Newfear

Kingdom of Arcadia – 1416 AD – Capital Dreamcrown, Inside the Royal Palace.

The echo of his footsteps reverberated through the vast corridors of the royal palace, as if reflecting the weight of time passing within the walls of this ancient place. With each step, his feet left an imprint in the heavy atmosphere surrounding him, only pierced by cold whispers. At the end of the corridor, he stopped in front of a large door, flanked by two armored guards, their hands on their weapons with a graceful display of caution.

The first guard noticed the brief moment of hesitation that swept over him before he raised his voice with difficulty, saying, "G...Greetings, Duke Nightover. Has His Majesty been informed of your arrival?"

But, without paying it any mind, Duke Nightover quickly passed the guard and spoke in a sharp tone, like a sword unsheathed. "No need for that." Then, he pushed the large door open with a deep sound, revealing the royal chamber, which pulsed with tension in every corner.

Inside the room, the atmosphere was grim, surrounded by faint candles burning slowly in the silence of the night. The heavy aura of tension was almost palpable in the air. The dim light played on the ancient walls, casting long and uncomfortable shadows.

In the far corner, King 'Irvin Luscarth' stood alone before a massive table, engulfed by the unsettling momentum of that decisive moment. He was a young man in his mid-twenties, with a strong presence despite his youthful features. His black hair, which hung freely down to the end of his chin, was streaked with faint white threads. His hair cascaded in a meticulously arranged manner, adding a sense of chaotic order to his appearance. His shiny black eyes were fixed on the scattered maps and papers before him on the table, as if searching through the depths of those numbers and data for something mysterious, something slipping through his fingers.

The king sighed slowly, and his sigh felt as heavy as if it carried the weight of the world. At that moment, the sound of rapid footsteps gradually grew louder, breaking the surrounding silence. The large door was thrown open violently, and Duke Lucas Nightover entered the room.

His short white hair was like scattered snow, reflecting the faint light of the lamps, adding to his chilling and mysterious appearance. His blue eyes, like ice deep in winter, gleamed with sharpness and strength. His black outfit with a purple tie gave him an unmatched dignity and authority, as if he were a part of this place, a part of the hidden forces that ruled all of Arcadia.

The movement in the room ceased for a few moments. All eyes, from the king to the guards, turned toward him in silence, laden with invisible expectations, as if asking: What will happen now?

King Irvin nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Duke Lucas's face. There was something in his eyes, something beyond words, as if he was appraising the coming moment. Then, with a non-verbal gesture, he signaled to the guards who had been silently watching him. Without hesitation, the guards stepped forward and slowly closed the door behind the duke, adding a sense of isolation to the room, where now only the sounds and shadows surrounded them.

Lucas, with repressed anger, threw a dark letter onto the table: "You dragged my son into your war."

Irvin raised his gaze calmly, exhaling for a moment before looking at the letter, then returning his gaze to Lucas, who took another step forward, as if the ground beneath his feet were boiling.

Lucas, in a steady voice: "How many times do I have to tell you?! Don't involve my family in your conflicts... Don't force me to choose between my loyalty to you and my son's life!"

Irvin remained still, his silence not a surrender, but a deep certainty. He took a quiet step forward, his tone gaining more weight.

Irvin, calmly, like the calm before the storm: "Your son, Aqua... was not forced into anything. He knows that this war allows no neutrality, and if he doesn't carry a weapon now, he will find himself forced to carry it later, but in a worse situation. His unique talent and the experience of our leaders will secure us a better position on the battlefield."

Lucas narrowed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then advanced slowly, as if trying to control his exploding anger.

Lucas, with strict seriousness: "There was no need for this war in the first place! I told you, meet with the ruler of the Kingdom of Atheria, King Harthor, and negotiate peace. He never wanted this enmity from the start. He didn't even support the Malacard family."

Irvin's expression changed, tilting his head slightly, staring directly into the depths of Lucas's eyes, as if challenging him to continue his argument.

Irvin, coldly mixed with disdain: "Peace? The Malacard family cut off the heads of nine of our men when we sent them to negotiate and hung them over the walls of Roblaithen... Was this an offer of peace?!"

