Luciel listened quietly as the white-haired girl spoke, her trembling voice carrying the weight of years. With each sentence, the shape of her pain became clearer in his mind, like a wound slowly revealed beneath torn bandages.
So this was the virtual ghost infection—not just a disease, but a slow, cruel countdown.
It granted its victims a decade at most. Ten years to live, to hope, to pretend to be human before death—or something worse—claimed them.
When the time ran out, the infected no longer died. They transformed.
Luciel's jaw tightened as Elara described it: the body twisting, the mind fracturing, the soul consumed until nothing remained but a hollow monster. The "virtual ghost"—a name too soft for something so cruel.
They were creatures of madness and hunger, stripped of reason and mercy, their only instinct to devour the living.
"An infectious disease," Luciel murmured. "And when the infected become monsters, they pass it on by biting or scratching."
Elara nodded faintly. "But until then, we can't infect anyone. The sickness doesn't spread unless blood is exchanged."
"Yet people still reject you," Luciel said, though it wasn't a question.
Elara laughed quietly, bitterly. "Rejection doesn't need reason."
Luciel leaned back, crossing his arms. The picture forming in his head was all too familiar. "Sounds a lot like zombies."
"Zom…bies?" Elara tilted her head, her silver hair sliding over her shoulder. "What are those?"
"They're monsters too," Luciel replied, half-smiling at the irony. "On my world, they show up in old stories and movies—walking corpses that bite to spread their curse. Their infection spreads fast, though. Minutes, not years."
Elara blinked. "That's… terrifying."
Luciel chuckled softly. "You'd be surprised what people can get used to."
He studied the faint red lines that webbed across her pale cheeks like living veins of molten glass. The marks pulsed faintly, alive and wrong. He hesitated, then lifted a hand, intending to touch them.
Elara flinched back. "No—don't."
"Why?" Luciel asked, his voice low, calm. "You said it doesn't spread through touch."
Her gaze fell to the floor. "It doesn't. But people… are still afraid."
Luciel tilted his head, his dark eyes narrowing. "I'm not."
Before she could react, he gently took her chin, his fingers lifting her face toward him. His thumb brushed over one of the scarlet lines. The heat surprised him—it wasn't feverish, exactly, but alive.
"Well," he murmured, thoughtful. "It's warm… and the texture's strange. Like soft, flexible resin."
Elara's breath caught. "W–what kind of description is that?"
Her voice quivered with a mixture of embarrassment and disbelief. Her cheeks, already marked by the infection, flushed pink beneath his touch.
Luciel only smiled faintly. He didn't miss how she trembled—not from fear, but from the shock of being treated gently.
For a moment, she forgot the stares, the disgust, the whispered words that had followed her for years. In those black eyes, there was none of that.
And for the first time in so long, Elara felt seen—not as an outcast, not as a monster-to-be, but simply as Elara.
Then a small, indignant voice broke the silence.
"Luciel! You should let go."
They both turned. Mino stood by the doorway, her long rabbit ears drooping slightly, her cheeks puffed in something between frustration and confusion.
Luciel cleared his throat, withdrawing his hand—reluctantly. The girl's skin had been surprisingly soft, and his fingers still remembered the warmth.
"Right. Sorry," he said with a wry smile.
Elara stepped back, her silver-white eyes darting away, the tips of her ears pink.
"Luciel," Mino said, crossing her arms. "Why were you… touching her like that?"
He blinked. "Research purposes?"
The rabbit-eared girl frowned. She didn't know why it bothered her, but it did. Seeing Luciel so close to someone else—especially someone like her—made her chest feel tight in an unfamiliar way.
Luciel pretended not to notice the tension and glanced back at Elara. "You said you only have half a year left, right?"
Elara nodded faintly. "That's right."
"That's not the full ten years, then."
"No," she admitted softly. "I've been infected for less than five. But…" She hesitated, guilt flickering in her eyes. "I've been using the power that comes with the infection. Every time I use it, the disease advances faster."
Luciel frowned. "You get abilities from the infection?"
"Yes. Some of us do," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "They're… like the powers of mutants. Gifts born from corruption. But using them burns away the time we have left."
Her gaze shifted toward Mino's tall ears, a faint smile of envy curving her lips. "Mutants are born changed. But we pay for our power with our lives."
Luciel's mind raced. Mutants and infected… two sides of the same coin? One blessed by evolution, the other cursed by decay. The thought made his skin crawl.
"What's your ability?" he asked quietly.
