The Arlo Assembly sought to spread their ideology from the south, where imperial influence was at its weakest. In times of unrest, people were easily swayed by provocative rhetoric. Encouraged by their success in inciting revolts in Duvris and elsewhere, the Arlo Assembly believed they could do the same in the Cremisa Empire.

However, acting on prior instructions from Kenneth, the southern patrol units had already been monitoring the Arlo Assembly closely. Acting swiftly, they arrested the infiltrators one by one.

The local authorities marvelled at the Duke’s foresight. But they were perplexed when he announced that he would come in person to oversee the operation. Was it truly necessary for the head of such a powerful house to oversee things in person?

Kenneth knew he had to go. It wasn’t enough to simply give orders from afar. Not when the stakes were this high. Only by witnessing everything with his own eyes could he feel at ease.

After all, the saints had not only preached, they had also walked among the people.

‘I’ll burn every last memory of these days into my mind, and then I’ll die.’

Ironically, it was his own body that was failing him now. The same body that had once endured a gunshot wound had been worn down over time by drugs. He had taken increasingly large and frequent doses just to catch glimpses of Ariana’s illusion. His collapse was only a matter of time.

At last, the reckoning he couldn’t escape had arrived.

‘Will I let the medicine rot me from the inside? Or quit—and never see Ariana again?’

Arms folded, Kenneth stared down at the vial in his hand. While he weighed that choice, the apparition beside him laid her head upon his shoulder.

“Kenneth… what will you do?”

The days spent alone with this vision had been like a dream. Under clear sunlight and gentle breezes they walked hand in hand. Yet every time Ariana smiled, he felt the knife-edge of truth:

“You’re an illusion. The real Ariana never smiled at me like that. This is nothing but the damned fantasy I invented.”

And still—he needed her so badly that he was willing to poison himself to keep her near.

At last, Kenneth tilted the vial and let its contents pour out. A dark stain spread across the carpet. He turned to the apparition, who watched in silent sorrow—born of his own heart, mirroring his own regret.

Cupping her ethereal cheek, he whispered.

“Today is the end.”

“…”

“No more appearances. Not ever again.”

“Won’t you regret it? Won’t you miss me?”

“I will.”

His voice remained steady as he answered, even though the last of the liquid had soaked into the rug and the vision was beginning to fade.

Though she was only a phantom, Kenneth knew that his longing to see Ariana would destroy him. But if he gave in to that desire and turned his back on the real Ariana and his duty to her, everything would fall apart.

He drew the vision gently into his arms. He knew this embrace was an illusion, but he needed to strengthen his resolve.

“…If you ever bear a child.”

“Yes.”

“Then you must leave me. Even if we cross paths again, never live by my side.”

“…”

“No matter how I plead or threaten—promise me.”

“Is there truly no future where we stay together?”

“None.”

Kenneth shook his head and half-closed his shadowed eyes, which had witnessed the disappointment of countless broken dreams. For a moment, he had tasted the sweetness of fantasy. Perhaps Ariana’s soft heart would relent if he refused to let go. In this false future, he would cradle Ariana and their child without making any sacrifices, turning her misfortune into his own opportunity.

But the time for such selfishness was over. Kenneth Clifford had to disappear from Ariana’s life.

“People don’t change, Ariana. Perhaps you did after death, but I haven’t.”

“…”

“I’m far too late. I know there’s no road back for me.”

“Yes… you really are terribly late.”

The apparition laughed with a low, tearful sound. Her form began to dissolve in his arms like a mirage, the sunlight rippling across the floor in gentle waves.

After a long time, when almost nothing of her remained, the fading woman whispered one last thing so softly that it seemed to be part of the breeze. Then she was gone.

“Kenneth, before you leave for the south… please plant flowers on our child’s grave.”

“…What kind?”

“Something gentle. Nothing too gaudy… and no thorns, please.”

“I will.”