Lucas, his tone unyielding, moved closer, almost touching the table with his fist, his eyes sparking with anger.

Lucas, with repressed fury: "Because you provoked them first! After you declared that Roblaithen, which had been part of their lands for centuries, had become the home of Baron Emery, based on a suspicious document that suddenly appeared after he secured a seat in the council. Is this what you call diplomacy?!"

Irvin paused for a moment, but his eyes carried no regret, only a broader vision than mere moments of anger. He placed his hand on the table, running his fingers along the edges of the map, then raised his head, speaking with confidence.

Irvin, firmly: "Roblaithen is not just land. It is the barrier between us and them. A strategic resource that ensures our control over one of the richest mines and natural resources in the twelve kingdoms. With it under our authority, we will be able to strengthen the kingdom's economy for decades, even centuries."

Lucas turned his face away for a moment, as if resisting the truth he knew, before returning his eyes to Irvin, this time not with anger, but with caution.

Irvin ran his hand over the table before lifting his gaze toward Lucas, furrowing his brows slightly, though he did not seem angry.

Irvin, calmly, as if reminding him of something obvious: "I thought we already discussed this in the council."

Lucas turned his gaze away, then let out a short laugh, but it wasn't an expression of amusement, rather one of bitter irony. He took a step sideways, turned his head as if staring at something that wasn't there, and then returned his gaze to Irvin.

Lucas, with a voice heavy with bitterness: "The council?!… Do you mean that council where we've already expelled three men for treason and conspiring on behalf of the Kingdom of Evalin and Naivorus?! That council, Irvin?!"

Lucas moved closer, his tone becoming sharper, but not in a shout, rather a heaviness that seeped into the air between them.

Lucas, coldly: "That council is no longer what you knew. It is no longer a space for enlightened minds, but a battlefield for power struggles. It has become a heap of hands scrambling to plant daggers in each other's backs. It is no longer a council of governance, but a gambling table, where names are wagered on the kingdom as players bet on their pieces in a deadly game."

Irvin remained standing firmly, but there was a faint flicker of discomfort in his eyes, as if he did not want to engage in this argument, but still replied, measuredly.

Irvin, calmly but firmly: "Regardless of what you think, that council remains the primary reason for maintaining the stability of this kingdom to this day. Perhaps it needs some adjustments, but you cannot deny that it is what has kept us standing against all the storms that have passed."

He fell silent for a moment, as if thoughts were crowding his mind, then regained his focus and continued speaking. "Making decisions in a closed circle, where the kingdom's sharpest minds meet away from the eyes of the common people, is what led to that trial, where you won the power I now possess. And I think you know this very well, Lucas."

Lucas placed his hands on the table, leaning slightly forward, staring directly into Irvin's eyes.

Lucas, in a low but deep voice: "I know that… but you are wrong… The kingdom didn't endure because of the council, it endured in spite of it. The council you speak of no longer holds wise men or strategists, but executioners… And swords, waiting for the right moment to sever the neck of anyone who stands in their way."

Irvin paused for a moment, his eyes not leaving Lucas, as if weighing his words, before suddenly, the silence was broken by a sharp, unexpected cough from King Irvin as he placed a handkerchief to his mouth. His body bent slightly with the fit, as if something within him was trying to rebel against his existence. In that moment, Lucas took a quick step toward him, his brows furrowing in rare concern on his hardened face.

But before Lucas could get any closer, Irvin raised his hand with a calm, commanding gesture, as if telling him not to worry. He remained silent for a few seconds, then slowly removed the handkerchief to reveal small spots of blood staining its bright white fabric. It wasn't surprising to him, as if this scene had occurred before, but it was enough to make Lucas's eyes narrow.

Duke Lucas sighed deeply, his gaze becoming more rigid, but it carried within it a silent acknowledgment of something that didn't need to be said. Irvin straightened up as if nothing had happened, then looked at him, silent for a moment, as if carefully weighing his words, his black eyes watching Lucas with an icy detachment, before he spoke, his voice quiet but sharper than a sword's edge.

Irvin: "And do you think the world is any different?"

Lucas raises an eyebrow slightly, but his gaze sharpens, as if Irvin has touched the core of the real conflict.

