It was an abyss. Nothing. No horizon, no ground, no sky—just absence. And yet, within that nothing, years of trauma cycled endlessly, looping again and again, as though centuries crawled by at a turtle's pace.
Xavier was trapped inside it.
These dreams were different from before. More ruthless. More maniacal. More cruel—and everlasting. They stretched far longer than his thoughts could endure, longer than his mind was meant to comprehend.
His father's death came first.
Jonathan.
It replayed again and again, the moment refusing to fade, accompanied by that familiar, maniacal laughter—cruel, distorted—echoing through the hollow corridors of his mind. Then the scenes shifted, dragging time with them, each transition birthing a new torment.
Then came his parents.
Every possible way they could have died unfolded before him. Each variation more grotesque than the last. His nightmare forced him to witness every outcome, every method, every cruelty—each one traced back to the same source.
Percival.
The devil himself.
Images followed. Faces he loved. Faces he needed.
They all died.
His birth parents. His adoptive father, Jonathan. Anastasia. And even Alcmena—his guardian, his anchor, the one person he believed would never fall.
All of them lay lifeless before him.
In his hands.
Blood flooded the ground beneath his feet like a crimson sea, soaking into his clothes, clinging to his skin. It coated his hands. Splattered across half his face. Their blood marked him, branded him.
Why?
The thought echoed weakly in his mind.
Why was this happening again? Why did the torment never end?
He held a body in his arms.
Violet.
His sister.
Her vessel was cold. Forsaken. The moment he realized it, a searing pain tore through his soul—raw, unbearable. Rage followed close behind, boiling violently, like the sun's own volcanoes erupting within his chest.
"Come now, Xavier," a taunting voice laughed, circling him, watching him suffer like a spectacle. "Why do you look so down?"
The laughter deepened.
"Can't you save them? Aren't you supposed to be a hero? The leading star of hope?"
Xavier's hands trembled violently, his power reacting to the storm of emotions surging through him. Fear and fury clashed within his body, making him quake.
Then he felt it.
A presence.
Behind him.
A figure leaned close, close enough that he could feel its breath brush against his ear.
"Stchh." A click of the tongue. Mocking. Disappointed. "You can't even protect those around you," the voice whispered. "Nor can you ever hope to."
A pause.
"What a pathetic disgrace of a protagonist you are."
Xavier spun around instantly, launching himself forward without hesitation.
Percival.
Chains erupted from the void, snapping into existence in an instant. They struck him mid-motion, coiling around his limbs, his torso—slamming him down like a feral animal. The bindings dug deep, not just into flesh, but into his very soul.
"HAHAHA!" Percival roared with laughter.
He brushed his hair back casually, eyes gleaming with amusement. "I'm truly enjoying this nightmare you're going through. You didn't actually think that futile attempt would work on me, did you?"
He laughed again.
"I'm so glad I implanted a fragment of my will into your subconscious when we last met. I couldn't possibly miss the chance to continue tormenting you after my departure—even if this is only temporary."
"Truly marvelous."
The world shattered.
When reality reformed, Xavier found himself kneeling in a hellish realm—one meant for the damned. Grotesque figures surrounded him, their forms twisted, decomposed, yet horrifyingly familiar.
Every face.
Everyone he had ever loved.
They clawed toward him with rotting hands, voices breaking into hellish cries as they begged him to save them. To free them. To do something.
It was unbearable.
A grotesque mockery of everything he held dear.
Xavier's face drained of color. The chains still bound him, burrowed deep, anchoring him in place. Shadows of death lingered everywhere, thick and suffocating, an omnipresent miasma that refused to disperse.
This was Percival's doing.
A fragment of his will, secretly injected during their encounter in London—delivered with nothing more than a glance. A power wielded as effortlessly as breathing. The ability to manipulate minds at will, to craft illusions so real they became indistinguishable from reality.
All of it.
Just to torment a weak, defenseless boy.
Percival stepped closer.
Calm. Unhurried.
He slipped his hands behind Xavier's shoulders, leaning close enough to send indescribable terror crawling down the boy's spine.
"What you see before you isn't an illusion, Xavier," he whispered. "This is the reality of your life. An inevitable future. No matter what you do."
