Morfan stood in the stone corridor, silence wrapping around the place like a heavy shroud, as if the palace itself was holding its breath. The servant bowed before him, head lowered, as Morfan spoke in a low yet sharp voice, "What did you say?"
The servant hesitated for a moment, then answered quickly, "Young master Saruto refuses to train today, sir… he says he doesn't feel well."
A brief silence followed. Morfan didn't move, but his eyes narrowed slightly, clearly displeased. "I'll go to him," he said calmly. He was about to step forward when the servant added hesitantly, "He also… requested that no one enter his room."
This time, Morfan stopped. Slowly, he turned, a deep look passing through his eyes, as if searching for something beyond the words. Saruto… what are you hiding? Without another word, he began walking.
Inside the room, Saruto sat on the edge of the bed, his body hunched forward, both hands gripping his head tightly. His breathing was uneven and rapid, as if his chest could no longer contain it. He muttered faintly, "How…?"
But the images wouldn't stop. Explosion. Darkness. Umbra's face. Destruction… and then his death.
His fingers tightened in his hair, trying to grasp what was happening. This wasn't a dream. It wasn't an illusion… he remembered.
Slowly, he raised his head. His eyes were no longer the same—they now carried a heavy shadow. In a lower, heavier voice, he said, "I'm sure… I blew myself up."
Silence settled for a moment, then something stirred within him. A thought began to take shape. "Umbra…" he murmured, as if testing the name. "Did you do something? Did you keep me alive…?"
There was no answer, but the corner of his lips lifted slightly. A cold, faint smile appeared on his face. "If this was your doing…"
He stood up, his fist tightening until his knuckles turned white. "Then you've given me a second chance."
He took a step forward, then another. His breathing began to steady, but his eyes remained dark. "This time…" He stopped, leaving the sentence unfinished. Instead, he clenched his fist harder until his nails dug into his skin, a drop of blood falling to the floor.
"I won't be late," he whispered.
Suddenly, his body froze.
Pain pierced through his head without warning—sharp, violent, as if something was digging its claws into his mind. He collapsed to his knees, one hand gripping his head tightly as his voice came out broken. "W-what… is this…?!"
Then everything began to fade.
Not the pain… his memories.
A name he had known moments ago vanished. A familiar face dissolved as if it had never existed. His eyes widened, his breathing quickened. "No… no…!"
He pressed his head harder, as if trying to hold together what was falling apart. But the feeling was unmistakable—something was being torn away, shredded, then erased.
"My memories… they're…" His voice trembled, but he stopped, because even a word from his own sentence disappeared.
He froze.
His eyes widened further.
Even words were breaking apart.
His body trembled violently, and dark energy burst out of him unconsciously, rippling around him as if responding to a survival instinct. Through clenched teeth, he muttered, "I won't allow this…"
He forced his energy forward—from his chest to his head—as if his mind had become a battlefield. His veins bulged, his muscles tensed, as he spoke in a fractured voice, "At least… not everything…"
But the pain was stronger.
The world began to fade before his eyes. Sound vanished. Light dimmed.
And he collapsed, unconscious.
When he opened his eyes, everything was white.
A clean, slightly sharp scent filled the air. The ceiling above him was unfamiliar, nothing like his room. Slowly, he murmured, "…a hospital?"
He sat up with difficulty, placing a hand on his head. A strange feeling filled him… as if something inside him was missing.
"How did I get here…?" he said.
Then he suddenly closed his eyes, trying to search within himself. There was something important… something he knew… but he could no longer grasp it.
All he found were fragments—blurred images, distant voices, sensations without clear meaning.
His eyes snapped open. He bit his lip hard. "Damn it…"
His fist clenched, but his anger wasn't loud—it was heavy, suffocating.
At that moment, the door opened, and Morfan entered.
He stopped at the entrance, looking at Saruto, who froze in place.
Father…
The word didn't leave his lips, but it echoed inside him. Despite everything he had lost… that feeling remained.
Morfan stepped forward and said calmly, "You seem fine." His eyes observed closely, examining every detail. "How did you faint?"
Saruto hesitated for a moment, then replied, "Just a bit of dizziness."
A brief silence followed, enough to show that Morfan wasn't convinced. Still, he didn't press further. He turned calmly and said, "When you recover, come finish your training."
He paused at the door for a moment… then left.
Saruto remained staring in silence. Then he exhaled slowly, a faint smile appearing on his face.
He hasn't changed… he's still the same.
"I'll catch up," he said quietly.
But suddenly, he froze.
A sharp headache pierced his mind again. He pressed his hand against his forehead as a vivid image formed before his eyes.
He was kneeling on the ground… holding Morfan's body in his arms.
Blood covered him.
His eyes were open… lifeless.
A sword was embedded in his chest.
Saruto's eyes widened.
The image vanished.
Everything returned… but not the same.
His breathing quickened. In a low voice, he said, "So this is… how he died…"
Silence.
The words weighed heavily on him.
"Who killed him…? And when…?"
He pressed his head, but nothing returned except that single moment, repeating, embedding itself deeper into his mind.
Slowly… he calmed down.
His breathing steadied.
His expression hardened.
"It doesn't matter."
He said it quietly.
He raised his head, his eyes now far more resolute.
"Even if I don't remember… I'll stop it from happening."
His fist clenched.
"No matter the cost."