Lucas: "No, I don't think so… But at least I don't deceive myself into believing we're any better than them. We do not rule the kingdom, Irvin. We only decide which swords will be wielded today and which will be broken tomorrow. The difference between a true ruler and a mere instrument is that the former knows he moves within a web of deception, while the latter believes he is the one weaving it."

Silence lingers for a few moments, like a silent test between two minds. Irvin does not respond immediately, but a small smile forms on his lips... not an expression of joy, but of a subtle realization.

Irvin, his voice calm yet laden with meaning, as he observes Lucas's expression: "So… you're finally beginning to see the full picture."

A heavy silence settles between them, as if the very air has thickened, carrying the weight of unspoken words. Lucas slowly turns away, taking a step back, as if the distance between him and Irvin has become more than just a few meters. Before crossing the threshold, he speaks in a low yet sharp voice, as if struggling to contain his anger.

Lucas: "Is it really worth it? Dragging the kingdom into war… sending our sons to die on the battlefield?"

Irvin remains still. He does not turn, nor does he show any sign of disturbance. He merely exhales slowly, as if the words he just heard were not new, but merely echoes of thoughts that had crossed his mind before.

He lifts his gaze toward the map hanging on the wall before him, studying the intricate lines of borders, the dots marking cities and fortresses, the territories still left undecided. Then, in a quiet voice, tinged with something unreadable... as if speaking more to himself than responding to Lucas... he says.

Irvin: "We did not start this war, Lucas… but we will pay its price if we do not win it. The Malacards are no longer alone; they have allied with two houses from Atheria. Now, their army marches westward, and the battle will be decided on Draxul's lands.

Lucas stares at the ground for a moment, as if standing on the edge of a decision he despises. Then he lifts his head again, this time without anger... only with the weight of truth.

Lucas, in a voice as calm as resignation: "So… there is no turning back."

Irvin, with a ghost of a smile, as if he had known this all along: "There was no turning back the moment the first head fell in Draxul.

Irvin paused for a moment, then continued in a calm yet firm voice. "War… is not a matter of worthiness, but inevitability. And those who are thrown into its fires… are the price that has been paid since time immemorial."

The silence between them stretches, with only the faint flicker of candlelight dancing on the walls, as if mirroring the flames waiting to consume the kingdom. Then, at last, Irvin turns, his eyes glinting with calculated coldness as he watches Lucas's shadow disappear beyond the door.

Lands of Savirus – In one of the commercial districts, the narrow alleys bustled with street vendors despite the night's cold creeping through the cracks of the stone walls.

Savirus was a melting pot of all social classes... nobles, beggars, merchants, and thieves coexisted within its streets. Yet, despite the laws granting the common folk greater opportunities for trade and settlement, it remained a city brimming with life… and injustice.

The night wrapped the city in its merciless cold. The damp streets, illuminated by dim lanterns, reflected the silhouettes of passersby, distorted by the puddles of water and mud pooling in the alleys. While some found warmth inside taverns, others had nothing but the wet pavement as their refuge, with the biting chill as their only companion.

Then...

The silence was shattered by the violent creak of a door slamming open.

"I told you, don't come back unless you have money!"

A figure was hurled out of a tavern, landing hard onto the wet ground. Mud splattered his tattered clothes, and his elbow struck the jagged stones beneath him. Yet, he let out no sound of pain... he merely lay there, resting his head on his hand, feeling the silent ache spreading through his body.

Slowly, 'Raymond Vanheim' lifted his head, the hood of his worn cloak concealing most of his face. His gray eyes swept across the feet of the passersby, none of whom spared him even a glance. He was nothing more than a shadow... unseen, ignored.

A familiar whisper echoed within him:

"If only I were someone else… If only things hadn't ended this way..."

He exhaled, dragging himself upright. With sluggish movements, he dusted himself off and took in his surroundings. His gaze wandered across the alleys, the shops, the soldiers patrolling in their polished armor, and the relentless motion of life... so indifferent to his existence.

Everything moved forward. Yet, he alone remained still, trapped in something deeper than mere exhaustion.

Until...

A crowd caught his attention in a vast square. Through the shifting bodies, he glimpsed a combat arena encircled by eager spectators, their excited shouts rising above the din. Torchlight gleamed off swords, the mingling scent of sweat and blood thick in the air, saturating the scene with an almost primal intensity.

