After the completion of the canal through the Isthmus of Corinth—six days before Nero's return to Rome.
That day was cold and overcast, a sky of dim gray choked with white clouds, as though morning never fully came.
"Rain, huh… Lucusta."
"Ah… Y-Yes, Your Majesty."
Nero, sipping mushroom soup prepared by Lucusta, gazed out the window with mild interest. Raindrops tapped gently into puddles, their ripples colliding and vanishing as if melting away into the gloom that blanketed the heavens.
"I wonder if it's raining in Rome too. Though this kind of drizzle shouldn't cause flooding. But even if it did… it wouldn't matter."
"I-I see…"
Lucusta turned her head slightly at the sound of her Empress's voice, only to see an expression unexpectedly tender and serene.
She had no idea what Nero was thinking, but the girl's lips had curved into a gentle smile, one so soft it was almost maternal.
"Lucusta," Nero said with that same smile. "Can you guess why?"
"Um… Is it because of Lord Novia?"
"Bingo." The Rose Empress beamed. "He's like a sea of stars shimmering in the filth and darkness. To the Empire... and to me, he's… incredibly, impossibly important."
Lucusta wasn't entirely sure what the Empress was getting at, but she figured it was just more praise for Lord Novia—who clearly meant a great deal to her.
As the two spoke, the rain continued, light and misty like a fine fog. They both fell silent, staring into the quiet world beyond the glass. The city stretched into the distance, endless and shrouded in shadow. Not a soul in sight.
"Lucusta, here."
After a while, Nero spoke again and held out a small bottle, almost empty, with just a few drops of what looked like water.
"What's this...?"
Lucusta blinked in confusion.
"It's poison," Nero said plainly. "I want you to use it as a base to make something stronger—something that can better control the mind."
"…Your Majesty, is this...?"
Lucusta knew it wasn't her place to refuse. She was speaking to the Empress, after all. But she couldn't think of a better way to phrase it, and worry gnawed at her. She glanced at Nero's expression.
The golden-haired girl just smiled—bright and cheerful as always.
"This is an order, not a request."
Those eyes. Those terrifying, devouring eyes—like pitch-black mud swallowing all light. It was the first time Lucusta had ever seen such a gaze on the Empress's face.
Even though Nero was smiling, Lucusta felt as if she were drowning in a whirlpool too vast to comprehend. Something unseen swelled around her like a rising tide.
Frightened, she could only nod silently.
"Good," Nero said, tilting her head with a grin. "I've always wanted to do this. It's a little late, but better now than never. This poison was meant only for me, but since I need you to improve it, I'll let you sample it."
Lucusta's first thought was: No, please. But right behind it came another: The Empress seems… like a stranger.
Still, thoroughly unnerved, she did as she was told. She let a droplet fall onto her palm and placed it on her tongue to analyze its properties.
It tasted… oddly familiar. That subtle hint of something she couldn't quite place.
Was this a test? Was Nero playing some kind of twisted game?
Lucusta remained silent. Under the dim light of the room, Nero still wore that bright smile—as though cheerfulness were her truest form.
But that smile was framed by those horrible eyes.
So Lucusta summoned her courage.
"Your Majesty… this is strange."
"Hm? Don't tell me even you can't manage it?" Nero asked with a look of puzzlement.
"No, that's not it… it's just... this liquid—it's not poisonous at all."
Silence.
Only the sound of the rain remained, whispering down from a bleak sky. The dim world stretched endlessly, the drizzle drifting outward like a dissolving dream.
After some time had passed, Lucusta stole a glance.
Her heart nearly stopped.
Tears streamed silently from Nero's pitch-black eyes, falling like broken pearls. She was crying—but without a sound.
Lucusta's chest ached. I want to help her. I want her to stop suffering like this.
She scrambled to think of something—anything—she could do. But the only conclusion she could come to was: Let her cry. Let her weep in peace.
"…Heh."
Nero suddenly gave a soft, strained laugh. Her lips moved faintly—Lucusta thought she might've been saying Sorry… Thank you, but she couldn't be sure.
"You may go now… I'm tired."
She held back her sobs. But the weeping would not stop.
"…Alright."
Lucusta quietly left the room. As she stepped out, the muffled sobbing exploded into cries that pierced the overcast sky, vanishing into the far-off atmosphere.
Nero didn't understand what her tears meant.
The rain wasn't heavy that day—but it went on and on.
Late at night, in the courtyard of her temporary residence, the golden-haired girl sat, soaked to the bone. Her clothes clung to her skin, her damp hair plastered to her face and neck. But she didn't care.
She lifted her head from her knees and gazed upward. The cold drops struck her face.
She had learned the truth—her teacher, Novia, had never tried to poison her. It was all in her head. And now, she realized it fully:
She had never been important enough to him to be poisoned.
