A land thick with fog, where a tranquil silence was the only thing filling it. Its name: Xilna.
This was the Boundary—the fragile line between life and death, the final threshold before oblivion. It was a liminal realm, barren save for those burdened by regret, their souls teetering on the edge. Here, one step forward meant surrender.
In the heart of this void, a lone bonfire flickered weakly, its embers struggling against the encroaching darkness. It was not a beacon of hope, but a solemn marker—a grim resting place for those who could not move on.
A young man wearing a jacket walked aimlessly for what felt like hours, echoes of cries and screams reverberated through his thoughts, a thousand anguished voices clawing at him, pleading, demanding, begging.
Die. Die. they whispered, their tones a mix of fury and sorrow.
He stopped at the bonfire, his eyes hollow yet, at ease. His heart felt light, the coldness that seeped through his veins now gone for a sense of comforting emptiness.
The sky was bleached white, with no stars in sight. The fog covered everything, even the ground was like a cloud, yet his feet were on solid ground. The bonfire gave no warmth, its flames giving no light.
He sat down on the ground, his eyes never leaving it.
"So, you've made it here."
His head snapped up, and there she was—someone who couldn't possibly be here. She stood before him, her long brown hair cascading over her shoulders, her violet eyes sharp and piercing. The faint glint of her glasses caught the fire's muted light as she adjusted them with a practiced motion. Her voice carried no warmth, only a cold detachment he recognized too well.
"I wonder," she mused, her tone as casual as if they were old acquaintances meeting by chance. "Who defeated you?"
She stepped closer, her presence an anomaly in this forsaken place. As she moved, the fog seemed to part for her, acknowledging her existence in a way it hadn't for him.
Without waiting for an answer, she settled down by the bonfire, her eyes never leaving him. Unlike the others, she wasn't one of the damned souls beckoning him to give up.
Unlike the countless others who had beckoned him toward surrender, she didn't carry their despair. She wasn't a damned soul, desperate and clawing.
She was something else entirely.
She was someone he had killed.
"Perhaps you've lost your voice," she noted, seeing that the young man hadn't even moved his mouth.
The young man's mouth twitched, but no words came. His body remained rigid, his gaze fixed on the bonfire.
"Or maybe," she continued, her voice soft but cutting, "you have nothing left to say."
She leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees, her fingers laced together. Her presence wasn't accusatory, yet it was relentless.
"I'm disappointed."
For the first time, his eyes shifted. He looked at her, truly looked, and in those hollow eyes, a flicker of recognition surfaced.
"It's you…" he finally whispered, his voice hoarse and weak, as if dragged up from the depths of a frozen lake.
Her expression didn't change. The cold detachment remained as she studied him. "Yes," she replied simply. "It's me."
The bonfire between them crackled faintly, leaving only a stretching silence.
"Do you regret it?"
He hesitated, his lips parting as though to speak, but the question was far more complex than that. Finally, he closed his mouth and lowered his head, his silence louder than any words he could have offered.
"I see," she murmured. "Then maybe you do belong here, after all."
The fog around them thickened, pressing closer like an unyielding wall. For a moment, it felt as though the entire world had contracted, leaving nothing but the two of them and the dim, flickering fire.
"Luka…" she said his name, her voice quieter now, almost tender, but there was no warmth in it. "Do you understand what this place is? What it means for you to be here?"
He shook his head slowly, his movements lethargic, as if every fiber of his being resisted the acknowledgment.
"This is Xilna," she said, her gaze drifting to the formless expanse around them. Her violet eyes flickered, reflecting the dim light of the fire. "The boundary between life and death."
"And you…" She turned her gaze back to him, her expression unreadable, her eyes piercing. "You're trapped here because you refuse to decide."
"You cling to life but refuse to confront it. You carry the weight of death, but you won't fully accept it. So here you are, caught at the edge of existence, unable to move forward… or go back."
The fog swirled again, and distant whispers grew louder. Cries of anguish and despair clawed at the edges of his consciousness, pulling him in every direction at once.
"Do you hear them?"
The young man nodded, his movements sluggish, as though the fog itself weighed him down. His arms hugged his jacket tightly, seeking warmth or solace—anything to shield him from the cold, both within and without.
"They are angry, and rightfully so. But they don't exist."
He tilted his head slightly, his eyes filled with confusion.
