“I don’t know much, but I know this,” Lette whispered. “The man you are now… isn’t the man she hoped you’d become.”

Of course. She might chastise him for living this way if she could see him now. She might scold him, drag him out of the swamp of despair. Or perhaps she’d grow tired of him and leave without looking back.

But those were mere fantasies. She couldn’t see him. As Lette had said, she was dead. The dead were just… dead.

There had been a time when the finality of that truth had plunged him into despair when he had clawed at his chest in anguish. There had been nights like that. But now, even that feeling was unfamiliar to him. All his senses had dulled, except for the memory of the sunlight on the day he lost her. That memory was unnervingly vivid.

A man consumed by despair, Ruben no longer embodied hope or courage. The name Ruben Effenberg, once a symbol of virtue, had become synonymous with despair. Those who abandoned their expectations of him and planned for a future without him were wise.

But they couldn’t.

Because he was Ruben Effenberg. Because there was no one else who could wield the power of that name.

What a foolish man, Lette thought.

Lette sighed inwardly as she watched Ruben remain unresponsive to her sharp words.

No matter what she said, she knew she could not change his heart, save him from his despair. Salvation, when undesired, could feel like violence. It was a bitter realization, too late to make a difference.

Yet, despite knowing this, Lette could not stop herself from reaching out to him, even though she knew he would not take her hand. She coaxed, soothed, and scolded him, urging him to keep going.

Was she cruel for continually offering her hand, knowing that leaving him thrashed in despair might be better for him?

I know.

Lette clenched her fists so tightly that her nails dug into her palms.

He acts as though he’s already dead, yet he is still alive. She understood that this was his dilemma and that she had to exploit it. She was trapped in this cruel cycle with him, unable to break free.

At times like this, she couldn’t help but imagine a different future where things hadn’t turned out this way. Somewhere in the irretrievable past, there must have been a choice, a path toward another outcome. Perhaps it was a possibility she had overlooked or one someone else had missed. That lingering regret constantly drew her gaze backward.

If only any of them had dared extend a hand to one another, if only they had the strength to cling to each other, begging for salvation. If they had, they wouldn’t have ended up here. Even if they had failed, at least they wouldn’t be writhing in the agony of loss, feeling this wretched guilt, where the mere fact of their survival felt like a noose tightening around their necks.

“Brother, I—”

“Lady Saint!”

Before Lette could finish, someone rushed toward her, calling out urgently. Cherny had taken over as the face of the knights after Ruben stepped down as commander.

After Helia’s passing, Ruben had withdrawn, working behind the scenes to strategize and lead. He refused to enter the spotlight, fearing he might be hailed as a hero or remembered in the annals of history. Ruben was meticulously thorough in every action, ensuring that all honor and recognition went to others. He felt relief in this. He feared even the slightest glimmer of light touching him. All he wanted was to be unrelentingly harsh on himself. That was his only wish.

Cherny, reluctantly placed at the head of the knights by royal decree, felt a pang of guilt when the knights under his command trusted and followed him so completely. He knew it wasn’t entirely his to claim. But no matter how heavy that burden was, it paled compared to Ruben’s. The man relentlessly threw himself into peril, desperate to inflict a more significant punishment upon himself. Compared to him, even false glory felt like an indulgence.

“…”

Cherny habitually glanced at Ruben, but Ruben was no longer someone who should bear the weight of his gaze. With a heavy heart, Cherny quickly looked away, his eyes shifting to Lette, who stood as the kingdom’s new ruler.

Cherny knelt before her with a solemn expression.

“I report, Your Grace. The last stronghold has surrendered.“

“Then…”

“Yes. The conquest is complete.“

Cherny’s voice trembled as he delivered the report.

This was the day they had all awaited, the moment they had long dreamed of. Yet why did it feel so devastating? Bringing this good news made him feel like a terrible person, as though he had shattered something precious. It was as if he were a brute, forcing someone out of much-needed rest, intruding upon their fragile solace.

“I…”

Though he knew he had done nothing wrong, Cherny’s voice faltered. Still, he pressed on resolutely.

“Everyone is waiting for you, Your Grace.“

“…I understand.“

Lette’s response came haltingly, her voice hollow, as though she wished to remain where she stood.

But it was time to go. There was no more time to dwell on what had been lost.

Lette turned to look at Ruben. He still gazed at her with his usual expressionless face. When their eyes met, he faintly lifted the corners of his mouth. But Lette couldn’t bring herself to call it a smile.

“It seems I can no longer speak to you informally,“ 

“Brother…”

Ruben did not reply. He knew he could no longer be addressed by that name. Just as the past could not be undone, the tender bond they had shared as siblings ended here. The days of being dragged forward by the future were over.

“Go now, Your Majesty. It is time to wear your crown.”

His voice was low and cold, almost detached. Lette couldn’t hide the bitterness in her heart.

A glory she would have been better off without. Sitting on a throne admired by all felt more like a punishment than an honor. No, it was a punishment. To erase herself and guard that seat for the rest of her life was the penance she knew she had to bear.

“But…“

“Don’t worry.”

“...”

“You know, don’t you? I cannot die anyway.”

She did know. And that was precisely why she worried. If only she could wrap her hands around his neck and end it herself, perhaps she wouldn’t feel this way.

But in the end, she said nothing. Lette averted her gaze from him and turned toward the knights waiting for her.

Her steps were heavy, like a condemned prisoner walking to the gallows as she left the room. Finally, Ruben was alone.

“…”

Ruben watched her retreating figure until she disappeared from view. Only then did he slowly shift his gaze. His eyes landed on the ruins that stretched out before him.

After a long silence, a voice escaped his lips.

“…This is the future you wanted.”

Though no one was there to hear him, he continued speaking.

“Don’t you want to see it? The future you so desperately longed for.”

Naturally, there was no answer. Only the man remained alive and breathing in the desolate landscape where dry winds blew.

At an excruciatingly slow pace, he knelt on one knee before the shattered throne. In the empty ruins, the man gradually crumbled.

“I… want to see it.”

His voice, trembling with the effort to suppress tears, cracked. The man clenched his fists so tightly that it hurt. The remnants of the burned building crumbled into dust in his grasp, scattering into the wind. Soon darkened and smudged, his hands felt nothing but the futility of holding onto anything real.

If he could meet her again in death, he would have embraced it without hesitation. Even if she couldn’t forgive him, even if she despised him. If she resided in hell, he would crawl his way there, unrelenting, to find her. He wouldn’t have hesitated if such a reunion were possible. But even death offered no guarantees; all he could do was surrender himself to the ache of longing for her.

I miss you so much it hurts.