"Traitor..."
"You betrayed your kind for them? You killed us for those monsters?!"
A man's voice roared through the air, thick with rage and anguish, his final breath stolen by the blade lodged deep within his chest.
Blood poured from the wound, crimson staining her pale hands, seeping between her fingers. The warmth of it, the weight of his life slipping away, haunted her.
She stared at her hands, trembling, unable to wipe the stains away.
"…I'm sorry…" she whispered, her voice barely audible, choked with regret.
"…I'm truly, truly sorry…"
In that moment, Alice was transported back to the battlefield, the dream she couldn't escape.
She saw herself again—standing alone amidst the carnage.
Bodies of her own kind, the blood of both humans and Demi- human staining her hands, mingling into one grotesque, indistinguishable mess.
She had killed them. All of them. For the very creatures who raised her.
The Border Assault. The battle that turned her into the weapon they wanted her to be—the one who claimed more lives than any other.
She had become known for it. Until she was struck down by the Red Executioner.
The moment the blade had come for her, Alice had felt it—Death's scythe grazing the skin of her neck, cold as ice.
The same sensation that clawed at her now, the dread creeping up her spine.
She had been terrified. Terrified of dying, of vanishing without answers, without purpose. She begged, pleaded, and screamed for her life.
In that final, desperate moment, her enemy—perhaps out of some twisted mercy—had spared her.
How pitiful.
That was how Alice had seen herself. Why had she clung to life when she had taken so many?
Why had she spared herself when she couldn't spare anyone else?
But the truth was simpler than that. Alice didn't want to die. She was too young—only fifteen years old.
Life had barely begun for her. She had never known love, hadn't experienced its warmth or tenderness.
She hadn't even begun to unravel the mysteries of her own past. She didn't know who had killed her family, or if she ever would.
She had no idea what her dreams meant, or how to escape this existence that seemed so far beyond her control.
She didn't want to kill anymore. She didn't want to keep walking this path of bloodshed. But she also wanted to protect those she loved.
Yet, in the end, she had failed. Failed to protect anyone. Failed to be what they needed her to be.
Alice had accomplished nothing,
A total waste of potential.
…
…
...I'm still alive?
The thought echoed weakly in Alice's mind, her body heavy and unresponsive.
Where am I?
Her eyelids fluttered, but the effort was futile. She couldn't bring herself to open them fully—her body was drained, every inch of her soul exhausted.
All she could perceive was a faint blur of darkness, an endless chasm stretching beneath her.
Right... the Hydra. The memories came rushing back, each one sharp as a knife.
The beast had regenerated its final head, rising once more, its fury unmatched. Alice had tried to finish it off, to end it all. But…
And...
The weight of failure pressed on her chest like a boulder. She had failed. Robert and Claw had died in vain. The thought churned in her stomach, bitter and unforgiving.
Alice wanted to scream, to let the tears flow, to release everything that had been choking her.
But she was too weak. Even the thought of crying felt overwhelming. It took every ounce of her will just to hold on.
Surviving that fall... someone must have saved her.
As the fog of unconsciousness started to lift, a flickering light pierced the darkness.
Alice blinked, her vision hazy at first, but gradually it sharpened. She saw the flame, the warmth of it contrasting with the cold emptiness that had surrounded her.
And then she saw him.
Sitting next to the flame, a young man shrouded in shadow, his form almost blending into the night.
His raven-black hair, once sharp and striking, now seemed faded, as though it too had been weathered by the harshness of the dungeon.
Unknown.
The one who had saved her.
For a long moment, Alice simply stared, too weary to speak, too stunned to move.
She wasn't sure if she was still dreaming or if this was reality. She had no words, only the quiet sound of her breath and the faint crackle of the fire.
"Awake now?"
His voice was casual, too casual. But to Alice, it was a chilling sound, like the calm before a storm.
His hollow silver eyes turned toward her, and the moment they met hers, she felt something freeze inside her—an overwhelming dread.
It was as if those eyes were looking right through her, peeling back the layers of her soul, exposing everything she had buried.
"...?"
Alice didn't respond immediately. She couldn't.
It was as though the words had lodged themselves in her throat, too heavy to escape. She tried to speak, but the urge faded, and she stayed silent.
His gaze lingered for a moment longer, then he simply turned away, dismissing her without another word—as though she were nothing more than an afterthought.
The silence that followed stretched between them like an abyss, thick and suffocating.
Alice's body felt like it had been shattered upon impact with the ground.
Each breath was agony, each movement a struggle. Her limbs were broken, her ribs and lungs bruised, her spine crushed under the weight of the fall.
The pain was unbearable, but it was nothing compared to the overwhelming sensation of helplessness.
