like a lie he was telling himself.
Wind began to coil around his clenched fist. All of a sudden, Vanitas turned it on himself, tightening his own hand around his throat.
Alerted, Margaret rushed forward. Her tear-stricken face was twisted in panic as she tackled him to the ground, pinning him with trembling arms.
“Pull yourself together!”
“You said you’d do anything I asked!” Vanitas screamed back, struggling beneath her grip. “So get off me!”
“Do you really think Charlotte would want this?!” Margaret yelled, her voice breaking. “To have her brother kill himself because of her?!”
“She won’t want anything anymore!” Vanitas cried. “Because I couldn’t protect her!”
His chest heaved with every word. His voice cracked from the strain, and his face was soaked in tears.
“You’re not the only one who failed her!” Margaret shouted, her voice trembling. “I made an oath, do you remember? I was meant to protect her, too!”
Margaret held him tightly, refusing to let go even as the wind threatened to cut through her skin
“I accepted your coldness,” she went on, “those harsh words, because you’re right, damn it! I am part of the reason this happened!”
Her voice cracked at the end, filled with fury, guilt, and sorrow.
“But do you really think dying will fix this? That if you pull that trigger, you’ll wake up in some reality where none of this ever happened?!”
Margaret leaned close and gripped his collar, her forehead nearly touching his.
Her breath hitched, but she didn’t back down and continued in a whisper this time.
“Life doesn’t work that way, Vanitas… This is our reality… And if you throw yours away, if you let guilt eat you alive and abandon what’s left, then Charlotte will have truly died for nothing…”
Margaret’s shoulders trembled as she pressed her forehead against his chest as all the grief she’d been carrying came pouring out in sobs.
“….”
Vanitas didn’t move. His arms hung by his sides, and for a long moment, they simply stayed like that.
Then, quietly, Vanitas spoke, “Margaret.”
She didn’t respond. Her face was buried in his chest as her shoulders trembled between her sobs.
But Vanitas didn’t wait.
“I’m sick.”
“….”
Her crying slowed, and after a moment, she lifted her head to look at him.
“Very much so,” he said. “I’ve been sick for a long time.”
Margaret’s brows furrowed, confusion surfacing in her eyes. “What do you mean…?”
“I have cancer.”
The silence that followed was heavier than anything they had endured up until now.
“You can’t be—”
And then, it hit her.
The medications he took. The bottles he always kept close. The way he would sometimes disappear for hours, only to return looking pale and fatigued.
Her breath caught as one memory in particular resurfaced. The oral chemotherapy she had found in his drawer.
Her eyes widened.
“No…”
* * *
With his own two cold hands, Vanitas buried his little sister.
Bringing her body back, preserving it for a proper funeral, was never an option. Charlotte’s complexion was already far from human, and he knew she wouldn’t want anyone else to see her that way. Not even in death.
No, he didn’t want anyone to see her like that.
“I’ll do it,” Margaret said.
She didn’t wait for a response.
Gripping the hilt of her sword, she used the broad side of the blade to dig into the earth. The ground was firm and dry, but she kept going. Strike after strike, handful after handful, she dug out a grave big enough to lay Charlotte to rest.
Vanitas only watched. His eyes never left the motionless body of the girl he’d sworn to protect.
The promise he had once made to himself. That he would never make the same mistake again…
But fate, as always, was far too cruel, even in this life.
When the hole was finally ready, Margaret stood back, her chest heaving.
There was nothing left to say.
Vanitas moved without a word, cradling Charlotte as if she were still just asleep, as if she might wake up at any moment and complain about how tight he was holding her.
Gently, he laid her down in the grave.
For a long time, he just stood there, staring down at her peaceful face as if the painful expression she had shown him earlier never happened.
Then, kneeling beside the edge, he placed his hand over her chest, just above where her heart used to beat.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
A memory surfaced. A spell he had once taught a boy, and of that boy who had shown him, perhaps for the first time, just how beautiful magic could be.
At that moment, flowers of every color began to bloom from the soil, glowing like gentle incandescent lights. They sprouted around Charlotte’s body, as if it were a final farewell.
Vanitas ensured these flowers would never wither. Even if storms raged and time pressed on, they would stand firm. His mana, his presence, never leaving Charlotte’s side.
Behind him, Margaret stood quietly. She stepped closer and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“Are you… alright?”
“….”
There was no response.
Vanitas remained silent with his eyes fixed on the grave as if still waiting for a miracle that would never come.