Elara hesitated, then focused her gaze. Her pupils narrowed, the silver shifting to a sharp, golden hue. "Hawkeye Vision," she said softly. "I can see through fog, darkness, even illusions."
As she spoke, the scarlet lines on her cheeks flared faintly, like embers stirred by a breath of wind. They crept outward across her skin, pulsing faster.
"Stop," Luciel said sharply, his hand rising. "You're making it worse."
Elara exhaled slowly, and the glow faded. "It's fine. Once I make Angel Tears, I'll be able to hold it back."
Luciel studied her, his tone turning serious. "You're certain that the dew from Angel Wings can cure this?"
"I…" Elara faltered. "I don't know. I've never seen it myself. I've only heard my companions speak of it—those who are gone now."
Luciel's eyes softened. "Then let's find out."
She blinked at him. "We can't yet. Angel Wings only produce a drop of dew every ten days." She looked down at the small wooden barrel in her arms. Inside, the white petals of the reborn flowers glowed faintly, like fragile wings caught in moonlight.
Luciel smiled faintly. "Remember what I told you before?"
Elara frowned. "About what?"
"That nothing's impossible."
Before she could ask what he meant, he focused inward, calling up the strange new ability he'd inherited when he tamed the Angel Wings.
A surge of energy rippled through him, like sunlight filtering through clear water. Words—no, understanding—formed in his mind.
Angel Tears: Consumes physical and mental energy to condense a drop of sacred dew. Removes harmful conditions and restores vitality. Cooldown: ten days.
Luciel's lips twitched. "Finally, a healing skill. Guess that makes me the party's nanny now."
He turned his palm upward. A faint glow shimmered there—soft green light gathering, condensing, swirling until a single drop of emerald dew hovered above his skin.
It sparkled faintly, giving off a fragrance like early spring rain.
Mino's nose twitched. "It smells so sweet," she murmured, licking her lips unconsciously.
Elara stared, eyes wide. "Luciel… what is that?"
"The Tears of an Angel," he said simply.
She shook her head, disbelief flickering in her expression. "You can't mean— That's impossible. You can't just—"
"Nothing's impossible," he repeated, a small, knowing smile on his lips. He lifted the glowing droplet toward her. "Go on. Drink it."
Elara froze. "I… shouldn't."
"You said yourself, you don't have much time."
He took a step closer, his voice quiet but commanding. "If this works, it could save you. If it doesn't, you lose nothing."
Her silver eyes searched his face. He was serious—utterly calm, like someone offering a lifeline, not pity. Slowly, she nodded.
Luciel raised his hand to her lips. "Open your mouth."
Elara hesitated, then obeyed. The droplet slid onto her tongue, cool and smooth, melting instantly like snow.
Her eyes widened. A rush of warmth spread through her chest, then outward—radiant and alive. The pain that had long simmered beneath her skin eased, the burning lines on her cheeks dimming to a faint pink glow.
"I… I feel…" She pressed a trembling hand to her face. "Light. Warm."
Luciel watched quietly, the corner of his mouth curling upward. "Looks like it works."
Mino clapped her hands, her rabbit ears bouncing with excitement. "Luciel! You actually did it!"
Elara stood there, stunned, her silver eyes filling with tears—not of pain this time, but something gentler.
"Thank you," she whispered. "You don't know what this means."
Luciel smiled faintly. "Then you can repay me by not turning into a monster."
That startled a laugh out of her—soft, fragile, but real. "I'll try my best."
For a moment, the hall was quiet except for the soft crackle of the hearth. The air felt lighter, as if some invisible weight had lifted from the room.
Luciel looked down at his palm, where the drop had been. The glow was gone, but he could still feel its echo—a faint hum of warmth beneath his skin.
Ten days, he thought. That's how long before I can make another.
He glanced at Elara again. The scarlet lines hadn't vanished, but they no longer pulsed with that sickly energy. Maybe—just maybe—there was a way to keep them from spreading.
"Luciel…" Elara's voice pulled him back. She looked at him with an expression caught between awe and confusion. "Who are you?"
He chuckled softly. "Just someone who doesn't believe in impossible things."
Her lips parted, but before she could answer, Mino spoke up again—her tone teasing, but her eyes bright. "Luciel, next time, I want to try the Angel Tears!"
He rolled his eyes. "It's medicine, not candy."
Mino grinned. "But it smells like candy."
Elara laughed quietly, a sound that felt new, uncertain, but full of life. For the first time in years, she didn't feel doomed. For the first time, hope didn't hurt.
And for Luciel—watching her smile through the soft light of the fire—it was enough.