The balcony was colder than he expected.
Moonlight washed over the stone floor like pale water, and the wind carried that sharp Velronian sting—the kind that bit at the skin but somehow felt clean, almost serene.
Kairo stood alone, elbows resting lightly on the railing, eyes tracing the lantern-lit streets below. He could still hear faint echoes of laughter drifting up from the inn—the clatter of dishes, the muffled hum of conversation, nobles walking past with soft steps.
But up here…
It was quiet.
Too quiet.
THUMP.
He exhaled slowly, watching his breath bleed into the cold air.
Then—
the door behind him creaked open.
Soft footsteps stepped out onto the balcony.
"Kairo?"
He turned.
And froze.
Elyra stepped into the moonlight, wearing a long, flowing white dress that brushed softly against her ankles. A pale ribbon tied neatly at her waist fluttered with every passing breeze. Her hair was brushed gently back, the ends swaying like light silk in the night air.
She didn't look like the girl he met in the forest.
She looked like—
…like a dream.
He blinked slowly, as if his own eyes betrayed him.
"…You… you look different," he muttered.
Elyra giggled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Lisa helped me," she said shyly.
"She made me try on ten dresses until she said this one 'matched my energy.'"
Kairo didn't know what to do with that sentence.
Or with her.
She stepped beside him at the railing, taking in the moonlit city with a peaceful little sigh.
"Kairo…" she murmured, "I wanted to ask you something."
He glanced at her.
She wasn't nervous.
Not really.
But she was hopeful.
She lifted her hand—slow, gentle—palm up.
"…Would you dance with me?"
Kairo blinked.
"…Dance?"
Elyra nodded shyly.
"Iris told me about a local Velronian dance," she said softly.
"It's simple. And sweet. And… it helps people get closer."
THUMP.
She looked up at him.
Not demanding.
Not expectant.
Just offering.
A tiny, quiet offer.
Kairo stared at her hand.
His heart tightened.
He didn't know how to dance.
He barely knew how to talk without embarrassing himself.
He wasn't built for moments like this.
But Elyra…
She stood there with a tiny, nervous smile—offering a piece of her world like it was nothing.
He swallowed.
Then slowly—
hesitantly—
he reached out.
His hand touched hers.
Her fingers curled gently around his.
Elyra brightened instantly.
She stepped back and lifted their hands slightly, guiding him with soft, careful movements.
The dance wasn't complicated.
Two steps forward.
One step back.
A slow turn.
Hands connected.
Feet brushing lightly across the stone.
Kairo tried to follow.
He was terrible.
He stepped too early.
Or too late.
Or in the completely wrong direction.
Awkward. Uncoordinated. Clumsy.
Elyra laughed gently every time he messed up—
not teasing,
not mocking,
just encouraging.
"It's okay," she whispered.
"Just follow me."
The wind wrapped around them, cold and crisp—
—but he didn't feel cold.
Not with her so close.
Not with her guiding him through the quiet rhythm of the dance.
Not with her hand fitting his like it was meant to be there.
Moonlight draped itself across their shoulders.
The city lights glittered far beneath them.
And the world felt unusually still.
Warm.
Precious.
They stepped together again—
a little smoother this time.
Kairo realised something.
He hadn't looked away from her even once.
Her dress swayed with each movement.
Her eyes shimmered under the moonlight.
Her hair drifted around her like pale silk whenever the wind touched it.
She wasn't just "pretty."
She was—
…stunning.
He caught himself wondering:
Was she always this pretty?
The dance slowed on its own, their hands lowering, their breaths evening out.
Elyra looked up at him, cheeks faintly pink from the cold.
"Kairo…?" she whispered.
"…Yeah?"
Kairo didn't realise it,
but this was the first time in years
his breathing matched someone else's.
She smiled gently.
"Thank you. For dancing with me."
His throat tightened.
He didn't know how to respond.
He didn't know how to hide.
He didn't know how to keep pretending nothing was wrong.
So he didn't.
He exhaled.
"…Elyra."
She tilted her head softly.
"Hmm?"
He looked into her eyes—
really looked.
"Earlier," he whispered, "when you asked me for my name…"
Elyra's breath caught.
Her hand loosened just slightly around his.
Kairo swallowed, chest tightening.
"…You were right," he said quietly.
"I am a bad liar."
She blinked.
Once.
Twice.
"…Liar?"
He nodded slowly.
"Earlier… you asked for my name."
He looked away, jaw tightening.
"I told you 'Kairo.'"
His teeth clenched.
His hand tightened against his leg.
"…But I was too much of a coward."
Elyra's eyes softened—
she stepped closer without realising it.
Kairo shook his head slightly, frustrated with himself.
"All I saw myself as… was what everyone around me called me."
His breath trembled.
"I forgot who I was."
He paused.
Then forced the truth out.
"…No. That's a lie too."
He laughed—
a hopeless, cracked little chuckle.
"I didn't forget.
I was just… so ashamed."
Elyra's expression shifted—
worry flickering in her eyes.
Kairo lowered his gaze.
"I hated myself," he whispered.
"I hated everything about me."
He stepped back slightly—
just enough to breathe.
