The crystal, gleaming transparent, drew closer and closer to Ophelia.

A nullstone.

This ordinary mineral was once considered worthless, but it had one terrible property: when forced into someone with holy or magical powers, it absorbed their strength.

It was Silveron who first discovered this.

“Ah, another sacred stone will be beautifully completed today.”

In a world without Ellatan’s magic, these stones could only absorb holy power.

As the clear jewel approached her skin, Ophelia squeezed her eyes shut.

“Now, now… don’t do that. You must watch the sacred stone being born.”

Silveron’s soft smile lingered as he brushed her eyelid with his cold fingers. Pressing firmly beneath her brow bone, he forced her eyes open, chuckling faintly.

The reflection of the Nullstone above her arm burned mercilessly into her clear, violet gaze.

“Ngh…”

The next instant, the jagged edge of the crystal cut into her flesh.

The pain of it burrowing into her raw skin made her eyes widen as if they were about to burst.

Silveron, entranced by the shimmer of tears spilling from her violet eyes, pressed the stone in even harder.

The translucent jewel slid into her body like a serpent’s tongue.

“Aaah!”

A scream tore from her lips, ripped out by monstrous agony.

Silveron wiped away the tears streaming down her face, cupping her cheek in his icy hand and whispering almost tenderly.

“There now… does it hurt?”

He ran his fingers lightly along her jaw before bending close to her. In a clear, falsely sweet voice, he whispered into her ear.

“But the Grand Duke… surely he suffered far more.”

“Hh…”

‘Chadwick.’

When she heard his name on Silveron’s lips, Ophelia clenched her teeth in pain. Even through the haze of pain clouding her mind, she could vividly picture Chadwick’s blood-stained gaze. She could still see his once steadfast grey eyes dimming and clouding over as they met hers.

“Since we can no longer trust our Saintess, you must at least provide us with sacred stones.”

Silveron’s voice was like a song as he looked at her violet eyes, filled with tears, with rapture.

Through her blurred vision, she saw him smiling, his lips curving elegantly as if he were savoring a cruel joke.

“So that the Grand Duke might be protected—and spared from being injured again, as he was that day.”

“Nngh…”

The pain was unbearable, accompanied by the sickening sensation of warmth being ripped from her body. The holy power that had always sustained her was being taken from her, as though her very lifeblood were being drained away. Ophelia trembled violently.

“Ah, ah, you mustn’t falter so soon.”

Silveron lowered himself, his hand gliding along the leather straps binding her body as though to soothe her.

Kneeling at her feet, he removed her shoes and kissed the top of her foot briefly.

“You don’t want to see him get hurt again, do you? Isn’t that right?”

Ophelia writhed faintly, powerless against her pain. As he observed her feeble resistance, Silveron remarked lightly, almost in jest:

“All of this is your fault.”

Ah.

At his hushed words, Ophelia’s fragile body froze, forgetting even to breathe.

In her violet eyes, veined with burst capillaries, Silveron’s image reflected stark and clear.

Licking his lips faintly, he pulled the nullstone from her arm. It gleamed blue with stolen holy power.

“Ngh…”

Instead, crimson blood welled up and spilled forth uncontrollably.

Silveron’s pale blue eyelashes fluttered with delight as he watched the pool spread, and a soft laugh escaped his lips.

“So, endure it a little longer. Otherwise, the Grand Duke will be the one forced to shoulder this work.”

“…”

“There is no one else alive who carries power as great as yours.”

At those words, Ophelia bit her lips hard enough to draw blood and closed her eyes.

Silveron, watching her with holy serenity on his face, lifted another nullstone toward her.

It was a long, unbearably long, day.

⚫ ⚫ ⚫

“Well. I suppose that was tolerable enough.”

Silveron smiled as he admired the chest filled to the brim with sacred stones.

That radiant blue glow!

Such flawless stones could only have been harvested by Ophelia. Not even the arrogant Grand Duke, Chadwick Dale Weibrick, could have done it.

