The hall began to distort. People's faces twisted grotesquely, their features blending into one another like wet paint on a canvas. Their mouths stretched and curved upwards into creepy grins, their eyes also stretched into uneven smiles. The walls and ceiling melted, their vibrant colors pooling onto the floor and vanishing into an abyss of blackness.
"A..r....ith" Lia was crawling toward him, blood and scars ruining her appearance.
Panic surged through him as he turned and ran, slamming into the grand doors with enough force that shattered them into fragments. He didn't stop, his breath coming in ragged gasps as the world dissolved around him.
It felt like drowning—like an invisible force was squeezing the air from his lungs. He stumbled, falling into what felt like a cold liquid. It rushed into his nose and mouth, filling him with an unbearable heaviness.
He thrashed, trying to break free, but his movements slowed until they ceased entirely. Darkness enveloped him, but his mind remained stubbornly awake.
He couldn't lose consciousness. He was trapped in this suffocating nightmare, aware of every second of his helplessness.
And yet, amid the chaos, one thought burned brightly in his mind: Lia. She's in danger.
The darkness shattered like glass. A distant voice called to him, pulling him back. He gasped for air—and his eyes flew open.
Mozrael's eyes flickered open at the sound of the door opening. A maid entered with a tray of food and medicine, placing it gently on the table beside her. The maid looked at her expectantly, but Mozrael only shook her head, signaling for her to take it away.
"Mozrael... The king is concerned about your health," the maid said softly, waiting and hoping she would at least consider the request.
The maid paused, then, sensing the unspoken request, quietly withdrew, leaving the room in silence.
The door clicked shut behind her.
Mozrael's gaze shifted to Aramith, still unconscious on the bed. Her expression softened as she observed him, but a storm brewed inside her. Thoughts of Lia attacking him ignited an uncontrollable rage. While she cared for Lia, Aramith was her switch. Anyone who threatened him would feel her wrath. Lia had learned this the hard way, and now Mozrael kept her away from him. No one got close to him without her permission.
Mozrael shifted uncomfortably in her chair by the bedside. Aramith's forehead glistened with fresh beads of sweat, his breath uneven and shallow. She rose quietly, perching beside him on the bed. Her fingertips grazed his temple, dabbing away the perspiration with a cool towel. As she worked, his brows furrowed, and his fists clenched.
Her breath caught. Was he waking up?
"Li…a…" The barely audible whisper made her freeze. Irritation flashed through her, but it was drowned by relief. At least he was coming around.
Her hand hovered near his face, brushing a stray lock of hair away. Her palm rested on his cheek—it was colder than she expected, yet oddly comforting. His lips moved again, and a stream of words escaped. Mozrael couldn't make sense of what he was saying, it was all gibberish. His voice went low to a whisper and curiosity pulled her. She leaned closer, her ear hovering just above his mouth.
Then, he gasped sharply, his chest heaving as he sat upright. She squealed in surprise and backed up. His coughs broke the tense silence, his hands clutching his chest.
"Aramith?" Mozrael's voice cracked as his eyes locked onto hers. He blinked, disoriented, and she froze. This was the moment she had been waiting for, yet now, she felt paralyzed. What should she say? What should she do? Hug him? Speak? How would he respond?
Aramith's gaze darted around the room, piecing together his surroundings. His memory stirred, his mind flickering back to Lia and that nightmare.
"What time is it?" His voice was hoarse but steady enough to break her internal debate.
"It's past sundown," she replied, her voice softer than she intended. "You've been asleep for about a day. A-Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," he muttered, his tone distracted. "What's going on? Is the event over?"
Mozrael hesitated. "No, it only just started." Mozrael stared at him. He looked so disoriented and lost in thought. She felt like hugging him. Maybe it would make him feel better.
"Where's Lia? Is she okay?"
Her heart sank at the question, an uneasiness creeping into her chest. She paused, and Aramith misread her hesitation.
"Wait... do you know Lia?" he asked, his brows furrowing.
"What?" she blinked, startled by the question.
"You don't know her?"
"What are you talking about?" she snapped. "Of course, I know her. Why would you even ask that?"
"I… never mind," he said
Mozrael gestured to his clothes. "Your outfit is ready."
Without another word, she turned on her heel, heading for the door. "I'll wait outside," she added softly. It pained her that all he could do first was ask about Lia's whereabouts. He didn't even acknowledge her presence. She didn't exist in his world at that moment. Maybe she didn't exist in his world at all, not like the way his presence filled her with fullness.
The door barely clicked shut before Aramith emerged, fully dressed.
"How did you—" Mozrael began, but he interrupted her.
"I need to get to the main hall. Quickly."
"But you're not—"
"I have to go," he said firmly. "Lia needs me."
She clenched her fists, uncertainty gnawing at her. Did she have the right to reach for him? Her fingers twitched, the memory of his warmth lingering from past moments. Just before she could talk herself out of it, she moved.
She grabbed his hand. "Why are you so... Lia doesn't need you. At least not now. She can do it alone, go and rest. Don't you remember she's the reason why you were even unconscious? You should go-"
"You're acting strange, Mozrael. Are you sure you're not the one who needs rest?" He sounded concerned but that pained her.
"Stay," she hissed, her grip tightening, and her breath uneven. "Why do you always…" Her voice faltered, frustration bleeding into grief. "Why do you always pull away? Besides, she's the one who made you unconscious, don't you remember?" She sounded desperate.
"I know she did that but it was a mistake. Let me go," he dislodged his hand from her grip which had become painfully tight.
Her spirit sank as she trailed after him, her footsteps heavy. Once again, she was being left behind.
And then, there she was. Lia, radiant in her pristine white dress, the picture of elegance. Aramith's eyes lit up, his voice cutting through the hum of the hallway.
"Lia!" he called out.
She turned, her expression unreadable. Before she could speak, he closed the distance, wrapping her in a tight embrace. Lia stiffened for a moment, then wriggled free. She was afraid because of what she'd caused, but if he was happy, no need to bring back terrible memories.
"Aramith! You'll crease my dress," she scolded, pouting. Though her lips trembled with the effort she put in to hold back her smile
"Oh, come on," he teased, grinning. "Don't be so mean. I just woke up."
"Are you sure you're okay?" Her voice softened slightly, concern creeping into her tone.
"Of course. I won't miss your big event. How heartless do you think I am? Can't a good brother get a hug from his sister?"
"Eh… no."
"Ouch," he said with mock hurt, stepping back.
"I missed you so much, Lia. You—ugh." His words faltered as a chilling image of Lia from his nightmare flashed through his mind. Pain rippled through his skull, forcing him to stagger.
"Aramith!" Lia's voice was laced with worry as she reached out to steady him.
He laughed awkwardly, brushing it off. "Hahaha, it worked. You do care!"
"You idiot," she muttered, punching his arm before walking toward the main hall.
"Come on, I was joking!" he called after her, jogging to catch up. But the ache in his head pulsed more intensely with every step, the haunting visage of Lia lingering at the edges of his vision. It was as if his very blood roared in his ears.
Hidden behind them, Mozrael's hands clenched into fists. Why did Lia accept him so easily? Why did he care so much for her? The questions gnawed at her, filling the void left by his absence. And yet, she could only watch as he drifted further away—again.