"Did you... do something?" Charles asked, his voice trembling despite himself. He could sense something was wrong. There was no way everyone should be lying on the ground at once—not the imperial guards.

Ren didn’t answer at first. He only looked at him.

Then, softly, almost too softly, he said, "Why? Are you afraid of the powers you’ve only heard of?"

The crimson glow in his eyes deepened, the colour of fresh blood.

"G-Go away," Charles stammered, stumbling backward until his spine hit the cold wall of the cell.

He could sense that this man wasn’t here only to reveal his identity. If he had meant to keep it hidden, that would mean he wouldn’t let him off the hook easily now that Charles knew the truth.

Ren’s lips curved slightly. It wasn’t amusement—it was relief.

To see the man who once terrorized him trembling... it didn’t bring joy. It only quieted the ache that had grown inside him throughout the years.

"You know," he began, voice steady, low, only audible to Charles, "you have always scared me."

His tone barely wavered, yet something in it made the air heavier.

"Ilyan used to ask me why. I never had an answer. Because surely," he tilted his head, "you are just a powerless human, aren’t you?"

A faint golden shimmer began to form around Ren’s fingers, pulsing gently like the heartbeat he tried to control.

"Maybe it was the terror you planted in me."

He raised a hand—hesitant, fingers trembling—and with a small flick, the light blast forward, striking Charles’s left knee.

The man screamed, collapsing to the floor, clutching his legs. The sound of his cries resonated within the stone walls.

Ren’s breath hitched, his expression unreadable. He didn’t stop. Another flick. Then another. His magic struck the man’s hands, his ankles—each time drawing out another raw, desperate cry.

Charles squirmed, his voice cracking, tears steaming down his cheeks.

Ren stood still, watching, his pulse quickened. His fingers trembled—not from fear, but restraint.

"This," he said quietly, "is how it feels to lose your fated mate."

Charles tried to glare through the pain, his mouth opening soundlessly.

Ren stared at him for a long moment, thinking, before shaking his head.

"No... actually, it’s worse."

With the snap of his fingers, Charles gasped, clutching his chest as if his lungs were being crushed by two heavy rocks.

"W-Why... are you... doing this?!" he choked out, gasping for air, his breath low.

Ren’s gaze darkened. His voice remained soft—almost kind but there was no such thing reflecting in his eyes.

"You are asking me why? Now? You were part of those who were behind Ilyan’s death. And then you tried to harm the General." His tone lowered further, the words almost whispering. "You should have just stayed in Hianshu."

He stepped closer, lowering himself to meet the man’s eyes.

Charles immediately shut his eyes tightly.

Ren blinked, dumbfounded for a brief moment. Then, burst into laughter.

"Ha ha ha. Do not worry. I will not give you such an easy death. Since you came here on your own, perhaps this way is better. When they find you, they will think you couldn’t bear the pain of losing your bond... and died from it."

The faintest smile crossed his lips—brittle, tired, broken.

"It’s only fair."

"I-I will tell them!" Charles managed, gasping for air.

Ren’s smile faltered. He straightened himself, turning on his heels as Charles kept screaming in agony. The silver-haired man turned, his hair catching the golden glow of the torch behind him. He struck the man with another small golden light heading toward the exit of the dungeon.

As he walked down the hallway, he looked to his right and found the guards slumped on the ground, deeply asleep.

Right... I need to undo this before leaving...

Once he was outside the prison, he hid himself behind a pillar once again. With a snap of his fingers, murmuring a spell, he exhaled.

***

It took him a few days—days filled with unbearable pain and endless screaming through countless nights, left all alone because he insisted—but Enzo could finally breathe without his chest contracting as if it wanted to stop him from doing so.

He lay on the soft mattress, staring up at the ceiling. Turning his head slightly, he found himself in an empty room, though it was adorned with countless luxurious furnishings.

He remembered when Ren had returned a few days ago and found Zayden in the room. Even though Enzo had wanted them by his side, he had forced Soren, Zayden, and Ren to leave, strictly instructing them not to return until he called for them.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips. Did he have the right to be upset or disappointed when he was the one who had asked for it?

The door swung open, and a maid entered the room. She was the one who had been bringing him his meals and helping him wipe the sweat from his body almost every day.

What was her name again... Was it... Jina? Lina?

He tried to recall, but the name was blurred in his memory.

"My Lord," she began, arms folded at her front, gaze fixed on the floor—as if she had done something wrong.

Raising an eyebrow, Enzo waited for her to speak. Even though the pain had lessened, he still couldn’t manage to speak a word yet.

"Your husband—I mean, High Priest Charles—has passed away..."

Silence filled the room. The faint crackle of the fireplace felt distant, almost foreign. Enzo couldn’t hear what she said next—as if all sound in the world had vanished. Even for a demon whose hearing was sharper than most, the silence was absolute.

His breath caught, but no sound came out. The ceiling above him blurred, as though the world itself was slipping away—soundlessly, just like him.

A soft, quiet laugh escaped his lips soon after. Maybe that was the last thing he could have expected from that man. Perhaps his death was the good news he needed... for the scars, still blue as if they had never healed, to finally fade.

When he turned to look at the maid again, she bit her lip, staring at him as if he had gone mad.

That did little to calm Enzo. Instead, a sudden laugh tore from his throat—low at first, then growing louder, echoing through the room like something unhinged.

"My Lord..." Jina murmured, clasping her hands together, biting the inside of her cheek to stop herself from speaking further.

"When... is the funeral?" Enzo managed to ask, forcing the words out with what little strength remained in him.

Jina flinched. This was the first time she had heard him speak, without screaming in pain. She slowly lifted her gaze to him—only to look away the moment their eyes met. As if guilty of something despite having done nothing wrong.

"The Crown Prince said... you need not worry about it."

"When is it?" Enzo repeated, his tone steady but dry. He couldn’t afford to ask a third time.

"In two days," she whispered. "His body... it needs to be examined first. They said it was a rather unusual death."

Enzo’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Unusual?

He tried to make sense of her words, but no answer came.