Perhaps if he were ever captured, something else of value could be taken. But such uncertain matters could wait.

For now, the most important thing was to extract enough sacred stones from Ophelia.

Silveron sniffed and laughed, turning his head to look at her.

“My, my… are you in great pain?”

Her once shining silver hair was now stained red with blood and gleamed dimly. Her violet eyes, once said to resemble those of a goddess, had long since lost their light.

Beneath her cracked and torn lips, which had been used to bite back screams, her white gown still glimmered faintly, emitting a strange radiance.

Had she not been told? ‘Do not live in vanity, in greed, in desire.’

How arduous it was to discipline even a single human being!

Silveron’s brow furrowed faintly; then he noticed the sacred stones glowing at his feet. His expression softened again.

Well! Perhaps that’s enough for today.

Unexpected gains always taste sweet.

Silveron smiled gracefully and his eyes curved as he spoke in a languid tone once more.

“Don’t be too troubled by the pain. Ophelia, you know this well, don’t you?”

Having piled the sacred stones in a corner, Silveron approached, his robes heavy with blood.

At the sound of his voice, Ophelia’s fingers twitched, scraping helplessly against the rough stone of her chair.

“I’ll heal you completely.”

He smiled faintly as he laced his fingers through hers.

Immediately, the sacred stone around his neck flared up, flooding the chamber with a piercing blue light.

As its brilliance spilled forth, her torn flesh knitted together, her ruptured veins sealed, and her cracked, bloodless lips regained their soft, moist sheen.

Within moments, there was no trace of the torment that had ravaged her.

“Until we meet again, Ophelia.”

‘I’ll be waiting.’

Silveron pressed a fleeting kiss onto her dishevelled silver hair before leaving the room.

Only when he had fully disappeared did Ophelia’s lashes tremble and rise.

“Ah…”

A faint m*an escaped her lips as she pulled herself away from the chair, her body trembling violently.

Her steps were as fragile as a newborn creature’s and she faltered repeatedly before forcing herself forward and leaving the chamber behind.

“Nngh.”

Although her wounds had healed, the memory of the agony — the shocking pain that had ripped through her only moments before — clung to her mercilessly.

“Chadwick…”

To ease even some of that torment, she needed to be in his arms.

It didn’t matter if he was cold or if he never looked at her.

As long as he stayed by her side, the pain might fade.

Driven by this desperate thought, Ophelia stumbled across the temple, her steps unsteady.

Her white gown swept the floor, scattering softly behind her.

Her new shoes pinched her heels, but she scarcely felt it. All she could think about was Chadwick:

His cold body heat, the trace of his scent borne on the wind and the icy clarity of his gaze.

“You’ll be waiting.”

You promised you wouldn’t leave.

Even in the midst of unspeakable agony, she always thought of you.

She endured the flood of blood and the sobs of pain swallowed down her throat, and still the arms that never loosened their hold around her.

Clinging to that memory, she endured, recalling the voice that had comforted her all along.

—”Are you all right?”

She remembered that voice, which was slightly younger then, and the first words he had ever spoken to her.

With his unruly black hair awkwardly brushed back, he had reached out a large hand towards her.

He was the one who had saved her from her suffering; the one who brought her solace whenever she thought of him.

“…Chadwick.”

His name slipped from her lips, fragile, pleading.

Her violet eyes searched blindly, desperately, until at last they fixed on the carriage waiting at the foot of the stairs.

—”Where would I go?”

His voice echoed in her mind, steadying her unsteady steps.

She smoothed down her hair, ruffled by the wind, and walked slowly towards the carriage.

When she reached it, she forced a smile onto her lips.

Natural. As though nothing had happened.

‘That’s how you must smile.’

Repeating the thought to herself over and over, she reached for the handle of the black carriage.

The solid iron door creaked as it swung open.

“Chadwick!”

But only her voice echoed inside the empty carriage, trembling and forlorn.