Eventually, they began to turn back. But just then, a sudden clamor erupted nearby. The sound of metal clinking against the ground echoed.
“….”
“….”
Men in golden armor emerged, bearing the insignia of the cross.
The Holy Church’s Paladins had arrived.
Their leader, a tall man with a narrow jaw and cold eyes, stepped forward and unrolled a scroll.
“Vanitas Astrea. By witness testimonies and ecclesiastical decree, you are hereby summoned to stand trial before the Theocracy for the following charges; desecration of sacred ground, the murder of an ordained Cardinal, obstruction of holy proceedings, and the use of magic within a consecrated domain, classified under Code Sanctum 7:5 of the Ecclesial Holy Law.”
His eyes, full of contempt, narrowed on Vanitas as if he were a vermin.
“You are to surrender yourself to the custody of the Holy Tribunal for immediate transfer.”
Before Vanitas could speak, Margaret stepped forward without hesitation. Her back was straight and her sword was unsheathed as she pointed it toward the line of paladins.
“Step aside, Lady Knight,” one of the paladins warned, raising his shield. “We have no quarrel with you.”
“I don’t care what quarrel you do or don’t have,” she said. “If you want to touch him, you’ll have to go through me.”
A tentative silence followed.
And in that silence, a single laugh resounded.
“Hahaha….”
Vanitas’s.
His laugh was nearly unhinged as he stepped forward just slightly.
“Surrender?” he repeated. “On whose authority?”
The paladins stiffened, gripping their weapons tighter.
“The Holy Clergy,” one of the paladins declared, stepping ahead of the rest. “And Goddess Lumine herself.”
The mention of the goddess made his smirk only deepen.
Despite everything, Vanitas Astrea never acted with no insurance or contingencies.
“Lumine,” he repeated. “That same goddess who watched while her children were butchered under her banner? While her temples became breeding grounds for monsters in robes?”
He scoffed.
“Tell me, does she ever answer when you call her name, or is her silence your proof of righteousness?”
The paladins remained still.
Margaret didn’t move from her position in front of him. Her voice dropped when she spoke next.
“There will be no trial. You clergymen simply want a scapegoat for the sins of your institution.”
A murmur of outrage resounded through the paladins, until one stepped forward.
“This is blasphemy! Were it not for the Emperor’s insistence, we would have killed you here right now, Vantias Astrea!’
Yet despite the threats and the overwhelming number of armored paladins, Margaret ’s grip on her sword only tightened.
“Then may your goddess strike me down with lightning. Because I won’t let you take him.”
Just as the tension neared its breaking point, Vanitas placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Don’t waste your energy on these pigs,” he said coldly. “They can’t arrest me. Not even under holy sanctions.”
A paladin stepped forward, sneering. “What are you talking about?”
“As per the agreement of the Four Empires, only a Great Power has the right to implicate another Great Power.”
“So?” the paladin scoffed. “What are you getting at?”
“I, Vanitas Astrea, am the newest addition to the Great Powers, prematurely replacing the Scholar of Wisdom, Lance Ableton.”
The paladin opened his mouth to protest, but froze.
There had been witness accounts of a man claiming to be the Scholar of Wisdom at the church… but he had not been found, nor was he anywhere to be seen.
“You…” one of the paladins muttered.
“That’s right.”
“….”
“I killed him. With my own two hands.”
Gasps echoed among the paladins.
To declare oneself a Great Power was heresy. Only the unified approval of the Four Empires could elevate someone to the status of a walking national weapon.
To put things in perspective, the Great Powers were considered the most formidable individuals in the world. They were untouchable, even by emperors, giving them less restrictions as compared to regular people.
No matter how high one’s status, no one could lay a hand on them lightly. In fact, if a former Great Power ever went rogue, it was only another Great Power who could be called upon to stop them.
And yet, here he was, claiming the title so confidently.
Vanitas stepped forward, and Margaret followed. As if moved by instinct, the paladins parted, making way for them.
There were merits to his words. And if it was just a bluff, then it was a good one.
Because if Vanitas was truly lying about his strength being on par with a Great Power, then the real ones would come for him.
And when they did, the consequences wouldn’t just be severe.
They would be absolute.
“If you want me to listen,” he called out, not even looking back, “bring the Sword Saint.”
He paused for only a breath before continuing.
“Until then, stay in your cages and bark from behind your collars.”
* * *
The sun had already risen by the time Vanitas and Margaret returned to the mansion.
What met them was a group of anxious faces. People who looked like they hadn’t slept a single moment through the night.