For a long moment, Alice couldn't move. Her body was paralyzed, trapped in the aftermath of the collision.
But she knew the healing ability she possessed would eventually kick in—though it would take time, perhaps more than she had.
As she lay there, her eyes tracing the dim light of the fire, she noticed the careful bandages wrapped around her injuries.
The scent of medicinal herbs clung to her skin. Someone had taken great care in tending to her wounds, and she knew who it was.
The man who had saved her had also bandaged her.
"Ah."
He had seen it all–her naked body.
The soft groan of realization slipped past Alice's lips before she could stop it.
She hadn't meant to make a sound, but it was too late now.
At the noise, Unknown glanced back at her.
His gaze was as cold as ever, his silver eyes void of warmth, but for the briefest moment, there was something else—just a flicker, too quick for Alice to fully comprehend.
A flicker of warmth was buried deep beneath the surface, before it disappeared again, hidden behind the wall he had built.
She couldn't tell if it was real or just a trick of her tired mind, but that tiny shift—barely perceptible—struck her harder than she expected.
It left her feeling disoriented, as if the world had tilted just slightly.
Yet, Unknown said nothing. He didn't move any closer. His silence hung in the air, suffocating, as though he were waiting for something—something Alice couldn't quite understand.
The stillness stretched between them. It made her uneasy, more so than his cold demeanor ever could.
Finally, her raspy voice broke the silence, barely above a whisper.
"Why did you save me?"
"Don't know. Don't ask." Unknown said coldly.
"Don't ask?" Alice's voice cracked, her frustration bubbling to the surface. Exhausted and on edge, she couldn't hold back.
"What do you mean by that? What do you want from me by doing this?"
Unknown didn't respond immediately. Instead, he stood, his movements slow and deliberate, almost predatory in their grace.
The firelight cast long shadows across his figure as he stepped closer, each footfall silent but weighted with purpose.
Now standing before her, Alice could finally see him clearly.
He was striking in a way that felt almost unnatural.
His angular features were sharp, almost cruel, as if chiseled from marble.
His skin was pale, nearly translucent, the faint flicker of the flames casting eerie highlights and shadows across his face.
There was a beauty to him, one that rivaled Robert's, but it was a cold, unfeeling kind of beauty—a face that could command attention but gave nothing back.
What drew her most, however, were his eyes.
Soulless silver orbs that, at first glance, seemed void of emotion.
But as Alice looked deeper, she saw something buried within them—a shattered soul barely holding itself together.
Fury swirled in their depths, an all-consuming rage that seemed to burn him from within, yet it was tightly leashed, restrained beneath an unyielding facade.
His expression was as still and lifeless as a corpse, but his presence felt anything but dead.
It was sharp, dangerous, like the edge of a blade held too close.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low and even, each word carefully measured.
"As I said before, I don't expect anything from any of you."
His tone was devoid of warmth, each syllable cutting like ice.
"If you fully recover, it'd be best if you disappeared from my sight."
Alice winced at the bluntness, but he didn't stop.
"The next time we meet, we will surely be enemies. That's all."
He turned as if to leave, his black cloak shifting slightly with the motion, but something about him felt unresolved, like a storm barely contained behind a fragile veil.
His words were final, yet they lingered in the air, heavy with a weight he likely hadn't intended.
As Alice watched his retreating figure, her heart stirred with an unexpected realization.
There had been no true malice in his voice, no cruelty behind the icy exterior he presented so carefully.
His reasons for saving her remained a mystery, perhaps even to himself, but one thing was certain to her now.
'He's not an evil person.'
Unknown took another step, clearly intending to leave, giving her the solitude she might need.
But something compelled her to speak, to bridge the distance he was so determined to maintain.
"Hey! Don't go. I have something to say."
He stopped mid-stride but didn't turn back immediately. His shoulders tensed, as though he were bracing for something he didn't want to face. "What is it?"
Alice hesitated for a moment, her voice faltering before she forced the words out.
"...My name is Alice. Remember it."
For a moment, there was only silence. He didn't respond, didn't even look at her.
His gaze remained fixed on some distant point, as though her words hadn't reached him—or as though he didn't want them to.
Then, finally, he sighed. It was faint, almost inaudible, but enough to betray a sliver of the weight he carried.
"Leonore," he said at last, his voice low, measured.
It was a simple reply, and yet it carried an inexplicable depth, as though the name itself was burdened with unspoken memories.
She couldn't help but smile faintly, relief washing over her.
He had offered her something, however small, and she was grateful for it.
What Alice didn't know, what she couldn't have known, was the truth behind the name.
Leonore wasn't his real name.
It was a name borrowed from someone who no longer existed.
A name that belonged to a memory long buried, to a person long dead.