"You can wield Excalibur. You can twist the fundamentals of this world, alter outcomes, rewrite fate itself."
A pause.
"The result will be the same."
"They will all die."
"Your loved ones. The innocent lives. The worthless ants that continue to breathe and leech. The animals that crawl across this universe."
"Every single one of them."
"I'll let you watch," Percival continued softly, almost tenderly. "And once you break, I'll twist your mind."
"I'll turn you into my puppet."
"A hero turned villain."
"What a story twist that would be," he chuckled. "Don't you think, Xavier?"
Xavier didn't answer.
He couldn't.
The boy was terrified—frozen as though staring at a ghost. Percival was the only man who had ever truly broken him. Again and again. Effortlessly.
Even his name carried weight.
To hear it. To think it.
Was enough to drive him to madness.
The hero was afraid.
Afraid of his own evil.
How poetic.
Xavier felt Percival's hands close around his neck, firm and deliberate, as though he were nothing more than a marionette. Behind him, the devil wore a smile—sinister, delighted—one that fed on despair.
"Never forget this," Percival murmured. "As long as your name is Xavier. As long as this body and soul are yours."
His grip tightened.
"You belong to me."
A cruel pause followed.
"Not even rebirth or death will change that. Nothing can. Nothing will ever free you from my grasp, my… little… Xavier."
As the last word left his lips, Percival slowly released him and stepped back, already turning away. His voice softened into mock courtesy as he murmured, "Farewell, my dear protagonist. I'll be taking my leave now."
He chuckled.
"Take care of yourself, won't you? I had so much fun today. I'd love to do this again—next time I feel like visiting your mind."
Then he laughed.
The sound echoed through the void like a trumpet from the heavens. Loud. Mocking. Like a circus announcing its next act.
Xavier sat there in utter defeat.
Percival…
The name alone burned his thoughts. He had been wrong—wrong to believe that someone like him deserved even the idea of forgiveness. Slowly, painfully, Xavier struggled to lift his arm as hatred ignited within him. Not a clean rage, but something shattered and desperate. Something born from loss.
His hair ignited in golden flame. His eyes shifted, draconic and feral. Fangs bared. Fingers sharpened into deadly points.
"I'll make you pay," Xavier rasped, barely able to speak as blood spilled from him like a river. "For the lives you took. For everything precious you stole from me since birth."
His breath trembled.
"I'll make you pay—no matter what. You won't escape this time."
"I promise."
His cosmic eyes burned with fire.
Percival only chuckled. "I'd love to see you try, my dear son. That is… if you aren't driven to madness first."
He smiled wider.
"If fate even allows you to reach that moment."
With a casual wave, almost affectionate, Percival said cheerfully, "See you later, Xavier."
Xavier refused to let him leave.
He strained against the chains, screaming as they tore deeper into him, unbreakable, merciless. Percival's form faded, dissolving into nothingness.
"PERCIVAL!"
The shout ripped from his lungs.
As Xavier reached for the vanishing figure, a blinding light began to compress the dream itself. The closer he drew, the brighter it became—while the chains dragged him back, ripping through flesh and soul with agonizing force.
Just before he could grasp Percival—
A hand caught his.
Warm. Gentle.
"Xavier!" a familiar voice cried. "Are you awake?"
The light began to fade.
"Xavier?!"
The voice called again.
And then—
He snapped awake.
Xavier gasped, eyes flying open as the nightmare shattered. A soothing aroma filled his senses, calming enough to ease the remnants of terror clinging to his mind.
He lay in an unfamiliar room. A blurred figure stood over him, his vision slow to focus. His body felt heavy, disoriented from waking so suddenly.
His hair spilled messily across the sheets—yet it glowed bright gold instead of its natural brown-black.
"Xavier?" the voice called again.
This time, he heard it clearly.
Recognition struck him instantly.
"…Big sis?" he croaked, squinting as his vision cleared.
Violet didn't let him finish.
She pulled him into a crushing embrace, a bear hug so tight it felt like being swallowed by ocean waves.
"Xavier!" she cried, relief breaking through her voice as tears spilled freely. "I'm so happy you're alright. I was so scared something terrible had happened to you again."
Xavier remained frozen.
His eyes drifted around the room. Maids stood nearby, clearly having tended to him. He recognized Violet's personal maid—Irina Kuznetsova.