“Lord Astrea! There’s a big problem…!” Evan, the butler, rushed toward him, gripping his shoulder tightly.
“I know.”
“W-What are you going to do? If this escalates further, then you’re—”
Evan stopped midsentence as he looked around the room. The others were doing the same, as if they were all searching for someone who should’ve been there.
“Professor…”
Among them, it was Silas who couldn’t seem to stop looking around.
Vanitas stepped past Evan, ignoring Silas.
“I won’t,” he said. “They can’t do anything to me.”
There was a certainty in his voice that soothed Evan’s worry. He had seen the Lord accomplish impossible things. At this point, there was no other choice but to believe him.
As Vanitas tried to ascend the stairs, walking past Silas, Ezra, Arwen, and the rest of the mansion’s staff, a hand suddenly reached out and tapped his shoulder.
“Professor. Where’s—”
“Go home.”
Silas blinked. “…What?”
“Go home, now.”
“H-Hey… she’s just… in the hospital, right? I-I mean, with all that chaos you caused in the church… it was them, wasn’t it? You saved her, right?”
His voice cracked.
“Right…?”
“Are you deaf? I said go home.”
“P-Professor…” Silas’s voice trembled. “W-Where’s Charlotte…?”
The mood in the room darkened. Everyone else fell silent.
Then came a weak, hysterical laugh from Silas.
“Haa… This can’t be real… I haven’t even apologized properly… I haven’t even made up with her…”
“And that’s your fault,” Vanitas replied coldly, not even sparing him a glance. “So don’t look at me like you’re trying to pin this on me.”
Silas’s lips trembled. “She’s your little sister. If anything, you should be the one hurting the most out of all of us. But… why do you look like—”
“Hey, man,” Ezra interrupted, stepping in quickly. “Stop talking.”
But Silas wasn’t done. His shaky voice rose. “Why aren’t you breaking down? Why aren’t you crying? Wasn’t she everything to you?!”
“Go home.”
Without another word, he ascended the stairs, leaving everyone behind. He entered his office and shut the door behind him.
The silence that followed was deafening.
He hadn’t slept since returning from the rift. Since attacking the Church. Since murdering Lance Ableton.
….Since killing his own little sister.
His mind spiraled. And if that wasn’t enough, there were the things Abyss, the figure that looked like Chae Eunah, had revealed to him.
Several truths he couldn’t ignore.
“This is all too ridiculous….”
The idea that he had lived a life before Chae Eunwoo was hard to swallow. But the circumstantial evidence was hard to ignore.
His fists trembled, nails biting into his palms.
“Just what the hell did you do to anger the world, Archmage Zen?!”
His fury exploded, and with a loud crack, he slammed the table with all his strength, shattering it in an instant.
“Because of you… Because of you…!”
He was cursed.
The fury gave way to despair. He raked his fingers through his hair, breathing heavily.
A knock on the door broke the silence.
It opened slowly, and in came Arwen Ainsley in her wheelchair, pushed by a maid. The maid stood respectfully by the corner in silence.
Arwen stopped a few feet in front of him.
“Professor… Firstly, I’d like to express my condolences, and second… I’m sorry about Silas’s behavior.”
Her expression mirrored his grief. She looked like she might cry herself.
Vanitas said nothing, watching her blankly.
“I… I have something for you,” she added, holding out a small folder. “I don’t know if it means anything, but…”
She gently handed it to him. Then, with a respectful bow of her head, she turned away.
“I’ll leave you alone.”
The maid wheeled her outside, leaving Vanitas once again in his office.
He sat there for a moment, staring at the folder in his hands. Slowly, he opened it.
“….”
[Out of Time.]
It was a script for a theater play.
“This…” he murmured, voice barely audible.
His hands trembled as he held the pages. It didn’t take much to realize that this was something Charlotte had been preparing as a surprise.
A performance where she would take the lead. A story she wanted to share with him.
Vanitas began to read.
At first, it felt lighthearted. A play about an aspiring doctor and her older brother. The writing was playful and humorous.
But as he read on, the atmosphere was gradually changing.
Subtle hints between dialogues. Moments of reflection.
And then, a gut-wrenching reveal.
“….”
The older brother was sick.
Terminally ill. And it wasn’t until the latter stages that the truth came to light.
And with that, the sister had resolved to save him.
And in the end…
The ending was a happy one.
She saved her brother. He had survived an impending tragedy.
“….”
Vanitas froze and his fingers clutched the script tighter as he realized a certain truth.
“….She knew.”
Charlotte had known this whole time about his cancer.