Intrigued, Raymond edged closer, slipping between the people... oblivious to something unusual.

Everyone in the crowd stood at precise distances from one another. He hadn't noticed yet that this was no coincidence.

He pressed further into the throng, his eyes gradually adjusting to the sight of the arena. Then...

"You filthy bastard!"

A shrill scream tore through the air like a dagger.

Raymond turned to find an elderly woman pointing at him with trembling fingers, her wide eyes brimming with theatrical outrage.

"This scoundrel touched me inappropriately!"

His body stiffened. His eyes widened in shock.

What?!

Glancing around, he saw the crowd's focus shift to him, their expressions twisting into disgust and rage.

Then... The men closest to him unsheathed their swords.

"You sick bastard!"

"How dare you?!"

"He violated her honor in front of everyone!"

The sharp ring of blades leaving their scabbards was drowned by the rising tide of curses hurled at him. Fingers pointed, voices roared, and all eyes locked onto him, burning with seething hatred.

Raymond stood at the center of the tightening circle, his mind racing to comprehend the absurdity of the situation.

Then, in a cold, steady voice, he spoke.

Raymond: "I never even touched her."

But no one was willing to listen.

The old woman scoffed, her voice trembling with righteous fury.

"He defiled my honor with his filthy hands! This wretch won't leave here alive unless he pays the price! ...I demand no less than five silver coins."

Raymond blinked. A chill ran down his spine. Everything was happening too fast... far too fast. He scanned his surroundings for an escape route, but the mob had already closed in, and the men with drawn swords cut off every possible exit.

And deep inside, an all-too-familiar sensation welled up within him...

A tightening in his chest. That wretched feeling coiling deep in his gut, as if the very air had grown heavier.

This was not just an unfortunate incident.

This was something he had felt before.

The suffocating grip of helplessness... when the walls closed in, leaving no choices, no way out. His eyes flickered across the crowd... some faces tense, others excited, and many simply eager to witness bloodshed.

It wasn't about truth.

It didn't matter whether he was guilty or innocent. He had seen this before. And it was happening again.

His hand moved slowly toward the hilt of his sword, realizing that the only way out was through force.

But then...

"You idiot!"

A sharp slap struck his cheek, snapping his head to the side. Startled, Raymond turned to face a young woman, her honey-colored eyes glinting with irritation as she glared at him.

"Didn't I tell you we're already late!?"

She spoke as if she knew him, her voice carrying an odd mix of exasperation and authority. The crowd hesitated, confusion flickering through their ranks.

Then, before Raymond could react, she leaned in and whispered under her breath...

"Stay quiet, dumbass."

He stared at her, dumbfounded. He didn't know her. He had never seen her before in his life. And yet, she was acting as though she did.

But the old woman wasn't about to let this slip away so easily.

Old Woman: "Who are you, you naive girl?! This man is a degenerate who must pay for what he did!"

The young woman stepped forward with unwavering confidence, gripping Raymond's hand tightly before declaring in a firm voice...

"I am his adopted sister, and this man is Viscount Dion Vanheim."

Silence fell over the square, thick and suffocating.

Every head turned toward Raymond, disbelief rippling through the crowd like wildfire.

"Viscount Vanheim?!"

"But… how could he look like that?!"

"Surely, she wouldn't dare lie about something like this!"

One of the men seemed ready to argue... until he suddenly froze. His eyes widened in shock as he noticed something.

Peeking out from beneath Raymond's tattered hood... Strands of fiery red hair.

The man swallowed hard. "Wait… that red hair…!"

Others followed his gaze. For a moment, there was hesitation.

The flaming hair of House Vanheim... a rare trait, unmistakable and exclusive to their bloodline.

Though Raymond's appearance was far from noble, the mere possibility of his lineage was enough to make them reconsider.

The men who had raised their swords began lowering them cautiously. The anger in their eyes shifted into uncertainty. Even the old woman, stubborn as she was, gritted her teeth in frustration... but could not deny what she had seen.

The Old Woman: "If what you're saying is true…"

She finally spoke, trying to maintain her stance, but she no longer seemed as confident as she had moments ago.