"All I saw myself as…"
His voice cracked.
"…was what everyone else called me."
An Abynt.
Elyra's lips parted quietly.
"…Kairo—"
"But that wasn't the truth," he said, voice barely audible.
"And you deserve the truth."
He took a breath—
deep, slow, trembling.
THUMP.
"My real name is—"
He lifted his head.
Their eyes met.
"…Kairo Mercer."
A beat.
A breath.
He blinked—
glanced down at the black boots on his feet.
"…That was strange," he murmured under his breath.
"I don't remember the last time I've said that."
Silence.
The kind that doesn't feel empty—
just full.
Elyra stepped closer and lifted his hand again—
not to dance,
but to hold it.
"…Mercer?" she repeated softly.
She looked up at the clouds for a moment—
thinking—
then back at him with a bright, sudden smile.
"I like that name," she said gently.
"It's… cool."
His chest tightened painfully—
in the best possible way.
"…Elyra," he whispered,
"What's your full name?"
She leaned forward slightly—
her shoulder brushing his.
Her voice barely above a breath.
"My name," she whispered,
"…is Elyra."
She giggled softly.
"My last name… um… yeah, I dunno."
THUMP.
Kairo stared at her.
Inner thoughts whispered through him:
There you go again… just like before.
Why do you look so sad when you smile like that?
He studied her—
embarrassed,
confused,
softened.
And he didn't know why…
…but for the first time since entering Velronia—
…he felt warm.
THUMP.
Elyra's expression brightened gently, like moonlight warming.
She stepped a little closer and slipped her fingers around his hand—
not pulling,
not dragging,
just… connecting.
"Kairo," she said softly,
her voice carrying that strange mix of innocence and calm.
"We should go. Mister Faran, Cyran, and Noah are waiting."
She paused—
lifting her eyes to the clouds as if listening to something far away.
"…Waiting for you," she finished, almost whispering.
Kairo's breath hitched.
Her blue eyes met his again—clear, bright, and sincere in a way he wasn't used to.
He froze for half a second longer than he meant to.
Then—
awkwardly,
quietly—
he nodded.
"…Alright," he muttered, his voice small.
"Let's… go."
He squeezed her hand back without realising it—
just a little—
before letting her guide him toward the door,
toward the others,
toward whatever waited next.
***
The inn was loud.
Too loud.
Voices clashed against one another — singing, laughter, drunken shouting, the crash of wooden mugs slamming onto tables. Someone dropped a tray and half the room erupted into cheers. Young workers weaved through the crowd with pies stacked to their chins, apologising as they squeezed between swaying dancers.
Kairo stepped inside with Elyra, shoulders tightening.
It was chaos.
He scanned the room — staggering men, flushed faces, spinning dancers slamming into each other, all of it overwhelming in a way he couldn't quite put words to.
THUMP.
"Kairo!"
He turned.
Noah stood there — tall, composed, cutting through the noise like a still point in a storm. His eyes watched Kairo with a calm, confident focus.
Oh right… him.
I wonder who he is.
Elyra brightened immediately, waving her hand high.
"I got him!" she called over the noise.
Kairo scratched the back of his silver hair, raising a hand awkwardly.
"…Hey."
Faran yawned loudly, rubbing one eye.
"There you are," he muttered, sounding half-asleep.
Cyran rose smoothly and shook Kairo's hand.
Noah straightened, his voice clean and steady despite the chaos around them.
"Well," he said, "shall we get back to the castle?"
Elyra puffed her cheeks slightly.
"What? Already…?"
Faran scratched lazily at his stomach.
"Yeah, we should go."
Kairo looked between them, unsure.
"…Um. Yeah… let's go."
THUMP.
They scattered naturally as they reached the inn's front door — not rushing, not hesitating, simply peeling off into their own small paths. Kairo stepped ahead, placed his hand on the handle, and pushed the door open.
A sharp breath of cold air cut through him.
He stepped outside.
"…Snow?"
He turned back to speak to the others—
But they weren't there.
No Faran.
No Cyran.
No Noah.
No Elyra.
Just emptiness.
The doorway behind him was open… but nothing stood beyond it. No light. No inn. No warmth. Only air. Only silence.
This… again.
Heavy snow struck his hair, weighing it down instantly. His fingers numbed in seconds, the cold biting deep into his skin. His breath thinned. His chest sank.
THUMP.
"This…"
He swallowed.
"…is Lagos."
He looked around slowly.
He wasn't in the inn.
He wasn't in Velronia.
The cold was unmistakable. The smell. The weight of the air.
He was home.
Except—
It wasn't the Lagos he knew.
Snow hammered the village in a relentless white downpour. The buildings were torn apart — splintered roofs, collapsed walls, shattered windows suffocating under sheets of ice. Footpaths were buried beneath untouched snow, smooth and perfect.
Not a single footprint.
Not a single sign that anyone had walked here.
Not a single sign that anyone was alive.
Kairo stared at his shaking hands, curling them into fists until his knuckles turned white.
"This happened before…" he muttered. "Scheing Rever. I'll just be sent back… just like then."