This wasn't his room.
It was hers.
The realization hit him slowly. The vibrant colors. The warmth. The familiar scent he had nearly forgotten—one that reminded him of Violet herself, of safety.
How long had it been since he'd been here?
Violet continued to hold him, refusing to let go, her emotions pouring out unchecked. Tears soaked into his clothes.
And then memory came rushing back.
London.
Teslaine.
Alcmena.
Anastasia.
Xavier's heart sank.
Why was he home?
Shame twisted in his chest. Fear followed close behind. He had run away—abandoned this life because he believed himself unworthy of it. And now he was back.
Violet felt the tension in his body.
She slowly pulled away, hands resting on his shoulders as she searched his face. "Xavier?" she asked softly. "What's wrong? Why aren't you saying anything?"
Xavier said nothing.
He couldn't.
Understanding dawned in Violet's eyes. She straightened quietly, giving him space.
Xavier turned his gaze away.
He couldn't even bring himself to look at her.
Seconds passed.
Violet simply stood there.
The silence stretched unnaturally long, until it felt like entire ages had slipped by. The tension in the room thickened, heavy enough to press against Xavier's chest. He wondered what was happening—why she had stopped speaking so suddenly.
Slowly, shamefully, he began to turn his gaze toward her.
A hand struck his cheek.
The sound was sharp. Final.
Xavier staggered, startled, his head snapping to the side as the sting bloomed across his face.
He had been slapped.
By Violet.
The realization hit him a heartbeat later, and it shook him to his core. Violet had hit him before—during sparring, during playful scolding, always light, always affectionate. Never like this.
This slap was different.
It carried sorrow.
Pain.
Anger.
Distrust.
And worst of all—disappointment.
He had never imagined a day where Violet would raise her hand against anyone like that.
Especially towards him.
The maids stood frozen. Some lowered their heads. Others turned away entirely. No one dared speak. This was no longer a private family moment—it was a reckoning, and none of them wished to be caught within its reach.
"I'm disappointed in you, Xavier."
Violet's voice was low. Quiet.
And cold.
The kind of cold that crawled into the bones and stayed there. It sent shivers through everyone present.
"Out of all the things you could have done," she continued, her words measured but trembling beneath the surface, "you chose to run away from us. Your only family. Out of guilt and pain."
She clenched her fist.
"That is what hurts me the most."
Xavier said nothing. His head remained turned away.
"Why would you abandon us?" Violet demanded, frustration cracking through her composure. "Why? What if you had died out there—did you ever think about that? Do you have any idea how much you worried us?"
Her voice rose.
"How much you broke me and Aleksander?"
Xavier's breath hitched.
"Grandfather nearly died," she continued, the words coming faster now. "He suffered multiple heart episodes after you ran away. Just thinking about you—about losing you."
That revelation struck Xavier like a physical blow.
His eyes snapped back to Violet's.
They were flooded with tears she was desperately trying not to let fall.
"When we found you," she whispered, her voice breaking at last, "your heart had already stopped."
The room seemed to tilt.
"If we had been even a moment late—if we hadn't rushed you home and used the Holy Grail—do you think you would be alive right now?"
She didn't wait for an answer.
"No."
Violet raised her hand again.
Xavier flinched on instinct, arms lifting to shield himself.
But the blow never came.
Her hand trembled in the air before slowly lowering. She held herself back, her entire body shaking with restrained fury.
"Who told you that you weren't part of this family?" she demanded. "Who told you that you weren't worthy of being here? Who told you that Father died because of you?"
Her voice cracked.
"Were you trying to get yourself killed?"
A pause.
"Please," she whispered. "Answer me."
Xavier couldn't.
Shame and guilt flooded him until he felt like he might drown in it. The sting of her slap still burned on his cheek, a constant reminder of what he had done.
Violet's voice softened, weakening with every passing second.
"Is my love not enough for you?"
Her shoulders trembled.
"Is our love not enough?"
She swallowed hard.
"Are we just a nuisance to you?"
"I–I–it's n-not like that," Xavier managed, the words stumbling over themselves.
"THEN WHAT IS?!"
Violet shouted.
The sound echoed violently through the room, reverberating against the walls, carrying through the castle itself.