The girl quickly continued before they could regain their balance.

"His father, Duke Vanheim, has summoned him for an urgent matter. So I must take him now, and I will return later with compensation for you, by the direct order of His Grace, the Duke."

The crowd's expressions changed in an instant. The anger turned into greed, their heads lowered slightly, and smiles began to creep onto their faces.

Then, before anyone could open their mouth to object, the girl grabbed Raymond's hand and swiftly pulled him through the alleys, bypassing the hesitant onlookers.

But…

"Liana!?"

A voice called from behind. A man among the crowd stood frozen for a moment before shouting her name.

The old woman's eyes widened, and she turned toward him.

The Old Woman: "Samuel, what did you say?!"

Samuel: "It's Liana… She lives here. I'm certain now."

And at that moment, the old woman's expression shifted from anger to seething rage.

"You fool! Why didn't you tell me this from the start!?"

She gestured to the men around her.

"After them! Don't let them escape!"

By then, Liana was already pulling Raymond through the dark alleys, her steps quick, her breath rapid. She knew the chase had begun. Raymond, despite everything, couldn't take his eyes off her.

At last, she veered toward an old building, pushed the door open, and threw herself inside, dragging Raymond along with her.

Their breaths were heavy as they hid inside one of the old structures, surrounded by cracked walls and the stench of damp rot. They could hear the footsteps of the men passing through the nearby alley, exchanging hurried words.

Man 1: "Did you see them? Where did they go?"

Man 2: "No sign of them… How could they vanish so quickly?"

The Old Woman, angrily: "It doesn't matter! Search everywhere! If we don't find them today, we'll find them tomorrow! Those bastards have no idea who they're dealing with."

The voices gradually faded until only an oppressive silence remained.

Raymond, who had been gripping the hilt of his sword the entire time, exhaled deeply and relaxed his hand. Slowly, he turned toward the girl who had just saved him, his eyes scrutinizing her.

Still trying to catch his breath, he finally spoke, staring at her.

Raymond: "Who the hell are you…?"

His voice was low but sharp.

Raymond: "Who are you? And why did you save me?"

Leaning against the wall, Liana smirked.

Liana: "Why? Would you have preferred them to cut off your hand in the square?"

Raymond pressed his lips together, unable to give a direct answer, yet he still didn't trust her. Her actions seemed improvised, but every word she had spoken had saved him. He felt as if she was used to situations like these.

Raymond: "What was that? That lie about me and Viscount Dion?"

Liana raised an eyebrow mischievously.

Liana: "Oh, did that hurt your pride? Don't worry, next time I'll let you face the mob on your own."

Raymond felt a twinge of annoyance, but he wasn't in a position to argue. He was still trying to process what had just happened... how things had shifted so quickly from a deadly predicament to an unexpected escape.

He studied the girl standing before him. Her hazel eyes glowed with an enigmatic glint. The small smile on her lips was more perplexing than reassuring.

Taking a deep breath, he searched her face for answers to his mounting questions before speaking in a voice weighted with the burden of difficult times.

Raymond: "You still haven't told me who you are."

Liana smiled, but it wasn't without a hint of mockery, as if she were playing a game she knew all too well. She began walking slowly toward the alley's exit, her steps calm, as if she carried no weight on her shoulders.

Liana: "…Liana."

Raymond felt that name alone wasn't enough to explain what had just transpired. He exhaled slowly, as if trying to sort his thoughts.

Raymond: "My name is..."

But before he could finish, she cut him off with a short laugh, raising an eyebrow mockingly.

Liana: "I already know who you are… Raymond Vanheim."

Time froze for a moment. His eyes narrowed, sinking into a sea of doubt and disbelief. Slowly, he pulled back his hood, revealing dark red hair that fell freely over his forehead. His skin was slightly pale, his gaze heavy as if burdened with exhaustion or indifference, his lips subtly curved in a quiet expression. He wore elegant, dark attire... a black coat adorned with delicate embroidery and metallic buttons, its high collar accented with metal rings.

Raymond focused his gaze on Liana, who was standing in front of him. His usually calm features now seemed tense. He raised his eyebrows slightly.