His voice fogged weakly into the frozen air.
THUMP.
His breath slipped out in pale fog, dissolving into the white air almost instantly. Every step he took left a crisp imprint — the first and only marks on the untouched snow.
As if he was the first person to set foot in Lagos.
As if no one else existed.
He walked slowly, eyes darting across the ruined houses, the broken fences, the collapsed roofs buried under heavy sheets of ice. There were no sounds. Not even the wind dared to whisper.
Eventually, he reached his home.
The small, familiar structure was barely recognisable — its walls drowned in frost, its roof sagging under the weight of snow. The edges of the doorway were framed with icicles like teeth.
And the door…
…was already open.
THUMP.
THUMP.
He pushed it with two fingers.
It creaked softly, drifting inward.
Darkness swallowed the inside entirely.
No candle.
No fire.
No sunlight.
Just cold.
A cold so still it felt deliberate.
Kairo stepped inside, eyes narrowing as he scanned the shadows.
Was there… an intruder?
His hand was freezing — stiff, red, almost numb from the cold.
Without thinking, he reeled his arm back and punched the wooden wall.
A sharp pain shot up his knuckles.
He flinched back with a hiss, stumbling as the ache pulsed through his fingers.
"Tch…"
That hurt…
He shook his hand out uselessly, the sting lingering like needles beneath the skin.
Then he sank down onto the floorboards, staring through the open doorway at the falling snow.
"…Why… am I still here."
THUMP.
He stood slowly and stepped outside.
The trees ahead were once autumn gold — alive, warm, colourful.
Now they were skeletal, dressed in frost, bending under the weight of ice.
The memory hit him instantly:
His conversation with his mother —
the one he had before leaving Lagos,
before Elyra,
before Faran, Cyran, Iris, Noah, Seraphier.
"Huh… this feels so strange," he muttered.
He walked forward, boots sinking deep into the snow.
Crunch.
Crunch.
THUMP.
THUMP.
He stared at the village around him, the snow swallowing everything in white silence.
Windows were shattered — every single one.
Glass lay half-buried beneath the frost, glittering like broken stars.
He stepped forward.
Something caught his eye.
THUMP.
A cigarette.
Half-buried in the snow.
Still warm.
Still smoking.
Thin trails of grey drifting upwards — curling gently before vanishing into the cold air.
As if someone had dropped it only moments ago.
He stared at the smoking cigarette, his breath spilling fog into the air.
Snow drifted down harder.
He felt smaller.
Colder.
A thought cut through him:
A vision has never been this long…
He swallowed, throat tight.
"What… the hell is Scheing Rever."
THUMP.
His fingers curled slowly into a fist.
His jaw locked.
A faint twitch dragged at the corner of his eye.
"What…" he muttered, voice thin, shaking,
"the hell is that noise…
I keep hearing it…
over and over again."
His breath hitched.
Then sped up.
Too fast.
He couldn't slow it down.
His lungs fought themselves, pulling in more air than he could handle.
His hands were numb — dead white from the cold.
His eyelashes clumped with frost, each blink heavier than the last.
He staggered.
Breathing.
Breathing.
Breathing too much.
THUMP.
THUMP.
THUMP.
He lifted both hands and dug his fingers into his silver hair, gripping it, pulling just enough to ground himself — but it didn't help.
It wasn't enough.
His breath broke into sharp, uneven gulps.
And then —
It hit him.
A single, fractured moment of clarity.
"Oh."
He lowered his hands.
"…That's my…"
A faint laugh escaped him — empty, disbelieving, breath fogging the frozen air.
"…heartbeat."
BLOOM.
Kairo turned his head slowly — not with instinct, but with dread born somewhere deep in his veins.
The red beam had already struck.
But the aftermath…
The aftermath was worse.
The sky above Velronia didn't glow.
It emptied.
Colour drained from the horizon as if the world had been wiped clean with a single, brutal stroke. Towers that once cut through the clouds now sagged like silhouettes melting into the earth.
The red light spread quietly — too quietly — swallowing stone, swallowing streets, swallowing everything it touched.
It didn't burn.
It erased.
Clouds twisted above the city, swirling inward toward the impact point like threads being dragged into an unseen drain. The shape of Velronia wavered inside the scarlet haze — a ghost of a city suspended within a dying star.
Something drifted down through the air.
Snow?
He raised a hand.
A dark flake landed on his palm.
Warm for just a moment.
Then it dissolved.
Not snow.
Dust.
Dust of something that used to be alive.
Tiny lights flickered inside the red storm — lanterns, spellglow, distant fires — but each one dimmed, swallowed, snuffed out.
One by one.
Silence crept outward.
Not the silence of night.
A deeper one.
A suffocating quiet that felt like the world itself was holding its breath in pain.
Kairo stared, a thin laugh slipping from his throat — broken, detached, unreal.
A minute ago he was holding Elyra's hand.
A minute ago he was dancing.
A minute ago the inn was full of life.
Now—
"…oh."
It was all he could manage.
All he could understand.
He exhaled once, a ghost of a breath.
"I was just starting to feel human…
and now the world dies before I can."
And the THUMPs—
…stopped.