They reached the watchtower that Lira was supposed to be hiding at with haste.
Climbing up, no detail was out of the ordinary. No signs of a break in, no signs of struggle.
Now they stood before a warped wooden door, with one hinge broken. Its frame splintered inward as if something had forced its way through.
Ryn's hand reached for the handle, but realized it could've been tampered with.
With a quick strike of his sword, he cut down the door.
The smell hit him first. It was a familiar smell of rotten meat, but weirdly, it was mixed with a hint of sweetness.
The inside of the watchtower was dim, lit only by narrow slits of afternoon light. As their eyes adjusted, shapes came into view.
Three Arctis knights lay scattered across the stone floor. Not fallen in battle, there were no signs of struggle.
Their faces were frozen mid-expression, muscles locked in their final twitch of pain. Blackened veins webbed across their skin, spiraling from a tiny puncture just beneath the jawline.
Amelia's hand flew to her mouth.
"Gods… what kind of poison does that to a person?"
Ryn didn't answer. He already knew.
He took another step inside, what he'd been looking for finally appeared. Amelia gasped, blood draining from her face.
Ryn gritted his teeth.
Lira was seated near the central pillar, her back propped against cold stone, her posture eerily peaceful—almost as if she had fallen asleep waiting for them to return. Her cloak was draped unevenly over her shoulders, the Grandal crest still pinned to the fabric.
But her neck…
The veins were even darker. Thick streaks of purple-black rose beneath the skin like roots crawling upward. The discoloration spread across all parts of her face.
Amelia moved toward her instinctively, but Ryn caught her wrist before she could lower herself beside the girl.
"Don't touch her," he said softly. "The toxin might still be active."
His words made Amelia freeze, breath shuddering as she clasped her hands tightly against her chest.
Ryn knelt instead, lowering himself beside the still form. Her pale hair covered half her face. Spreading cold aura over his hand, he gently brushed it aside.
Her eyes were half-open, unfocused. There was no fear, only confusion, as if she hadn't even understood what happened.
Ryn exhaled slowly, a breath that felt heavier than any wound he'd taken so far.
Then something caught his attention. On the back wall, a smear of black venom stained the stone, drawn in steady and confident strokes.
A symbol.
♏︎
And beside it, the message:
"You're clever, Ryn Eden Arctis.
More fun than the others."
Amelia inhaled sharply when she saw it.
"Ryn… he wrote your name."
Ryn's jaw tightened.
He didn't need to relive the past to recognize this signature. Of course, Scorpio wrote his name.
Seat Twelve of the Cult of Evernight.
Ryn was one of the few people still alive who knew exactly what Scorpio was capable of… because in his past life, he had prepared the trap that killed the Twelveth Seat.
Killed was generous, really.
It took a dozen influential and talented people, along with two treasure-grade artifacts to silence Scorpio for good.
Even then, five people died instantly, and another three collapsed hours later from residual poison.
The kill was only possible because Scorpio was a rebel—a Seat who ignored Cult orders and acted entirely on whim. If he had truly wanted Amelia dead today, she wouldn't have lasted a heartbeat.
He was toying with them.
Ryn rose slowly, the muscles in his jaw tightening. His shadow fell across the symbol, the message, and the body of the girl who had died believing she was helping them.
She had stood in Amelia's place because he'd asked her to.
Because he believed he could control the situation. Because he believed he understood the danger enough to manage it.
He was wrong. And she paid the price for it.
Amelia exhaled shakily beside him, her voice barely held together.
"She didn't deserve this…"
"No," Ryn answered quietly. His gaze didn't leave Lira. "She didn't."
A steady, quiet acceptance settled in the space between his words. The kind that came from someone who had carried the consequences of his decisions for an entire lifetime and was being forced to carry them again.
Only once he acknowledged that weight… did his expression begin to shift.
Clarity always came after the pain. It was the one constant regression had never changed.
Ryn clenched his fist, a single thought lingered in his head:
He'll never make a wrong decision again.