"This place," she said, gesturing to the formless void around them, "is a manifestation of your mind—or, more accurately, a part of it. Xilna is the mind, shaped by your memories, doubts, and fears."
She paused, her violet eyes narrowing slightly as if gauging his reaction.
"And beyond this," she continued, her tone growing colder, "is Xibalba—the realm of your heart. That is where the real battle lies. This," she gestured again, "is merely the prelude."
The oppressive weight of her words settled over Luka, squeezing his chest like an unseen vice. The mention of Xibalba sent a shiver down his spine, an instinctive, primal fear awakening within him.
"Then why are you here?" he asked at last, his voice barely above a whisper, his teeth sinking into his lower lip to keep it from trembling.
"You gave me a name. Violet. That was enough to cement my existence in your mind."
The mention of the name made Luka's stomach churn, yet he kept listening.
"You may have killed me, Luka, but you didn't let me go. You carried me with you. And now, here I am."
Her words felt like another weight pressing down on him, a truth he didn't want to confront.
"Why?" he asked, his voice breaking. "Why are you still here?"
She leaned forward slightly, her violet eyes locking onto his with unflinching intensity.
"Because you haven't forgiven yourself," she said softly. "And because you haven't decided what you truly want."
She paused, her gaze shifting past him, her head tilting ever so slightly as if hearing a distant echo. Her tone became quieter, almost wistful.
"Besides," she murmured, her lips curving into a faint, enigmatic smile. "I am not the only one here."
A chill crept over Luka, crawling along his spine like icy fingers. He hesitated, his breath catching in his throat, before he turned his head.
Behind him, a formless shape emerged from the fog, its edges undefined, shifting like a mirage in the pale, oppressive light. Yet even in its abstraction, he could make out long, flowing hair cascading like a waterfall and the outline of a dress that drifted as if suspended in water.
"Who…" Luka whispered, his voice trembling as his mind struggled to piece together the image before him. The figure didn't radiate malice; there was no resentment in its presence. Instead, it carried an aura of quiet sorrow, tinged with something he couldn't quite name.
And then, like a dam breaking, recognition flooded his mind. His eyes widened, his lips parting in a gasp as memory returned with painful clarity.
"You're the ghost I saw at the World Tree…" he murmured, the words escaping him like a confession.
The figure didn't respond, but its form seemed to shift subtly, leaning closer, as if acknowledging his words.
"Unlike me," Violet's voice broke through the tension, sharp and analytical, "it seems she's here of her own accord." Her violet eyes flicked toward the specter. "I, on the other hand, am here because you are about to betray me."
His head snapped toward her, confusion etched across his face. "Betray you…?" he asked, his hands trembling.
"I already told you. You read my book, decided to act after knowing the truth, and killed me. You took on my challenge, and rose up to it."
"That wasn't a challenge!" Luka's fists clenched tight, his chest tightening with the memories he wished he could shake. "If you hadn't been so stubborn, if you had just—"
"I would've died anyway," she interrupted, her tone matter-of-fact, cutting him off without hesitation. "The moment you chose not to accept death, my fate was sealed. What followed was nothing more than the natural conclusion of our common goal."
"And now," Violet continued, her voice softening, almost tender, "you're still clinging to your guilt. Still trapped in the mistakes you think you made, unable to move forward."
Luka's frustration flared, his hands tightening into fists. "So you just want me to forgive myself? Just like that?" His voice rose, thick with disbelief. It was an absurd request, one he couldn't possibly accept, not after everything he'd done.
"You are a truth seeker, just as I was. You fought to preserve humanity in this world, and I fought to give my kind one last chance. We were enemies with the same goal, Luka. Yours triumphed over ours. That is all."
"But why?" he whispered, his voice raw. "Why did we have to come to this? Why did it have to end this way?"
Violet's expression softened, as though she had long known this moment would arrive. With her eyes closed, she placed her hand close to her chest, as if shielding something precious. "This is why I chose you, Luka," she said quietly, her voice tinged with something tender. "Deep inside, you are a kind soul. One who hates injustice more than anything."
