“Lucy, sis, I’m going this time too.”

Back in the bedroom, Yuna clung to Lucimia’s hand like a child gripping a kite string in wind.

Lucimia weighed it, calm as a still pond; there wasn’t any special danger ahead, so taking Yuna was fine, and she nodded like a falling leaf.

They slipped out the window like two swallows, the air outside cool as river water.

From her father, Lucimia had learned that Ritch was in the town hospital, injured so badly he was wrapped like a cocoon, waiting for the Church like dawn after a long night; if they couldn’t heal him here, they’d take him to the Church for treatment and fold him into the Purification Knights like a blade into a scabbard.

After a brief word with the staff, she stepped into Ritch’s room, her shadow falling across the floor like quiet rain.

Ritch lay on a wooden cot like driftwood on a shore; his waist and right leg swaddled in white bands like coiled vines, only his hands free like two small birds.

The moment he saw Lucimia, joy sprang to his brows like sunlight breaking clouds. “My lady came to see me herself—honor enough to keep a soldier warm through winter.”

Lucimia’s silence was a sideways glance, sharp as a flicked fan.

“When my father asked who you follow, why couldn’t you answer? Did you rattle your brain like a bell?”

“I really don’t remember,” Ritch said, scratching his head like a dog worrying a flea. “Say a name, maybe it’ll light a spark.”

Lucimia hesitated, her voice thin as mist. “Cole. Remember? He’s your captain. You’re the vice-captain, he’s the captain. Last night he even spilled why he became captain—he stole the town-guard hero’s honor, used the Deceiver’s Blessing like a mask.”

She laid out last night like cards on a table, told Cole’s crimes like stones dropped in a pond, and told Ritch how he’d reacted, each ripple circling back.

But Ritch’s look struck her like cold water.

“Who’s Cole? Never heard of him,” Ritch said, frowning like a knot in wood. “And that captain you said—my captain’s Jeff. Jeff was the town-guard hero years ago, clear as the moon to me; no one stole his honor.”

“What are you even saying?” Lucimia’s certainty faltered like a lantern in wind.

When he first said he didn’t know Cole, she could blame his skull for being fogged; but the rest… it was like snow in summer.

“Don’t tell me your memory’s not just off, but you’ve got a bout of hysteria too?” Her words fell like pebbles with sharp edges.

“What’re you saying?” Ritch’s face pinched, a cloud crossing a plain sky. “Could it be you remembered wrong, my lady?”

“Impossible.” Lucimia’s voice rose like a kettle boiling.

Yuna flinched and squeezed Lucimia’s arm, a small anchor in choppy water.

“…Sorry,” Lucimia breathed, cooling like tea set aside.

Silence pooled in the room, still as a well.

Knock, knock.

Lucimia turned toward the door, gaze like a drawn bow.

“Uh, Ritch, I’m here to see you,” came a rough, honest voice, like gravel under a cart wheel.

“Ah, Captain Jeff—come in!” Ritch called, bright as a torch.

Captain Jeff? Who on earth? Lucimia steadied herself like a blade sheathing, ready to see.

Creak—

The wooden door swung, and a tall man stepped in, height and muscle stacking like hewn stone, the same build as Cole, the same hulking outline under a noon sun.

Only the face was different, a coin stamped with another emperor.

Cole’s face had begged for a fist; this one was plain and honest, but three claw-marks scored it like dried riverbeds, and he was bald, his scalp shining like a polished stone.

This was Jeff?

Lucimia swore on the quiet sky she’d never seen this man; this was her first meeting, clear as new snow.

“Ritch, you alright? Uh… this…” Jeff froze when he saw Lucimia, his eyes darting like startled fish, lost for a moment in the current.

The room fell silent again, dust hanging like motes of ash.

“You’re Jeff?” Lucimia cut the quiet like a knife through silk.

“Yes, that’s me. Uh, Lady Lucy also came to see Ritch? Heh… it’s rare as rain in drought to have a superior who cares. Thank you.” His smile was simple as bread, and he rubbed his bald head till it gleamed like a gourd.

“Alright. No need to thank me,” Lucimia said, riding his words like a leaf on water. “You’re the town-guard hero?”

“Ah, don’t call me that,” Jeff waved fast, hands like windmill blades. “I only did what I should—‘hero’ is too big a robe. But if you’re asking whether that was me, it was. See? These three scars were a beast’s claws.” He tapped his face, the lines stark as ink on parchment.

“Alright.” Lucimia nodded, a weight settling like a stone in mud. “Have you heard of a soldier named Cole?”

“Cole? No. Never. I remember every name under me like beads on a string—there’s no Cole.” Jeff’s answer was firm as nailed planks.

“Got it. Thanks.” She turned to Ritch, her eyes a shuttered window. “I’m heading out. Take care.”

“Oh, thanks. Right, about the Holy Knight—” Ritch’s hope flickered like a candle.

“Don’t worry. Once the Church arrives, they’ll take you,” she said, leaving the promise behind like a lantern on a milepost, then drew Yuna away by the hand.

“You’re becoming a Holy Knight?” Jeff’s surprise popped like a cork.

“Heh, yeah,” Ritch grinned, small sun behind clouds.

“Then congrats. You’ve got my respect,” Jeff said, palm thumping his chest like a drum.

Out of the hospital, thought gathered in Lucimia like storm clouds.

Why? Why did no one know Cole existed, like his name had sunk without a ripple?

Cole only died—so why did everyone act like he’d never stood beneath the same sky? Miserable—dead less than five hours, ashes scattered by a wind no one felt.

Was it me with the fever-dream? Maybe there was never a Cole? But that thread won’t weave; if Cole didn’t exist, who led me through the first loop? Jeff? That pattern doesn’t fit.

Wait. Yuna should know Cole, right? I told her, like carving on bamboo. Ask Yuna and the fog might lift.

“Yuna, Yuna,” Lucimia said, catching Yuna’s shoulders like catching a drifting kite.

“What… is it? What… is it?” Yuna stammered, words skipping like stones.

“Do you remember me telling you about Cole?”

“Cole?” Yuna’s brow pinched, her eyes blank as an unwritten page.

A bad feeling spread in Lucimia’s chest like ink in water.

“…I don’t remember, Lucy, sis. I don’t think you told me,” Yuna said, voice light as falling ash.

“How is that possible? Then what did I tell you?” Lucimia’s breath turned sharp as frost.

“Lucy, sis, you only said… there was a soldier…” Yuna’s words trailed off like smoke.

Silence. A blade in a sheath.

That’s it. Cole’s dead-dead, buried by the wind.

“Hss…” Pain lanced her skull like an iron needle; Lucimia pressed her temples, fingers cold as rain.

No. Why did Cole vanish into thin air, like footprints wiped from wet sand? It’s as if he never stepped into this world, and even Jeff—once robbed of credit and hacked to death as a beast by his own—now stood breathing under the sun.

History got rewritten like a tapestry rethreaded in the dark.

Hand in hand with Yuna, Lucimia drifted down the street like a boat with no oar.

Her face went blank as frost, mind snagging on the question like silk on a thorn—why did Cole disappear, and why was she the only one holding his shadow?

She couldn’t figure it out, no matter how she turned it, like a lock with no key.

Could it be Cole never existed at all? Was the Deceiver playing her like a flute? But the Deceiver’s Blessing shouldn’t dig that deep into her bones—it should’ve been a light touch, a brush of wind.

Damn it…

Her headache throbbed harder, a drumbeat in a closed room.