***
A pair of Deimos knights approached hesitantly when they saw Ryn and Amelia emerge. Their eyes flicked past them toward the broken door, toward the silence inside, and the blood drained from their faces.
Ryn gave a small nod. They understood.
Within minutes, the area was cordoned off. The knights worked quietly, as if their voices might disturb something.
No one asked questions. They simply moved with efficiency, cleaning everything that made the scene horrific.
Amelia watched in silence, arms crossed tightly over her chest. She wasn't crying, but her breaths were uneven, her eyes fixed on a single point on the ground, as if looking anywhere else had made the event not happen.
Ryn stood beside her, neither speaking nor rushing her. Some moments didn't need words.
"Let's step away," he said quietly. "We're in the way now."
She nodded, following him to the small courtyard a short walk from the tower. It was quieter here, away from the movement of knights. A fountain trickled faintly in the center, its soft sound strangely out of place in a day like this.
The grief was still too raw, the air still too heavy.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Finally, Amelia swallowed and said, "Ryn… what do we do now? Who did this? Why—"
One of the regrets Ryn had popped into his mind. If only the 'hero party' could've discovered the Basilisk sooner, as its venom had a neutralizing effect. However, this time, everything lined up.
"We need to kill the Iron Basilisk."
The words left his mouth too fast, too sharp, as if they'd been building pressure inside him and finally broke through.
Amelia blinked at him, stunned.
"…What?"
Ryn pushed off the railing, running a hand through his hair, trying to steady the rising storm of thought and memory.
"We have about a week. Maybe less," he said, more to himself than to her. "He won't strike again immediately. He never does."
"Ryn," she said slowly, "who are you talking about? You keep saying 'he'—"
He didn't answer her question.
"We need the basilisk venom," he continued, pacing now. "It's the only thing that neutralizes—"
"Ryn." She stepped in front of him, forcing him to stop. "You're not making any sense. What basilisk? Neutralizes what? Who won't strike again?"
He inhaled sharply, jaw tight, almost frustrated with himself. Then Ryn looked at her, realizing he might've said too much.
He hadn't meant to let the past bleed into the present.
But Lira was dead. And Ryn was not going to let history repeat itself.
"Just trust me," he said quietly. "Please. We have to move before he decides to play again."
Amelia stared at him, unsettled. "Ryn… you're talking like you've faced this before."
Silence.
But Amelia saw the look in his eyes—a certainty and a fire that can't be relinquished.
Something that didn't fit the boy she knew.
"Ryn," she said again, softer this time, "how do you even know any of this?"
His throat tightened.
He opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
He wasn't ready.
But he also couldn't lie.
"Because I've dealt with him before," Ryn said quietly, the truth slipping out in a way that left no room for interpretation.
"And if we don't get the basilisk venom, we won't survive him a second time. Not with our current power."
She waited for him to explain, confusion tightening her expression, but Ryn only looked away, jaw set, hands trembling just enough for her to notice.
"Ryn… please," she whispered. "What aren't you telling me?"
Answering would undo everything he'd held together since the moment he woke up in this timeline.
But Amelia stepped closer, unwilling to let the silence swallow them.
"Ryn, talk to me. I don't understand how you know any of this. I don't understand why you're—"
Something in him snapped.
Not of anger…but of fear.
"Don't you get it?" Ryn said, sharper than he intended. His voice cracked at the edges, breath unsteady. "They're after you."
Amelia froze.
Ryn's hands curled into fists, knuckles whitening.
"They'll keep coming. It won't stop. Not until they take you. Not until you're—"
His voice cut off. He swallowed hard, eyes burning with a fear she had never seen from him.
"I can't let that happen," he said quietly, almost pleading. "I won't lose you. Not again."
The last two words slipped out before he realized it.
Ryn shut his eyes, already regretting he had said anything.
He didn't know the whole truth, hadn't put the pieces together yet. But he remembered enough from his past life to know one thing clearly.
The Cult never did anything without purpose, even if Scorpio was involved. Was Amelia being gone…an important part of their plan?
Ryn let the thought linger, but he had to keep moving.
With a soft voice, he told Amelia.
"We leave tonight."