Reaching out, Robellia grabbed Akan’s hand as it lay limp on the bed and brought it to her throat. The hand, devoid of strength, gave easily to her pull.

“If you don’t… I’ll jump out the window.”

She looked at the window. They both knew it wasn’t fully open, that it couldn’t lead to an escape. It wasn’t much of a threat, but it conveyed her intention clearly enough. It was enough to bring life to the emptiness in Akan’s eyes.

Akan’s hand cupped Robellia’s slender neck, but there was no force behind it.

He no longer knew for whom this vengeance was meant. Even as his chest felt as if it were being torn apart, he wondered if revenge could ever solve anything. Could it ever make the excruciating pain go away?

Robellia placed her hand on Akan’s back, which was lightly wrapped around her neck. Her desire to free Akan from his torment by offering her life was genuine, but perhaps it was a selfish wish of her own to want it at his hand.

“Akan, I forgive you.”

To forgive was to understand. It meant she could understand even the cruelest days, accept them as part of his history. Akan deserved that much.

The only person Robellia could not forgive was herself. Too much blood had been shed because of her mistakes. She wasn’t the only one drowning in the river of blood – it had also consumed Akan, the one person she wanted to protect the most, the one person she had destroyed in the worst possible way.

Pressing harder against the back of his hand, Robellia tightened his grip around her neck as if to end it himself.

“And you… you should forgive yourself as well.”

Throughout the night, the two had shared a fleeting dream of happiness, but now morning came. Rather than wake up to the harshness of reality, it was better to end it all here. Robellia was simply keeping her promise – she was leaving, just as she had said she would.

Akan climbed onto Robellia’s body, as he had done when they had shared intimacy, and positioned himself above her. This time, however, the hand that rested lightly on her neck exerted a slight pressure. Finally, it was time to say goodbye.

Robellia thought it would be right to close her eyes, to make it easier for Akan. But she couldn’t. She wanted one last look at the face she would never see again.

“Robellia, I… I… love you.”

Robellia shook her head. She didn’t want to hear it, nor did she need to. Whatever words Akan chose to say, the burden of regret would always rest on the one left behind, and she didn’t want to leave him with that weight.

The pressure on her neck increased sharply, his grip tightening with decisive force. Robellia bit her lip to stifle the sound of pain, forcing herself to smile despite the urge to grimace. She wanted him to remember her at her most beautiful, even at this moment.

“Robel…”

Tears fell from Akan’s eyes and trickled down Robellia’s cheeks. To her, it was like rain falling on a barren desert – painfully beautiful.

Robellia wanted to reach out and touch his tears, but her arms wouldn’t move. All she could do was resist the instinct to claw at the hand pressing against her neck.

Her face flushed and tears streamed down her cheeks, tears she couldn’t hold back. Her vision blurred and eventually she couldn’t keep her eyes open. As her oxygen dwindled, her thoughts began to scatter chaotically.

She wished for Akan to complete his revenge, forget her completely and live a long and happy life. After all, they would meet again in hell one day, so at least until then…

But contradictory thoughts arose unbidden. A voice inside her wanted to know if she really cared for Akan or if she was just fooling herself.

‘Don’t forget me. Forget me.’

‘Die with me. Be happy.’

Both wishes, completely contradictory, were equally her truth.

The last image to emerge from the fading edges of her consciousness was that of a beaming boy.

“Hello, Princess.”

Akan.

The truth is, I…

—

Within a few years of the new imperial dynasty, the number of noble families had halved. Those that survived clung to the barest thread of existence, adrift in a court where even the faintest semblance of unity had been shattered by the unpredictable Emperor.

It was a time of despair so deep that the very thought of taking the Imperial Palace seemed unthinkable. But from the depths of this darkness, a glimmer of hope suddenly sparked.

“Let us depose the Emperor.”

Once again, at the heart of this newfound hope was none other than Duke Mos.

A year ago, a rift opened between Akan Roxas and Duke Mos, the man who put him on the throne. The cause, not surprisingly, was the Emperor’s ruthless nature.

The Emperor had imprisoned Viscount Ansley, a loyal servant of Duke Mos and one of his most trusted allies. The stated reason was embezzlement of state funds, but Duke Mos personally vouched for Ansley’s innocence.

But no one could stop the Emperor, who was consumed by madness. After executing Viscount Ansley, the Emperor went on to purge more than half of Duke Mos’s faction. In doing so, he was essentially cutting off his own limbs, for the Emperor and the Duke had once been inseparable in their rule.