“And nothing with a heavy fragrance. I’m afraid it might make our little one struggle to breathe. Choose something that blooms and withers without hurting anyone.”

“I understand.”

When his answer fell quiet, the apparition rose on tiptoe and brushed a light kiss against his cheek.

“…Good-bye, Kenneth.”

Ariana’s voice trailed off. He loosened his embrace, only to find sunlit motes of gold swirling like a slow vortex where she had been standing. He stood as though he had turned to weather-worn stone for a long time. The heat building behind his eyes was painful, so he covered them with one hand.

The sunlight on his back was dazzling; today, more than ever, its brilliance felt unbearable.

‘We could have been happy.’

If he hadn’t been such a fool, Ariana would still be alive and well and living peacefully. Their child would be toddling through the garden by now.

‘Our daughter… Beatrice.’

She would soon have turned three. He pictured her blonde hair and blue eyes, just like her mother’s, lighting up as she ran towards them. Shaded by a white parasol, she would laugh and glance back at him.

Such a life might have been possible.

Yet he knew that, as long as he remained the same, Ariana could never have been happy.

At last, he stood up and stepped away from the pool of cold sunlight. When he passed through the doorway, every trace of anguish vanished. He returned with the razor-sharp composure of a man who would not crumble.

He had no right to do so. And so, he would not break.

***

Before departing for the south, Kenneth planted flowers around his daughter’s grave. To him, violets best matched the vision’s request—small and fragile, like his little girl, with roots so shallow they wouldn’t disturb the earth.
When he finally walked away, white and violet blossoms swayed gently over the soil where Beatrice rested.
Kenneth would never return to the ducal estate where his wife and child were buried.

***

The crackdown on the Arlo Assembly in the south should have been seen as a victory. Having travelled to assess Cremisa’s “ripeness” for themselves, the group’s leaders had been captured, effectively extinguishing any hope of stirring rebellion within the Empire. If things continued on this path, the movement’s influence in other nations would also likely begin to fade.

However, as previously mentioned, the raid was not entirely successful.

At the last moment, a red-haired thug struggled violently, helping several of his accomplices to escape and wrest weap*ns from the constables.

The square in front of Saint Colette’s Cathedral was filled with the smell of blood.

Kenneth staggered inside, clutching his abdomen where he had been shot. The priests had fled in panic, leaving the vast nave silent as a tomb.

He made it as far as the altar before collapsing to his knees.

“Haa… haa…”

Staring at his blood-slick palms, he let out a laugh laced with iron. So he would die from a bullet rather than drugs — life was truly impossible to predict.

A spasm of crimson coughing wracked his body, heat flaring in his lungs.

“Kh—koff…!”

Pain and death did not frighten him. Only one thing filled him with dread: what would become of Ariana? Leaning against the altar, he shut his eyes against the agony.

‘Had he succeeded?’

Before darkness swallowed his vision, a familiar voice spoke to him—calm and steady.

“Kenneth, you stubborn soul.”

“Hah…”

“You’ve done it—barely in time, but still.”

Kenneth closed his eyes as a sound suspiciously like laughter escaped from him. The saint had demanded the impossible, and yet they had succeeded.

“Then… with this—”

“Ariana will return at the perfect moment—once she has Beatrice. I’ll be there to help her.”

Kenneth didn’t have the strength to speak; he only managed a faint nod. The pain had dulled to a low thrum, and a creeping coldness was settling into his body—his time was nearly up. Sensing this, Saint Colette softened her voice.

“Kenneth, even if all of this sprang from your own ruthlessness, you have done everything that could be done.”

“…”

“So tell me—when I meet Ariana, is there anything you want her to hear?”

Blood smeared his lips as they parted.

“…To Ariana…”

‘’I love you.

When faced with death, nothing else truly mattered. Here, misunderstandings and quarrels were powerless, and only pure emotion remained.

“After she died… tell her I forgot her.”

And that was all the more reason to remain silent.