Leon trudged through the pristine snow, each footfall breaking the untouched white surface, until he stopped before a splash of crimson. The camellia in full bloom against the snow-covered branch was breathtakingly beautiful.
At first glance, it resembled Veronica—vibrant, resilient, impossibly lovely against the stark landscape. As he turned to share this thought, she approached and tilted her head upward, her face illuminated by the winter light. Her breath formed delicate clouds that rose like incense before dissolving into nothingness.
She didn’t speak, but her eyes lingered on the blossom with unmistakable longing. The branch hung too high for her reach. Leon suddenly realized he had never once given her flowers and impulsively stretched out his arm. As he awkwardly broke off a branch bearing two perfect blooms and held it out to her, her crimson eyes widened with wonder. Veronica accepted his offering with reverent hands.
Then blood dripped onto the red camellia petals.
At first, the crimson droplets were indistinguishable from the flower’s natural hue, but they spread with horrifying speed, staining even the verdant leaves until they turned black as pitch. Frozen in place, Leon slowly raised his gaze toward Veronica, dread pooling in his stomach. The moment their eyes met, a horizontal line appeared across her delicate throat, and blood cascaded forth in a gruesome waterfall. Like the camellia she held, she seemed about to fall whole from her stem.
He lunged forward, desperate fingers reaching out to catch her, but it was already too late.
The sound of someone banging on his door woke him up.
Leon’s eyes flew open, his heart hammering against his ribs, but the vicious headache pounding behind his temples kept him immobile for several agonizing moments. The door shuddered again under insistent knocking, and then, unable to wait any longer, it was thrown open with a crash.
“Enemy attack, sir! Bahamuts at the gates!”
Leon grimaced as he forced himself upright, then froze as his palm encountered the cold, empty space beside him. His gaze, which had been fixed on the rumpled sheets, eventually moved to where Genesis should have been resting. Seeing the vacant spot, he slowly opened his mouth, dread coiling in his gut.
“Where is she?”
“…Pardon, sir?”
“The woman who was with me in this room—where is she?”
The knight at the doorway wore an expression of complete bewilderment. His face asked why Leon would direct such a question at him, since Leon himself should know best. Confronted with that innocent confusion, Leon felt a wave of helplessness crash over him. He seized the sword propped beside the bed and rose to his feet. Without bothering to don his armor, he shouldered past the soldier and strode into the corridor. The stairway echoed with the clamor of weapons and shouted commands. The troops were divided between the roof and the first floor, preparing for battle.
Leon assessed the situation with a mask of indifference and descended the stairs. His eyes scanned his surroundings relentlessly, searching for the one person who should be there but wasn’t. Anxiety and urgency consumed him like a bottomless void.
“Sir Berg,” came a familiar voice. “Where do you think you’re going without your armor?”
Leon’s determined stride halted abruptly. He slowly turned toward Philip, his darkened eyes emitting an intimidating crimson glow.
“Approximately one hundred Bahamuts have completely surrounded the cathedral,” Philip continued, unmoved by Leon’s murderous gaze. “Pull yourself together and remember your duty. Your place is at the front line.”
Their unflinching gazes clashed like swords in midair. Leon pivoted and stalked toward Philip, recalling with crystal clarity how he had fallen into unnatural slumber. Philip had sent him a bottle of wine, and the woman had urged him to drink it despite his refusal. Then, overwhelming drowsiness had claimed him despite his chronic insomnia.
Most nobles carried certain potions for an honorable death—or to deliver one. A cold, dangerous smile curved Leon’s lips.
“Where have you hidden her?” he growled.
“What are you talking about?”
“Answer me straight before I snap your neck,” Leon snarled, all pretense of civility abandoned. “You know exactly what I’m asking.”
His voice, cracked with emotion yet chillingly controlled, carried no warmth whatsoever. It was obvious that Leon was teetering on the precipice of violence.
I just got her back again after all this time. I can’t—won’t—lose her again. This time, I swear by all that’s holy—
“She left of her own accord,” Philip interrupted his thoughts. “No one sent her away or forced her hand. She left your side by her own choice, Sir Berg.”
“…Lies.”
“She specifically asked me to ensure that you wouldn’t follow her when you awakened. Those were her exact words.”
Leon’s expression hardened to stone. His features contorted in disbelief and dawning horror.
Grabbing Philip by the collar, he muttered in a flat voice, “She’s not the type to venture alone into the wilderness. She wouldn’t leave without—”
“Ah, but she’s not alone,” Philip interjected. “Since she confessed she couldn’t ride a horse properly, I provided an escort. Oscar Berg—do you know him? He was the one who helped her escape from prison. He’s so devout that he later came for confession about that incident, burdened by his conscience.”
At the mention of Oscar’s name, the strength gradually drained from Leon’s grip. Philip shook off his slackened arm and turned without farewell toward a knight who happened to be seeking his attention. Leon remained rooted to the spot, abandoned once more.
Again.
He was a child left weeping at the fountain again—or a lone knight who survived the desert’s merciless embrace.
“You’re desperate for affection, aren’t you?”
The ghost of a memory whispered in his ear, taunting him with his own cruel words. The blade he had once plunged into her heart had somehow found its way back, piercing his own chest with unerring accuracy.
“If you’re going to poison me someday, slip it into my wine. So I won’t know death is coming for me.”
This was the price of his unforgivable sin. He was being punished for sacrificing another soul for the good of the many. He’d always known that he would descend into hell’s embrace alone.
“I want to be by your side.”
“Did you know? They say the people you meet at the end of your life become family.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Leon. I’ll remain in Karta until the very end.”
“I fabricated that story to make you feel closer to me. Humans are naturally drawn to shared suffering.”
Leon clutched his head as if to block out the cacophony of memories, crumbling before fate’s violent assault. Paradoxically, from below echoed the battle cries meant to bolster courage, the cathedral walls reverberating with fervent shouts:
“Sons of God! Fight with righteous fury! Sons of God! Advance with unwavering courage! Sons of God! Cross the valley of death and emerge victorious!”