Zareth sobbed on the ground, his cries breaking the thick, suffocating air. He didn't dare lift his head. He didn't want anyone to see his face.
Yona stood there, frozen. Confused. She didn't know what to do. Should she comfort him? Should she say something? But the only thing she felt toward him was guilt—guilt that had festered for years, tangled with an anger that refused to die.
Her jaw clenched as she gripped her head.
"I should find Kaia already..." she muttered. Then, without another glance, she turned to leave.
But the past wasn't done with her.
Memories crashed over her like an unrelenting tide, drowning her in the agony she had tried so hard to forget.
A dimly lit room. Months of isolation. No food. No water. Only her own voice, whispering, "I'm sorry," over and over again, like a prayer, like a curse. She repeated it until she believed—no, hoped—that her mother would hear it, that Zareth would hear it, that someone would take her away from this hell.
But no one came.
She had survived, somehow. Tore at her own hair. Scratched her arms so deep the blood dried on its own. And yet, the real punishment hadn't even begun.
Then, one day—
Click. Clang.
The metallic door creaked open. Yona barely registered the sound, barely believed it was real, until a familiar voice shattered the silence.
"So, you're still alive? Tsk."
Her mother.
Yona's body wouldn't move. How long had it been since she walked? Had she forgotten how?
Then came the hands—older girls grabbing her arms, dragging her outside. Her legs wobbled, but they moved. Her body, weakened and broken, still obeyed.
And that was when she saw him.
Zareth.
Stepping out of another room. Pale. Weak. Hollow. But no—he wasn't just weak. He was just as ruined as her. Equally exhausted. Equally tortured.
Something in her snapped.
"Zareth!" Yona ripped herself from her sisters' grasp and stumbled toward him. Her hands clutched his shoulders, her voice raw, wrecked from days—weeks—of crying.
"Hey! Zareth! Zareth!" She shook him desperately. "I-I… please, say something… please—"
But his eyes.
His eyes weren't on her.
They weren't on anything.
They stared past her, into some abyss she couldn't reach.
Then—
His eyes widened.
Yona saw the shift, the way his hollow gaze finally registered something behind her.
A chill crawled up her spine as she slowly turned.
The blonde woman stood there, a grin slashed across her face.
"Let's make things interesting today, shall we?" she purred, eyes locked onto Zareth. "You've learned your lesson, haven't you? Tell me…" Her smile widened. "Should I punish Yona harder or less than you?"
Yona's breath hitched.
She turned back to Zareth, her heart hammering against her ribs.
No. He wouldn't. He couldn't.
Zareth's lips parted. His jaw tightened. Then—
"Make her suffer."
Yona's entire body locked up.
"More than me."
She couldn't breathe.
"She deserves it."
Her heart shattered, crumbling into pieces that cut deeper than any wound.
Zareth wasn't just saying it. He meant it.
And as her sisters grabbed her once more, dragging her into the abyss, she saw it—
A faint smile on Zareth's lips.
Days blurred into agony.
Pain so relentless, so unbearable, that Yona forgot how to react to it. She stopped screaming. Stopped crying. Even when her skin split, even when her body burned, nothing came out. Her tears had long dried up—nothing left to shed.
Solomon and Zareth weren't just bystanders. They were part of it.
Solomon poured hot wax over her body, his hands steady, his face void of mercy. Zareth stood beside him—not stopping it, not even hesitating. No comfort. No relief. Instead, they humiliated her, threw dirt on her, as if she were nothing.
She had stopped hoping for escape.
And yet, the thought lingered at the back of her mind, like an instinct she couldn't kill. Even without hope, something inside her refused to die.
A year passed like this.
Until—
"The inn has been invaded! Quickly, get out—"
A scream. Cut short by the sickening sound of metal piercing flesh.
A sister crumpled to the ground, a sword buried in her back.
Panic spread like wildfire. Footsteps thundered through the halls. Some grabbed weapons, others ran, but it was useless. Yona stood still, empty, watching the chaos unfold.
The invaders hadn't reached her yet.
And Solomon? Zareth? Mother?
Gone. Vanished without a trace. Had they escaped?
Yona took a step forward.
The battlefield raged ahead, swords clashing, bodies falling. But her mind whispered a single thought—
This is my chance.
A way out. An end to this miserable life.
She moved toward the carnage, toward the swords that would cut her down—
Then she heard it.
A cry.
A child's cry.
She stopped.
Turned.
The sound was faint, coming from somewhere deeper inside the building. The invaders were too caught up in their slaughter to notice her slip away.
Her footsteps were silent as she followed the noise.
A crack in the wall—no, a hidden passage. A part of the torture room she had never seen before. Had Mother, Solomon, and Zareth escaped through here?
Not that it mattered.
Her body moved on its own, led by that fragile, desperate wail.
Through the passage. Into a room. Down a corridor. Then—
Outside.
The air was different. Open. Free.
No chains. No locked doors.
Roads.
Yona had only ever read about them, in books stolen from the library during brief moments of stolen peace.
The cry was closer now.
She followed.
And then—
Two men.
Older than her.
One held a baby, bouncing it in his arms, his expression twisted in frustration.
The other scowled. "So annoying."
"I'm trying," the first one muttered. "You could help, you know."
Their voices were distant, buried in the fog of her memories. Their faces blurred, cut off.
Yona didn't remember them.
But they noticed her.
The irritated one flicked his hand, magic crackling at his fingertips.
"Inefficient." His tone was cold. "They missed this one."
He lunged.
Yona didn't flinch. She had anticipated this—expected it.
But—
His wrist was caught mid-air.
The baby-holding man had stopped him.
"Don't touch her."
Yona froze.
Her head throbbed, the weight of incomplete memories crashing over her. The past stitched itself back together, revealing something she hadn't known was missing.
She stepped forward. Hesitant. Confused.
And then—
Slash.
Pain.
A sharp, blinding pain tore through her chest.
Her breath hitched. Her vision blurred.
A drop of blood slid from the corner of her mouth.
She looked down.
The angelic sword—pure, radiant—pierced straight through her heart.
A low chuckle ghosted against her ear.
"Finally," Zareth whispered, voice dripping with satisfaction. "I will reach my full potential."