She was still the same as always—someone who could be thrown away at any time.
In the quiet chaos of her thoughts, her own breathing sounded unbearably loud.
The rain grew heavier. Water dripped steadily from her hair and clothes.
It was cold. So cold.
Nero hugged herself, curling tighter.
Why… Why… Why didn't you poison me?
Do you hate me now, Teacher? Are you leaving me? Abandoning me?
Her heart cracked. Fractured like glass beneath the weight of despair. That fragile sense of purpose she had tried so hard to mend was now flooding again with darkness—drowning her in isolation.
In the days before her return to Rome, every time Nero fell asleep, she had the same dream.
In total blackness, she held a cold dagger—and stabbed it into her teacher.
Expressionless. Emotionless. Again and again. Repeatedly.
Her own face blank. Her voice echoing softly in the void: Why? Why...?
In that dream where only the two of them existed, she kept killing him. Quietly. Over and over.
It was agony.
What should I do...?
She'd wake up hugging the First Flame Novia had given her—clutching it like a lifeline.
When did I fall in love with him?
She couldn't remember. It felt so long ago. But he had always been… different.
If I hadn't fallen for him... if I hadn't felt this way... maybe none of this would've happened.
Was I cursed to be abandoned from the start?
Her mother had only carried her out of hope that she could poison her infant daughter and divorce her drunken husband. Her mother's hope was her own despair.
"I never wanted to be born into this filthy, mud-soaked world..."
Fury surged from her chest.
Precisely because she was born in the muck, she yearned even more for that blinding star beyond her reach.
The blood in her veins no longer felt like blood—more like soft cotton. It wasn't her imagination. If she cut herself, she felt like cotton might pour out instead.
I'm just a doll. A meaningless, disposable doll.
No wonder people throw me away. It's inevitable.
To Nero, being alive had always felt like staring at the drifting clouds in the sky—distant and numb.
No wonder she felt nothing. Nothing left any trace in her heart. Only noise. Meaningless, worthless words. Screeching static. She didn't even want to look anymore.
She curled herself tightly into the foul, repulsive world, thinking—
If only it would all end.
But the world showed no sign of ending.
Other people's lives, she imagined, must be different. Full of color, music, family, joy.
Someone like that probably wouldn't want life to end.
But hers had ended already. It had no taste, no color. Just a girl with her head in her hands, thrown away like trash.
There's no way I could be happy here.
There was no memory she could cling to. No reason left to live.
"I shouldn't have been born..."
She whispered it as she held the First Flame tight.
And for the first time, that phrase truly pierced her heart.
It was like she'd been set ablaze. The heat burned through her every nerve—like she was drowning in a red sea of blood, swallowing filth with every breath.
The blood sea rose—soaking her legs, her waist. Soon it would engulf her, swallow her whole.
She didn't know why she was still here. The weight inside her was too much.
She had no strength left to move. No desire to resist.
She wanted to disappear.
When she realized the blood had reached her chest, her limbs already numb—
It'll be easier this way.
But even so, the feeling inside wasn't relief. It was rage.
I was never meant to exist. That's why I'm alone.
"I'm all alone…"
The words slipped out.
And she cried.
Not silent sobs.
She wailed—like a child who never learned how to stop.
"...Even though I don't know why I should live, it still hurts so much when I'm about to disappear... Why…? Tell me, Teacher..."
It was absurd. Her mind had already given up, but her body—this fragile shell she'd carried for over ten years—still longed to see that one person, one last time.
So she moved.
Six days passed. Nero returned to Rome.
The first thing she did was seek out her teacher—Novia.
"…Teacher, I'm back…"
Her verdant eyes barely opened, her voice almost nonexistent.
"Welcome home, Nero. Are you alright...?"
Novia looked upon her haggard form. Her eyes were like a doll's—emotionless and hollow.
But within his vision, a strange illusion appeared: a small, fragile figure holding something close, her features strikingly like Nero's, overlapping with her posture...
"It's nothing. I'm just tired… I'll be fine after some sleep…"
Her voice was thick from crying.
Novia, standing in dazzling sunlight, looked directly at her.
"Then rest here for now. Once you've rested, I have something to tell you."
But inside Nero's mind, something had already begun to unravel.
Ah... I'm vanishing. I'm losing myself.
Why am I here…?
Who am I again…? What did I come here to do? Who is Draco? Why does this blood-red sea keep calling me…?
Nero's consciousness was slowly swallowed by darkness, and she felt her body gently collapsing—
that was the last sensation she could hold on to.
As everything else gradually faded from her mind, only a single unfamiliar name and one sentence echoed over and over—
"Teacher… please, don't abandon me…"