After a heavy moment of silence, Raymond spoke in his deep voice, which carried a tone of both surprise and caution.

Raymond: "How did you know?"

Liana pointed her finger at her hair, sarcastically hinting at the red strands that Raymond couldn't hide under his worn cloak.

Liana, with a mocking smile as she walked calmly: "The Duke of Vanheim has three children... The first, Dion, the youngest son, a business genius, who became the first to receive the title of Viscount at a young age."

She paused for a moment, glanced at Raymond, and then continued in a calm but sharp voice.

Liana: "Then there's the second daughter, Talia, the brilliant student who topped the kingdom in politics and diplomacy. The perfect girl, whom everyone bets on for a promising future."

She fell silent for a while, as if enjoying the intrigue she was stirring, before slowly speaking the next words, with a tone that mixed mockery and pity.

Liana: "And finally... Raymond. The eldest son, who has not yet been considered the official heir to the duke's succession. Also, the most useless of them all. No title, no achievements, nothing worth mentioning. Just... Raymond."

She raised her eyebrow slightly, watching his reaction, while Raymond remained silent, his expression frozen, though his eyes burned with something his face didn't reveal. He didn't need to respond… he had heard these words countless times before.

Liana: "Anyway. It's not easy to hide the Vanheim mark... especially in this part of the kingdom."

Raymond felt as though a weight that had been pressing on his shoulders was starting to lighten, and he exhaled calmly, but Liana hadn't finished speaking. Her gaze was different now, deeper, as though she was no longer looking at him but at something else... a distant past.

Liana, her voice calm yet carrying a bitter undertone: "I also know the nobles when I see them..."

Raymond stared at her for a moment; there was something in her eyes he hadn't yet understood, but it piqued his curiosity.

Raymond, calmly but with clear curiosity: "How so?"

Liana stopped walking, didn't turn toward him, only sighed deeply, as if carrying a burden she had never shared before. When she spoke, her voice was quiet but filled with heavy emotion.

Liana, with a faint, joyless smile: "Because they come here from time to time... watching us from a distance as if we were animals in a cage. Their gazes... never leave their faces; fake pity, concealed contempt, and an arrogance that stinks to high heaven."

She then finally turned toward him, just for a brief moment, but in her eyes, there was something more than words... there was a hidden resentment, and exhaustion from a reality that hadn't changed.

Liana: "This land, and the "Rayspon" lands, are the only ones they've allowed us in this kingdom... to be the exile for the commoners, a refuge for the poor, and a place where we're tossed as though we were garbage.

She paused for a moment, contemplating the dark sky that shaded them, before continuing in a quieter, yet harsher tone:

Liana: "But don't think I helped you because I believe in your nobility or honor. I helped you because I don't want to see more bloodshed on this land... at least, not today."

Raymond felt her words like a new slap, but one that wasn't physical; it was psychological, carrying with it a bitter truth he wasn't ready to face.

When Liana began walking toward the street lit by dim streetlights, he hesitated for a moment before speaking in a low voice, as if he feared the air itself might hear him.

Raymond: "Where are you going now?"

Liana suddenly stopped, turned slowly, and a sarcastic smile curled her lips, a smile that held something much deeper than her words revealed.

Liana, smiling calmly: "Why? Are you following me now?"

In that moment, Raymond felt something strange, something unfamiliar. It was as if his heart had taken a sudden hit, his pulse racing in a way he had never experienced before. It was the first time he felt something like anxiety or awareness of another person in this way. He couldn't define what he was feeling… it was just a new feeling, an unexpected one, a blend of curiosity and something mysterious.

He didn't think, didn't hesitate. He had no time to analyze what was happening inside his chest. His feet moved quickly, as though an invisible will was pulling him behind her, urging him to follow her through the narrow, dark alleys and winding passages, as though he couldn't help but chase after her.

Liana climbed a crumbling stone staircase, her light footsteps echoing as if leading a hidden procession. Raymond followed her silently, astonished by how his initial fear had turned into limitless curiosity.

