CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: Thread of a Lost Fate

A/N: The next chapters will be written from Kai Alaric's point of view.

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The sky was an endless canvas of blue—vast and untouched, yet something about it felt wrong. No wind stirred the air, no clouds marred the heavens—everything was unnaturally still. The world held its breath. And yet, a weight pressed against my chest, an unseen force stole the air from my lungs.

I don't know where I'm going, but the way my heart constricts—the scorching pain it brings—and the fear wrapped around me like a second skin, unshakable and all-consuming, I know it's pulling me toward something I cannot ignore.

I was astride my horse, moving forward against my will. The reins lay limp in my hands, my fingers numb as if they belonged to someone else. Again and again, I willed my body to stop, to turn back—but it would not listen. The horse pressed on, hooves pounding against the earth in a steady, yet rushed, relentless rhythm, as though something beyond sight had seized control. I wasn't riding—I was being carried, pulled toward an unseen fate. And the faster we went, the tighter my heart clenched, burning with a pain I couldn't name.

Someone called my name—a voice too familiar, yet distant. I wanted to turn, to seek the source, but my body didn't react; it simply carried on, drawn toward an unknown destination. A shadow rushed past me—like a phantom at the edge of my vision. I could hear them shouting, pleading—yet their words were lost, swallowed by the suffocating silence that clung to this world.

And then, all of a sudden, I stopped.

The horse beneath me collapsed in exhaustion, its labored breaths loud against the hush of the air. My feet hit the ground before I could even think, my body moving on its own, propelled forward by something greater than fear—something like certainty.

The towering gates of the capital loomed ahead, their iron bars stretching skyward like ribs of some great beast. Beyond them, the streets teemed with people, yet the crowd was eerily silent, their murmurs like a low tide lapping at the edges of my consciousness.

I forced my way forward, my breath coming in sharp bursts as the heart of the city unfolded before me. Behind me, the shadows swirled and lurked, wavering between pursuit and hesitation, uncertain if they dared to stop me.

A guillotine stood at the center—its dark, motionless blade poised in silent greeting—heavy with unspoken intent. The sun caught its edge, sending a cruel glint of light slashing across my vision.

Then, I saw her.

Unlikely for someone facing death, there was no ounce of fear within her figure. Instead, there was liberation in it. As if beneath the guillotine, freedom embraced her.

She stood beneath the blade, bound but unbowed. Her face was serene, her expression soft, almost as if she had already made peace with this fate. The world around me blurred, every sound dissolving into a distant hum. I tried to step forward—to scream, to stop this—but my voice was gone, stolen by the same force that had driven me here.

Then, the blade fell.

The air split with a sickening finality, and for one frozen moment, the world held still. Her eyes met mine just before they dulled, her lips parting in the ghost of a smile.

The silence roared in my ears.

And then, I woke up.

In an empty reality.

My breath hitched as I jolted awake, my heart pounding like war drums. My hands trembled, clutching the sheets as if I were holding something—someone. But there was nothing. Only the quiet hum of reality pressing in. And the pain in my chest, nameless yet relentless, lingered.

I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. My hands pressed against my face, and only then did I realize—I was crying. Sweat clung to my forehead as if I had just run a marathon. My skin felt cold— my throat dry—like I had been screaming in my sleep. Yet no memory of the dream remained, only the unbearable weight in my chest.

What was I dreaming about?

I took a deep breath, but no answer came. Just the soft humming of the air conditioner and the faint, measured steps outside my room.

I stood up from my bed and walked to the glass window, watching as the sun began to rise—a breathtaking view that should have brought warmth to my heart. Yet, the heavy weight in my chest, as if I had lost something important, refused to fade, untouched by the beauty before me.

It's been three months since I started having this recurring dream—visions of something I couldn't grasp, only to wake up to nothing but the heavy weight in my chest. Regret, longing, and rage consumed me, yet I didn't even know who was responsible for it.

My once carefree life is now filled with void and chaos, unraveling over the past three months. As if this life of mine was nothing but a fleeting illusion, and I should be searching for something—something that could fill the emptiness deep within me.

Then a certain person's face flickered in my memory.

I've been sitting behind her all these years, only exchanging a few words regarding class matters, helping her a few times out of courtesy. But never once had I felt anything special towards her. Until these nightmares of mine began haunting me three months ago—the confusion and heavy feeling on my chest since having that recurring dream only eased upon seeing her heterochromatic eyes that she has been hiding in those ugly contact lenses to appease a boy who seemed to be raising her like a dog.

I thought it was just a coincidence—that the relief came solely from the shock of seeing her odd-colored eyes. So, I tested my theory, only to find that, without fail, the weight on my chest lifted every single damn time I saw them.

It was as if I knew the owner of those mismatched eyes from a life I could no longer remember—like the recurring nightmare that flipped my life upside down.

I picked up the detailed report on her—one thing I never knew I was capable of doing using my parents' connections. Reading her tragic life didn't really move me at all. I pitied her for being weak, but that was it. So, I knew that her existence didn't really matter to me. But whenever I see a photo of her without those unsightly contact lenses, a disquieting feeling resurfaces in my chest—as if my mind remembers something intimate yet foreign.

There's something about those dual-toned eyes of hers that makes me feel uneasy and, at the same time, oddly tranquil—as if whatever I'm searching for, the answer lies within them.

"Karina Azalena." I breathed her name.

Oddly, even if I had only uttered that name a few times, the way it rolled off my tongue made my heart restless—like a forgotten melody that lingers in the air, aching to be remembered.

I shook my head and crumpled the paper in frustration, the sound of it echoing in the quiet room. My grip tightened before I tossed it aside, watching it land carelessly on the floor. The restless pounding in my chest refused to settle, an invisible weight pressing down on me. With a sharp exhale, I turned on my heel and marched toward the bathroom, hoping the icy sting of a cold shower would wash away the unease clawing at my mind.

