On their way home, Finn made Raymond sit on his horse while he rode Vincent's horse, forcing Vincent to walk while struggling to carry the jar of wine. The dirt road stretched long and uneven beneath their feet, Vincent lagged behind them, boots scraping against loose stones, arms wrapped tightly around the jar as if it might slip from his grasp at any moment.
Finn kept his gaze forward. The horse beneath him moved steadily, its hooves dull against the road. He had many questions he wanted to ask Raymond, questions that pressed against his skull and demanded answers, but he remained silent. The rhythm of the ride gave him too much time to think.
Raymond rode quietly beside him. His posture was stiff, his hands steady on the reins. He did not ask Finn about his intentions with the poisonous wine either. The silence between them was heavy, filled with things neither of them dared to say. Behind them, Vincent's breathing grew uneven as the weight of the jar began to wear him down.
When they finally arrived home, the gates creaked open and the familiar stone walls greeted them. The courtyard smelled of damp earth and hay. Raymond dismounted first and led the horses toward the stable. He arranged Finn's and Vincent's horses carefully, moving with the routine precision of someone who had done this a thousand times before.
Finn climbed down from the saddle and immediately refused to give Vincent his horse back. He did not raise his voice. He did not need to. He simply told Vincent that from now on, he was his peasant.
The word landed hard. Vincent froze. His hands tightened around the jar of wine. For a moment, it looked like he might argue. His mouth opened, then closed again. His shoulders sagged slightly as reality settled in. Vincent reluctantly agreed. A deal was a deal.
"Oh, I forgot to ask you something, Vincent," Finn said just as Vincent was about to leave.
Vincent stopped mid step. Slowly, he turned around.
"What is it, Lord Finn?" Vincent replied.
"About that night, you are not to tell anyone about me and my second awakening. Do you hear me?" Finn said firmly.
Vincent nodded at once, a sharp movement that betrayed how eager he was to agree. His eyes flicked around the courtyard as if someone might be listening.
"Good. Now, do you have a knife?" Finn asked calmly.
The calmness made it worse.
"What do you want it for?" Vincent asked. Fear was clearly written on his face. His skin had gone pale, and a thin sheen of sweat formed along his brow. He had thought Finn had pardoned him, that the worst was behind him, but Finn only smirked.
"Just give it to me if you have one."
Vincent hesitated. His hand drifted toward his belt, then pulled away. His breath hitched. Finally, he reached beneath his cloak and pulled out a small dagger. His hands trembled as he handed it over. His face said a lot without words.
Was Finn going to cut off his hand like Vincent had done to him? Or perhaps kill him, since Finn had said Vincent now belonged to him?
"Are you going to cut off my hands just like…" Vincent began slowly as Finn collected the dagger.
Finn closed his fingers around the hilt. The weight of it felt familiar.
"Come on," Finn said. "What happened to the brave Vincent? Are you scared that I'm going to take my revenge?"
Vincent swallowed hard.
"Isn't that why you asked for my dagger?" Vincent said, his voice shaking. "Isn't that why you kept me alive, so you could kill me personally?"
Vincent trembled where he stood. His knees looked weak, as if they might give out at any second. Finn watched him closely. He felt a strange sense of amazement rise in his chest. He never imagined that the man who had heartlessly tortured and killed him could be reduced to this state. The memory of pain still lived in Finn's bones, still burned behind his eyes, but standing here now, Vincent looked small.
Truthfully, Finn had wanted to cut off Vincent's fingers. The thought had been there, sharp and tempting. But seeing how badly Vincent was shaking made him change his mind. I'll do it when he least expects it, Finn thought. He handed nothing back. He simply turned away.
After Vincent left, his footsteps faded quickly, almost like he was running. The courtyard felt emptier without him. Raymond lingered only a moment before heading to his quarters to bathe and change out of his armor. The faint clatter of metal followed him until it disappeared behind stone walls.
Inside the house, life continued as if nothing had happened. Nadia was in the kitchen preparing Finn's dinner, his father remained in his study, the door closed, likely buried in papers and thoughts that did not include Finn.
This was the perfect time for Finn to test the wine.
He kept the jar in his room. Earlier, when Nadia had noticed it, she had asked about it. Finn had told her it was for him alone and strictly forbade her from tasting it. The look she gave him had been curious, but she did not press further.
Now alone, Finn lifted the jar and poured a cup. The liquid glimmered faintly. He brought it to his lips and drank, forcing himself not to hesitate. The taste spread across his tongue, bitter and sharp. He swallowed and waited, hoping it would work.
At first, nothing happened. No pain. No dizziness. No sign of poison coursing through his veins. The seconds stretched. His heartbeat thudded loudly in his ears. Then warmth bloomed beneath his skin, spreading fast. His chest tightened. His body began to heat up, sweat breaking out almost instantly.
He removed his clothes with shaky hands and lay down on the bed, the sheets cool against his burning skin. He tried to calm his nerves. He stared at the ceiling, focusing on the cracks in the wood, on the way the shadows moved with the candlelight.
As always, when he couldn't sleep, he began counting.
"One… two… three…"
The numbers grounded him. He clung to them as the heat intensified, as his thoughts threatened to spiral. He counted steadily, refusing to rush.
He counted all the way to 1,468. That was the last number he remembered before his eyes shut. He didn't know whether he had died or simply fallen asleep. Then there was silence.
When Finn opened his eyes, he had no idea where he was. There was no bed beneath him. No ceiling. Everything was completely dark, empty, endless, stretching in every direction. There was no sense of up or down.
'Where the fuck am I?' his mind raced.
He tried to move. Nothing responded. It was like his body no longer existed. For a moment, he thought he was floating, suspended in nothingness. Then the sensation changed.
He began to fall. There was no wind at first, no sound, just the feeling of motion. As he fell endlessly, something appeared beneath him. A familiar blue and green shape. The planet Earth.
'Is that home? Am I finally going back to my real world?'
Hope surged through him, sharp and sudden. His thoughts raced as he continued falling. The image grew smaller, slipping away as light flooded his vision. Shapes formed. Stone. Towers. Roofs.
'No… still the medieval world.'
The realization hit hard. Panic filled him as the ground rushed closer. Trees came into focus, their branches stretching upward like claws. He was heading straight toward one of them, falling at full speed with no sign of stopping.
"Ahhhhhhh!"
He screamed as he got closer. The air tore past him now. He could feel his skin pulling, his body reacting to the inevitability of impact. His heart hammered violently in his chest.
Then he forced himself to calm down. 'Maybe I won't hit it. Maybe I'll float.'
The thought barely formed before it ended.
The moment Finn reached the tree, his body slammed into it with brutal force. There was a sickening crack. His body shattered into pieces, like a fish exploding on impact. Flesh and bone scattered. Ther
e was no sign of life. His powers had worn off.