Her words seemed to hover in the air, suspended in the fog that surrounded them. "You are a man who strives for goodness but doesn't shy away from the necessary evils. You understand that sometimes, there is no perfect solution—only the lesser of two tragedies," she continued, her voice steady yet tinged with regret. "In your heart, you always seek the best outcome, hoping against hope to find a way that could save everyone…"
She paused, her violet eyes darkening as she continued. "But in that specific case, at the Sominium Vale, there was none. Succubi are fickle creatures, Luka. Even if my spell had been completed, it would never have been safe. Some among us would have twisted it for their own ends or to enslave all of humanity, evolving it into a full-scale war."
Violet's gaze met his, piercing yet mournful. "You knew that, didn't you? You understood that no matter how noble my intentions, the moment my creation was unleashed, it would bring chaos. And you did what you thought was necessary."
Luka stood motionless, her words echoing in his mind. His gaze met hers, searching, questioning, seeking some thread of understanding.
"You don't hate me…" he finally said, his voice low.
"Indeed," Violet nodded slightly, a bittersweet smile gracing her lips. "I don't hate you. In fact, I placed my hopes on you. That you would bring an end to my research."
"This is why you dropped the book and… gave me the glove," he added.
"But you already knew all of that, didn't you?" she said, her tone laced with gentle teasing.
"Hearing it from you is better," he sighed. "Those were just suppositions. We didn't have time to talk before the spell's exhibit, after all."
She nodded, the air between them heavy with shared understanding. "We were out of time, Luka. And I needed you to act. You didn't hesitate."
"And yet," he said, his voice cracking, "I killed you…"
His fists tightened, his emotions boiling over as he shot to his feet. Pointing at her, his voice cracked as he screamed, "Why would you do that?!" His eyes glistened, tears threatening to spill. "I stole your life! I thought we were friends. That… That…"
His voice broke entirely, his accusation crumbling under the weight of his grief. His arm fell to his side, and he looked at her, utterly lost.
"I hated every second of it!" he pressed on, shaking his head. "I killed every last one of them! Even if they begged me, even if they pleaded for help, even if some of them did nothing wrong!"
I killed. I killed. I killed and I killed without remorse, without hesitation. Limbs flying, screams of pain and blood everywhere.
"Do you remember why you went to the Ark in the first place?" she asked.
"To have you as allies!"I thought that… I thought you would at least listen!" he shouted, his face twisted with frustration. "But in the end, you tricked me. You tricked me into planning that stupid spell!"
"You knew everything from the start!" Luka's voice cracked further, his rage turning to despair as he staggered toward her. "You used me…"
His strength gave out, his knees hitting the ground as his shoulders slumped. He crumbled, trembling, his head bowed under the weight of his guilt and fury. "You used me," he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.
Her hand hovered just above his, hesitant. "You're right. I used you for my own ends. But I wasn't talking about that."
"Huh?" he looked up at her, confused.
"You came to the Ark because a war is brewing," she said, adjusting her glasses with a calm deliberation. "You came to the Vale because you knew things were about to turn dire. Luka, you didn't just stumble into this. You entered a war."
"So what?" His voice was defensive, brittle.
"So," she continued, her gaze piercing through him, "in war, you can't afford your ideals. You can't cling to your dreams of coexistence when the very ground you stand on is splitting in two."
Her words hung heavy in the air as she leaned closer, her tone sharpening. "This isn't a fairy tale, Luka. It's a battle for survival between two primary species. And if my research is correct…" She paused, her words deliberate and cutting. "You're on the wrong side of justice."
His breath hitched, and he clenched his fists tighter, trembling as her words sank in. "I know…" he muttered, barely audible. "If what's in your book is correct, then…" He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.
"That doesn't mean you give up," she said firmly. "You don't stop fighting just because the truth is messy or because the answers aren't what you wanted."
Luka's shoulders shook, tears spilling freely now. "But what if I can't fix this? What if it's already too late?"
"Who ever told you to fix it?"
The question took him off guard, and he blinked, confused. "No one…" he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Then why," she pressed, leaning closer, her eyes searching his, "do you cling so desperately to saving this world?"
"Because this is the only place I can live in now… As long as he is here…"
As long as the Hatman was alive, there was nowhere for him to run. And now that he was there, all he had to do was to survive as long as possible.
Every step he took, every battle he fought, wasn't just for some grand ideal—it was for the sheer necessity of staying alive. If he didn't fight against the demon army, his chances of survival would plummet to nothing.
