The Crown Prince’s chamber, empty of its master, was quieter than the halls outside.

Irynsis swept her gaze across the room with dry, emotionless eyes. Nothing had changed. The bed where she had once been chained like a dog, the pillar where he had strung her up to lash her, even the vase that should have been shattered along with her skull—everything remained.

Nightmares seemed to drift through the air here, clinging to every corner. It was filth, a suffocating stench of memory. Her nerves stood on edge as though she were walking barefoot over blades.

And then—

“Ah…?”

Startled, Irynsis pressed her hand to her belly.

It had only lasted a moment, but from deep inside came a faint stirring. Like bubbles rising and popping, or a feather brushing lightly against her inner wall.

“Irynsis! What is it?”

Cassion had slipped in through the garden window, but the sight of her clutching her stomach made him rush to her side. His eyes, out of habit, searched her face intently.

“Your color seems fine…”

“I’m all right, it’s just…” 

She tilted her head uncertainly before whispering. 

“I think the baby moved.”

Cassion’s eyes widened. His trembling hand rose to her belly, gently tracing the slight curve. He held it there for a long moment, then pulled back, puzzled.

“I can’t feel anything.”

“Of course not. It was faint—I could barely tell myself.”

But she was certain. The presence was small, but it was real, undeniable.

“I never thought this room would give me a good memory.” 

Cassion, disappointed that he had felt nothing, brushed her hair back tenderly. Meeting his eyes, Irynsis gave him a soft smile.

The place was still foul, but no longer frightening. She was not alone anymore.

“We need to find the relic quickly and leave.”

“Right. Once we’re home, I won’t let this little one rest until I feel him kick under my hand.”

Irynsis scolded him for speaking so sternly while grinning ear to ear.

Together they entered the study adjoining the chamber.

Without hesitation, Irynsis thr*st her hand deep into the bottom of the desk drawer beneath the tall window.

Her fingers closed around a small, glittering key.

“Take that painting down.”

At her gesture, Cassion lifted away the large painting that hung between the bookshelves. Behind it, a safe was revealed.

“Hiding something that big back there—typical.”

He took the key from her and turned it in the lock. With a heavy click, the door swung open.

Inside, filling most of the space, was a single object: a heavy iron cage. He dragged it out onto the floor with effort.

Within lay an egg, slightly larger than that of an ordinary bird.

“This is it?”

“It is, but…” 

Irynsis trailed off, sending her power flowing into it just to be sure.

At her touch, white light spread across the shell, shimmering like moonlight on water.

No doubt—it was the sacred relic of Ventus.

“Then what’s wrong?” 

“I never thought it would be sealed inside an iron cage.”

In all her lives, she had never seen such a thing. The small safe behind the painting had always been the final lock.

‘Is this another change born from the path I’ve altered?’

Perhaps. But this was no time to dwell on it. She shook the thought away.

“This cage is new to me. I don’t know how it opens, or where the key is.”

If they couldn’t remove the relic, everything they had risked tonight would be in vain.

Cassion seized a paperweight from the desk and brought it down hard against the bars. The crash echoed through the chamber, but the cage did not yield.

“This won’t work.”

The sound was one thing—but the bars themselves seemed impossibly strong, and worse, he feared the egg might shatter if they kept striking it.

“Should we take the whole thing?”

It was large and heavy—smuggling it out would be no easy task. But leaving it behind was unthinkable.

He glanced out the window, gauging where he might drop it. Just as he was weighing the risks, Irynsis, deep in thought, reached out her hand.

***

‘All the way to the guest palace, just to rest?’

Declan’s thoughts churned as he quickened his pace.

Of course, it wasn’t strange on the surface. A ducal couple of Pathsbender’s stature could enjoy such privileges freely. To most nobles, lodging in the Imperial Palace was an honor they would boast of for a lifetime.

But because it was Cassion and Irynsis, it was strange.

He knew Irynsis loathed this palace, never wanting to set eyes on it again. Cassion too—he avoided court functions and society alike. They had already been received by the Emperor and showered with praise for their generous tribute. In truth, even if they left the banquet hall immediately, no one could call it improper. And even if some dared to, none would openly reproach them.

So why linger? Why rest in the guest palace, and even stroll its gardens? Unless Irynsis’s health was truly failing…

Declan smirked. Of course—it was my own hand that ruined her body, piece by piece.

Yet Pathsbender’s townhouse was close by. They had no need to remain here at all.

Suspicion had been gnawing at him for days.

‘Irynsis, do you remember as well?’

Perhaps even longer than he had. In life after life, almost the only true variable—always changing—was Irynsis. In fact, nearly every deviation in his cycles had stemmed from her.

“You really are the perfect prey.”

Blood surged hot in his veins. Ever since recovering his memories, thoughts of her had brought back color and fire to his life. No opium high could compare. The more she fled and slipped away, the more the flame roared inside him. The tantalizing nearness, just beyond his grasp, drove him to madness.

And so—shouldn’t the hunter give just as much zeal in the chase?

Declan drew a small silver key from his pocket, twirling it lazily between his fingers.

He had ordered the cage built not long after his memories returned. If Irynsis were to come for anything, it would be the relic of Ventus. Of course she knew precisely where and how it was kept. He could have moved it elsewhere, somewhere unknown to her, but that would defeat the point.

The face of the prey, at the instant hope dies—that was the most dazzling moment.

So if she had stayed in the palace for any reason, it was likely this: to steal into his chambers, into that very room that had been her hell, to find the relic.

And Declan meant to see her there with his own eyes—see her discover the iron cage, locked against her, and watch her pale face crumble into despair. Then watch her terror when he stepped into the room.

By the time he reached the Crown Prince’s wing, his steps were nearly a trot, and a tuneless hum spilled from his lips. Guards straightened stiffly at the sight of him.

“Your Highness, you’ve returned.”

“She’s waiting inside.”

Declan paused, one brow arching. 

“Waiting? Who?”

“The lady you call for every day, sire. We were told you commanded her to await you in the bedchamber.”

“Pft—pahahahaha!”

Declan burst into ringing laughter. He had never given such an order. There was only one woman whose face might fool the guards into such a mistake.

“Yes… of course. I summoned her.”

The guards exchanged nervous glances. The Crown Prince was the most mercurial creature in the palace—his moods boiling like a cauldron. But at least this time, he seemed amused.

“The door—no, I’ll open it myself. Stand aside.”

They leapt back as he laid a hand on the latch.

He ignored the bedchamber, slipping instead through the side door into the study. For an instant he fancied he smelled her scent there.

But the room was empty.

“…Hah. Irynsis—you make me want to kill you.”

His voice cut the air to ice.

Curtains fluttered in the night breeze through an open window. On the wall, the painting had been pulled aside, the safe laid bare.

And beneath it, the iron cage—emptied, discarded on the floor.