Xavier froze.
Fear rooted him in place. He had never seen Violet like this—not once in all the years he had lived by her side.
Slowly, Violet's strength gave out.
She dropped to her knees.
Gasps rippled through the room, but no one moved. The princess knelt there, broken, silver hair spilling forward like a curtain of rain.
"Why…" she whispered. "Just why…"
Then her voice stilled.
"…Is it because of Percival?"
At the sound of that name, Xavier's body tensed instantly.
That was answer enough.
Violet let out a faint, hollow chuckle. "Of course," she murmured, an unsteady smile touching her lips. "Why am I even surprised?"
Her eyes burned with restrained fury.
"You took my father from me," she said quietly, venom lacing every word. "And now you've manipulated my only little brother—coaxed him into running away from his only place of safety."
Her voice trembled.
"So you could sink your claws into him."
"You devil."
"I–I'm… sorry…"
Xavier's voice was barely audible.
The room fell silent.
Violet didn't react at first. A long minute passed before she finally spoke again, her head still lowered.
"Sorry isn't enough this time, Xavier."
The words pierced him like a blade through the heart.
She was right.
The pain he had tried to spare them—
He had only multiplied it beyond anything he could have ever imagined.
"You may be a genius beyond any standard," Violet continued at last, her voice steadier now, though the pain beneath it had not faded. "But the choices you've made recently… they've left a scar on that title."
She inhaled, slowly.
"The pain and suffering you inflicted on us—whether you meant to or not—cannot be undone."
Her fingers tightened at her side.
"You broke our trust, Xavier."
A pause.
"And trust, once broken, is never the same again."
She lifted her gaze to him, eyes glassy but unflinching.
"No matter how many times you say you're sorry. No matter what sacrifices you offer to make amends."
Her voice lowered.
"Some things are universally unrepairable."
Xavier remained silent.
His heart ached with a pain he had never known before—deeper than fear, heavier than guilt. It pressed down on him until breathing itself felt difficult.
"But…"
Violet's voice softened.
"Even knowing all of that," she said quietly, "I cannot bring myself to hate you."
She shook her head.
"Not in a million years."
"If you were to betray my trust again," she continued, tears finally spilling free, "I would still love you."
"If you were to tear my heart from my chest," she said, clutching at herself, "I would still love you."
"And if one day you were no longer the Xavier I know," her voice trembled, "I would still love you."
Her hand pressed firmly over her heart.
"Because," Violet said, almost whispering now, "as Father always used to say… true love endures the harshest trials."
"It forgives even when it is wounded. Even if it can never forget."
"Not to appear righteous," she added softly, "but because it wishes to move forward without burden."
She looked up at him.
"Its warmth and kindness cannot be extinguished. No matter what."
"That is why it is precious."
Something stirred within Xavier.
A faint spark ignited in his cosmic eyes as the words reached him—words he had heard countless times before. Jonathan's words.
For a brief moment, it felt as though his father stood there once more, speaking to him through Violet's voice.
Then—
Suddenly—
Violet raised the same hand she had used to strike Xavier earlier… and, with a sharp, trembling breath, turned it on herself.
The sound was dull. Wrong.
A single strike—born not of anger, but of anguish.
"Big sis!" Xavier cried out, lunging forward as he caught her wrist, the maids rushing in alongside him. "What are you doing?!"
She stopped.
Slowly, Violet lifted her head. Her face was streaked with tears, yet she smiled through them—fragile, aching, sincere.
"Please," she said softly. "Don't ever do something so foolish again."
Her voice wavered.
"I don't ever want to raise my hand against you in hostility again."
She met his eyes.
"Please… promise me that."
Xavier swallowed.
Ignoring the crushing shame still burning inside him, he met her gaze and smiled—a smile pure, unguarded, and sincere.
"I promise," he said.
"I promise you. Big sister. Grandpa. Everyone."
His voice steadied.
"I will never do anything that makes you all suffer again."
"Even if I have to face death to keep that promise."
For a heartbeat, Violet simply stared at him.
Then her familiar, radiant smile returned.
She pulled him into her arms once more—this time tighter, deeper, holding him as though she might never let go.
His words eased her heart.
And for the first time since his disappearance, it felt as though a terrible weight had finally been lifted from her soul.