And finally... the cold air touched their faces as if it carried all the secrets of the city in its breeze, blowing fiercely, but that didn't stop them from savoring the strange and disorienting moment together. There, at the top of the crumbling tower, where the walls breathed with the passage of time, and the sky shimmered with stars that might have witnessed ancient sorrows, they stood in silence, yet shared something invisible, a mysterious feeling, in a place that still held the memories of the old world.

Raymond, in a quiet voice, almost whispering: "How do you feel here?"

His question was strange, as though it wasn't just about the place or the atmosphere, but about what was going on deep inside Liana. Yet, her words were clearer than ever at that moment, the moment when a person first feels they can capture something they've been running from their whole life.

Liana, in a low voice, as if answering herself before she answered Raymond: "Here, I think I can breathe in peace."

She paused for a moment and looked down, where the town lay beneath her feet like a masterpiece, carrying all the details of the life they had lived, all the struggles, the dreams, and all the pains they had always avoided seeing. Then she looked at Raymond, her eyes carrying a ghost of profound understanding.

Liana, continuing in a calm tone: "Here, it's just us. Nothing else. No titles, no powers, no past, no future."

Raymond turned his head toward her, his eyes studying her face, there was something in her eyes that drew his attention, as though those eyes knew much more about life than he could ever discover in his coming years. But he felt something else too, something he hadn't felt before, a sense of extraordinary completeness between them, as if time and space had intertwined to offer this one moment he couldn't understand, yet felt it held a truth that touched his heart.

Raymond, in a hoarse voice, closer to a whisper: "And me… what about me?"

Liana turned toward him, spent some time in silence before answering, but her words came slowly, as if opening an old wound she hadn't discovered until now.

Liana, in her calm voice, but with some reflection: "You too, are here. Far from everything. And that's a rare thing... Rare to find a place where you can escape from yourself.

There was something strange in her words, something like an invitation, but it didn't mean to run away, rather it meant to accept the moment, to stand there as one is, without the need for justification or worry.

And the breeze whispered again, adding an odd note to the silence between them, and with it, Raymond felt something stir inside him. Something he couldn't name, but knew it was a feeling that would never repeat itself, a moment that broke the barriers between two hearts in this harsh world.

Liana, in a low voice, with a hint of sharpness in her tone: "But, despite all this... this place, no matter how beautiful and distant it takes me from the noise and filth of the people in this town, has become a prison for me."

She sighed, then continued in a more emotional tone.

Liana: "I've always wished to leave this town... leave this muddy land with all its burdens... and live in the mountains and rivers, where no one knows me, where I won't be chased by memories, and where the corners of this place won't weigh down on me with the past. I want to be free... free the way I want to be, without anything holding me back."

Her voice touched his heart in that moment, as though she was expressing something greater than just a desire to escape. Her words were like a hidden cry searching for true freedom in a distant place, in another time, far from the constraints that govern her. Her eyes drifted away from the winds that ruffled her hair, staring into the distant horizon, as though seeing something no one else could, something far beyond everything she had known.

Raymond, in a quiet voice, watching her: "But, do you think escaping will set you free? I've tried that… many times."

Liana, with a soft sigh, then finally turning toward him: "Sometimes, escape is the only thing that keeps you alive."

Her eyes glistened with a kind of mysterious sorrow, as though the mountains and rivers she wished to live among represented something beyond mere places. They represented a distant dream, one that was out of her reach, but she was trying to reach it with all her strength.

Raymond, whispering, as if talking to himself: "The memories..."

Liana, with a sad smile, then continuing: "Yes... we are all here prisoners of our memories, as if they were a noose tightening around our necks, preventing us from breathing."

Her eyes were filled with unspoken words, with many untold stories that lingered behind her deep gaze. But Raymond felt something in his heart, something he couldn't name, but it resembled mercy... mercy that this girl, standing before him as if carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, deserved.

He couldn't respond to her words. He just stood there, feeling the weight of her words pressing against his heart, as if they were pushing him to face what he, too, had been trying to escape.

Then, suddenly, a loud voice shattered the silence.

"There! I see them!!"

The voice rose from the roof of a nearby building. It was the man who had previously chased them with the old lady, waving his hand in their direction, a look of tension on his face. Soon, the rest of the men appeared, racing toward the spot, climbing the stairs and ladders with determination, as if they were pursued by something and thought of nothing but catching up to them.