He should have heard the footsteps.
He should have felt the killing intent.
He should have known the Hero would never stay down.
But grief is loud.
Memories are heavier than armor.
And for the first time in years… he had let his guard down.
He stood in the brunt down house, fingers brushing the floor where her notes once rested.
So quiet.
So peaceful.
Too peaceful.
A whisper of metal behind him.
A breath that wasn't his.
Then—
steel tore into his back.
No warning.
No shout.
No honor.
Just a blade sliding between his ribs, deep enough to reach the place his heart should've been beating.
He froze.
Blood dripped onto the floor.
The Hero's voice trembled—
not with guilt,
but with desperate righteousness.
"You… should never have been born."
The villain tasted iron in his mouth.
A familiar taste.
Childhood.
Chains.
Poisoned dinner.
Cold floors.
Betrayed.
He exhaled slowly.
With the mocking tone"…You always stab from behind," he murmured.
The Hero gritted his teeth, pushing the blade deeper.
"You don't deserve to face me. You don't deserve anything."
The villain didn't scream.
He didn't fall.
He simply looked at the moon—
the same moon she wanted to see with him.
His hand twitched.
The firefly around the grass glow softly under the moon.
A faint glow spilled out.
Her glow.
Her dream.
His reason.
And suddenly—
the ground cracked.
Magic erupted like a heartbeat awakening after years of silence.
The Hero staggered back, blinded by the sudden burst of power.
The villain dropped to his knees, clutching the wound, trembling.
He wasn't dying.
But he wasn't living either.
The world spun.
His blood hissed on the ground like burning ink.
The Yuruke mark blazed violently—
responding not to rage,
but to heartbreak.
His vision blurred.
He forced himself up, one knee shaking, breath ragged.
The Hero raised his sword again—
—but the villain lifted a hand.
A whisper of ancient magic wrapped the air.
A portal snapped open behind him, swirling dark like a wounded sky.
The Hero stepped forward—
—but the villain stepped back.
Falling into the darkness.
Escaping.
Not out of fear.
But because dying here…
would mean dying in front of her memories.
His last strength pushed the spell shut.
The cave swallowed him whole.
Cold.
Silent.
Dripping with echoes of a time long forgotten.
He collapsed against the stone floor, blood trailing behind him like a broken story.
He coughed, tasting pain and memory.
"Even now…" he whispered into the dark.
"…you haunt me."
The firefly light flickered weakly in the sky.
Her light.
Her dream.
His curse.
He presses his bloody hand over the wound on his back, breathing shallowly.
Unable to stand.
Unable to die.