—

"Dude, stop staring. You're drooling." Keiran bumped my shoulder with his, snapping me back to my senses. I hadn't even realized I was staring—no, burying my gaze—into Karina Azalena, who sat completely absorbed in her laptop, fingers dancing across the keys. She was so focused, so unaware of my lingering eyes, that it almost felt like I was watching something fragile, something just out of reach.

Another frustrated sigh escaped my lips as I raised the book—my facade—and kept watching her with restless eyes. This is where I usually find her after class, ever since I became aware of her presence three months ago. I know there's something unnerving about my fixation, but I only find myself affected by her when she isn't hiding behind those filthy lenses. And here—this is the only place I ever see her mismatched eyes laid bare.

"What's up with you? You've never shown any interest in her until you saw her without those contact lenses," Keiran finally voiced the thought that had been gnawing at me. "What? You've got some eye fetish now?" he teased, making me scowl at him.

"I'm not a perv, you asshole," I hissed, finally putting down the book I wasn't really reading. My gaze drifted back to Karina, still lost in whatever she was doing, completely absorbed in her own world—one that didn't seem to welcome any intrusions.

"It's just..." I trailed off, exhaling sharply before turning my attention back to Keiran. "I think I'm going crazy."

Keiran held up his hand in front of me. "Wait..." He frowned, looking at me as if I had just said something ridiculous. "You're telling me there's an even crazier version of you right now?"

I clenched my jaw, barely holding back the urge to snap.

Why am I even friends with this jerk?

I shot him a glare as he shook with inaudible laughter, clearly enjoying my misery.

He cleared his throat upon seeing my deadpan expression. He pulled himself together and faced me, barely holding himself back from laughing.

Another sigh escaped my lips as I braced myself for whatever ridiculous remark my lunatic friend would come up with. "Seeing those mismatched eyes of hers eases the heavy feeling inside me."

Keiran remained silent for a moment, as if trying to make sense of my words.

"I know. I'm really going cra—"

"When did it start?" Keiran finally asked, cutting me off mid-sentence, the amusement in his eyes fading, leaving only a calculating sharpness.

I frowned at his sudden shift in demeanor. "Three months ago," I admitted, my voice quieter than before. "Around the same time those nightmares started."

Keiran leaned back, crossing his arms as he regarded me with an unreadable expression. "And you've never remembered a single one of them?"

"Not a damn thing," I muttered, running a hand through my hair. "Just the weight in my chest when I wake up."

Keiran exhaled sharply, his fingers tapping against the table. "Then maybe," he said, his voice lower now, "you're just frustrated." He looked at me, his teasing expression back, making it really hard for me to have a proper conversation with him as he added, "When was the last time you dated? Maybe it's a side effect of focusing on fencing too much?"

I punched his shoulder out of frustration, making him grimace in pain as he bowed his head and apologized to a nearby student who was studying silently in the library. He tried to flash a smile despite the pain in his shoulder toward the librarian, who was now glaring at him. But my eyes just kept drifting to Karina, who didn't even flinch in her seat, as if whatever she was doing was far more important than the commotion happening around her.

"Is that the reason why you quit the fencing club?" he asked with a pained expression, still rubbing his arm that I had punched mercilessly.

I sighed and nodded, my eyes still lingering on Karina, who subtly paused what she was doing to take a sip of water. She glanced around, meeting my gaze briefly before turning back to her work.

It was only a fleeting moment, yet seeing her mismatched eyes sent a calming wave through me.

"Like a bewitched knight, seeing the lady he pledged to serve," Keiran uttered as if tuning in to what I was feeling at the moment.

I frowned and looked at the man beside me, only to see him reading a book. He glanced at me nonchalantly. "What?"

I shook my head and stood up, picking up the book I had borrowed earlier as part of my facade.

"You're going home?" Keiran asked the obvious. "Don't tell me..."

I shot him a warning look over my shoulder. "Not one word."

He gasped, cupping his mouth dramatically. "You..." He pointed at me, but before he could say anything else, I glared at him and turned to leave, a mix of emotions swirling inside me.

Just as I reached the exit, I heard Keiran mutter, "You should talk to her at least once."

I didn't say anything or look back—I just made my way to the parking lot.

As I settled into the driver's seat, my eyes landed on the black notebook resting on the passenger seat, its cover adorned with a golden name engraved in elegant script.

My hand moved on its own, flipping through the pages until it stopped on a particular draft. The moment my gaze settled on a rough excerpt from her manuscript, a sharp, violent throb shot through my head—a familiar phenomenon, ever since I first read the words that started it all—the recurring dream, the void and emptiness after waking up from that dream, the restlessness upon seeing those mismatched eyes.

"Can I have it?" Kairos looked at her, his deep green eyes filled with a wistful resolve.

"Why?"

He closed the gap between them, leaning in slightly, trapping her between him and the windowsill. For a moment, her heart raced at his unexpected closeness, his expression unfamiliar. The usual mischievous smile and glint of happiness that always accompanied him were gone.

Instead, he stared at her as if committing her image to memory—and unknowingly, she found herself doing the same.

For the first time, she realized that Kairos has a striking appearance that even in mercenary attire, anyone would think that he's from a noble family. He has sun-kissed skin, in contrast to the ocean-green hue of his eyes, probably due to his job. Unlike the other mercenaries, he always had his neck-length auburn hair tied up neatly. His sharp features are softened by the natural curve of his lips, which often curve in a smug.

"Kairos?"

He wistfully smiles as he brushed off the paint on her cheeks with his fingertips. "I'll keep it safe." He took a step back and turned his gaze back to her painting, "Your feelings."

Karina Azalena... who are you really?