By the time the relentless purges had reduced the Empire’s noble class to less than a third of what it had been during the previous dynasty, the situation had reached its breaking point.

“No, we will abolish the monarchy altogether.”

Duke Mos had started a revolution. Resurrecting the ancient concept of a republic from the annals of history, he promised a new era, uniting nobles and commoners alike under a common vision. With the Empire’s central figure leading the movement, the revolutionary forces easily captured the Imperial Palace.

In a forgotten, unused corner of the palace, now deserted, two m*n faced each other once more.

“It’s a beautiful day.”

Said Akan, his casual remark at odds with the scene around him. The room he occupied was dark, each window covered with thick curtains that blocked any view of the outside. Leaning lazily against a long sofa, he looked like a man who had nothing to do with the burning palace.

“Well done.”

Duke Mos said, bowing formally, a blood-stained sword in his hand. Droplets of blood fell from the blade, staining the carpet below, but neither man cared to ruin a place destined to be consumed by flames.

“The plan has been successfully executed. The Empire is…”

“I don’t think I need worry about what comes next.”

The plan had worked so flawlessly that a toast would have been in order. Countless lives had been lost, but Duke Mos truly believed it had been worth it.

From the beginning, Duke Mos had been enamoured with the idea of a republic, where the nation would be governed by representatives of the many, rather than by a single hereditary monarch. Even if a good ruler was crowned now, there was no guarantee that the next generation would follow suit.

To achieve his vision, however, a period of transition was necessary. Someone to play the role of tyrant, spilling the blood of the obstructionists, and then disappear cleanly at the end – a final emperor to be remembered as a necessary evil.

“Our interests simply coincided, nothing more. So spare me the look of someone burdened with guilt.”

Akan said, his expression weary as he raised a glass of wine to his lips. For him, revenge was long over.

Though currently overshadowed by the infamy of Akan Roxas, the honour of the late Duke Roxas would undoubtedly take its rightful place in the annals of history. To ensure this, Akan had deliberately refrained from glorifying his father’s legacy. A monster like him had to be judged separately from the noble man his father had been.

When it was all over, Akan’s only desire was to rest. Like the others who had come together temporarily for their individual purposes, they too had achieved their goals and gone their separate ways. Many former slaves who had become soldiers chose the world of rest over the new world that had been offered to them. It was as if a soul, once broken, could never be truly repaired.

Before they finally parted, Duke Mos made a final offer to Akan, whose eyes held the same weariness and emptiness as those of the soldiers.

“Think again. The fire will soon spread and the corridors are already littered with corpses.”

The plan had been in place for a long time. The stage had been perfectly set for over two months now, only the final curtain had to fall. The delay had been caused by Duke Mos, as the two disagreed on how the final act should be performed.

What Duke Mos needed was the death of the Emperor, not the life of Akan Roxas. But none of the numerous exit strategies he had prepared proved useful. What Akan wanted was complete silence – nothing less.

Akan looked at the Duke with unfamiliar eyes and put down his glass. Even after staining himself with so much blood, did this old man still consider himself human? Perhaps he was drunk on the role of hero he had chosen for himself.

“You’re being unnecessarily sentimental. It’s a bit late for regrets, isn’t it? Why don’t you go ahead and reserve your place in hell?”

With a sigh, Duke Mos took one step at a time towards the Emperor. The trail he left was marked with crimson footprints, soaked in the blood that stained his shoes.

Though Duke Mos had been the one to manipulate Akan’s thirst for revenge, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity for the boy who had willingly become a demon over the years. Perhaps on the day he killed Princess Robellia, Akan Roxas had already decided to meet his own end. Or perhaps his soul had died even earlier.

Today, Akan’s pale hair seemed eerily lifeless to Duke Mos, like that of a man long dead.

Once again, Mos bowed deeply, this time with true respect. Whatever the records said about him, Akan Roxas had undoubtedly changed the course of history.

“Thank you.”

Duke Mos raised the blood-soaked sword high into the air. Akan stared at the closed window with a detached gaze.

‘Were the flowers blooming outside?’

Even if the fires that raged across the grounds had burned the gardens to ashes, the birds would have flown high into the sky unharmed.

Whoosh

The blade sliced through the air, catching the faint glow of the candle that lit the dim room even at midday and turning it golden. Next to the empty wine glass on the table lay an old deck of cards, faded and missing a piece.

The perfect revenge had come to an end.