Violet watched him carefully, her expression unreadable, but before she could respond, another voice broke through the tense air, sharp and almost amused.
"Good grief, this is getting nowhere…"
The sudden intrusion was accompanied by the soft flutter of wings, the sound delicate yet commanding. Luka's head snapped up, his tear-streaked face twisting in confusion.
"Otherworlder," the voice continued, smooth and laced with a faint disdain, "perhaps you should've told her that Tamia isn't your home in the first place."
"Who—?"
Hovering before him was a figure no larger than a child but radiating an aura that made his skin crawl. A man with a crown woven from leaves, wings shimmering like a butterfly's in the dim light, and an air of regal authority that sent a chill down Luka's spine. He quickly reached out to his jacket to get a hold of a talisman.
The figure tilted his head, his sharp gaze cutting through Luka's defenses. "No need for hostility," he said with a faint smirk, his tone almost playful. "If I wanted to harm you, you'd already be dust. I'm merely here to observe… and perhaps offer a little clarity. As usual."
Violet's eyes narrowed slightly. "You're the fairy king."
The man spread his arms wide, a dramatic gesture that only heightened the unsettling aura around him. "The very same!" he announced. "My name is Arawn, King of the Fae. And I believe we have much to discuss, but I will cut to the chase."
"Discuss what?" Luka asked, his voice wary.
Oberon's smirk widened as he descended slightly, his wings fluttering in rhythmic pulses. "Your role in this war, of course. Or, more precisely…" He leaned closer, his eyes gleaming with a knowing light. "The futility of it."
Luka's brow furrowed, confusion and unease mixing in his expression. Before he could respond, Arawn straightened, tilting his head as though pondering something deeply.
"Though I might understand your motives," Arawn continued, his tone taking on a detached, almost academic quality, "it's painfully evident you're chasing a doomed outcome. The Hatman is your first enemy, yes, but Kaeris…" He paused for effect, his gaze locking onto Luka's. "Kaeris is a close second. You see, even if you managed to fell one of them, the other would remain a looming threat—not just to you, but to your entire world."
Luka swallowed hard, his mind racing, but before he could interject, Arawn's expression soured. His voice turned almost bored, as if dismissing Luka's struggles as nothing more than a tiresome distraction.
"Your little game here, where you can't decide whether to kill yourself or press on… it's growing tiresome," Arawn continued, his tone biting with impatience. "So, let's cut to the chase. I'll make you an offer. Whenever you reach a point where you feel you can't go on anymore, when your will is finally shattered and you've had enough, come find me in my realm. Enter Xibalba, and meet your fate there."
"I don't believe in fate."
Arawn's lips curled into a smirk, the edges of his eyes twinkling with mischievous intent. "Me neither," he said, with a casual shrug. "That makes us two! But let's be honest…" His expression grew wistful, almost nostalgic, as if contemplating something far beyond Luka's comprehension. "Sometimes I wish it did."
"And if I refuse?"
Arawn's smile softened, as if amused by the question. "Refuse? You could. But the outcome would remain the same. You've already started down a path with no easy way back. Eventually, you'll see the truth. And when that happens…" His face turned into a disappointed look. "I'll be waiting."
With that, the fairy king disappeared, leaving Violent and Luka alone. The young man loosened himself and allowed him to sit back on the cloudy ground.
"Well, you heard him," Violet said with a soft sigh, her voice laced with an edge of resignation. "Now, you're on your own."
She turned her back to him, a sense of finality in her movements as she began to step away.
Luka's mind whirled, but there was something that still felt incomplete, a piece that hadn't yet clicked into place. "I died… How could I wake up?" His voice was raw, an undercurrent of disbelief rippling through the question.
Violet glanced over her shoulder, a knowing smirk curling on her lips. "Let's just say you're blessed with good friends," she said with a hint of humor, though there was a sadness there, too. "Unlike me. Take care of them, and they'll take care of you."
When she was about to leave, Luka raised his voice. "Wait!"
"I will remember you," he said those words, his eyes piercing hers. "I will never forget you, I promise."
She looked bewildered for a moment and then smiled softly.
"I already know that. You said it when you buried me."
With that, she faded away, the fog thickening around her.
"So you were still…" he muttered, his fists clenching.
That promise, no matter how hollow it felt, was something he would hold on.
No matter what.