Pain

Klaus had spent a month and a half with Nadia. He never said anything, but he knew.

She was dying. Slowly, inevitably.

And there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

Not even with all the power he had clawed and fought for. Not even a Phoenix could help.

He had figured it out—her flaw. The silver light she wielded, the one that had erased Madoc's sword's essence, wasn't just an aspect ability of purification. It was her life itself.

Every time she used her power, she could sacrifice her own life force to make it stronger.

The more she sacrificed, the more devastatingly powerful she became.

And judging by her current state, she had sacrificed a lot.

Now, there was barely anything left of her.

Klaus sat there, in front of her bed, watching as her breaths grew shallower. She had minutes left. Maybe ten. Maybe a few more.

He clenched his fists, rage coiling inside him.

It wasn't fair.

Nadia didn't deserve to die. There were plenty of people who did—hell, if anyone deserved to die, it was him.

Why her?

Why now?

Why, just when he had finally found happiness, was it being ripped away from him?

Hadn't he lost enough? Hadn't he suffered enough? Hadn't he already sacrificed everything? Why was the world still taking from him?

Nadia's hand, weak but steady, found his. Her grip was gentle, comforting.

She was looking at him with that soft expression of hers—peaceful, serene, like someone who had already accepted her end.

She smiled.

"Little wolf," she murmured. "You are truly a kind child…"

Klaus didn't move. His face was unreadable, but his hands trembled in hers.

She chuckled, her voice weak but warm.

"You're not afraid of dying, are you?" she continued. "It's not just your courage and ambition… It's because you're disappointed in the world. In yourself. There's exhaustion in your eyes… pain, loneliness, sorrow… grief. You hide it well, but it's there."

Her fingers tightened around his.

"But without a doubt, you are kind."

Klaus swallowed hard. His throat burned.

She smiled again, tired but fond.

"You're the kind of person who never gives up," she whispered. "Not until you've exhausted every option. Not until you've thrown everything you have into the fight. Until you can say you have no regrets."

A small, breathless chuckle.

"And yet… you do have regrets. So many. No matter how much you try to burn them away. And if you fail…" She exhaled, shaking her head slightly. "Hah… I bet you'd blame yourself, wouldn't you? Blame your own weakness…"

Klaus gritted his teeth.

She knew him too well.

Her grip trembled slightly, but she still held onto him.

"I know I wasn't perfect," she whispered. "But I hope… I hope you were happy. Here. With me."

His vision blurred.

"I hope… you got to experience something you never had before. Even if it was short. I'm sorry, my child… that it was so short."

Her voice wavered, just a little.

"I'm sorry for the pain that will come after I'm gone."

Klaus closed his eyes, his hands clutching hers tightly.

"I truly tried my best," she whispered. "And I was happy. Happy that you were my child. To experience motherhood again… It was so beautiful. So warm…"

She let out a soft sigh.

"My little wolf… can you show me the moonlight?"

Klaus snapped his head up.

She smiled weakly.

"I don't like the dark," she admitted, voice barely audible. "I'm afraid of it…"

His chest ached.

Slowly, he stood up and moved to the window, pulling the curtains aside. Moonlight spilled into the room, washing over her like silver rain.

Nadia sighed in contentment, her shoulders relaxing.

"Thank you," she murmured.

For a moment, she simply stared at the moonlight, drinking it in. Then, she turned her gaze back to him.

"I want you to be happy," she whispered. "To find a family of your own. To laugh and smile. To be foolish, if you want. So what if you're different? That's fine too. Just… be yourself."

Klaus nodded, his shoulders trembling.

She smiled again.

"This time with you… was beautiful. I'll cherish it. Forever."

Her expression softened, though there was a hint of melancholy in her crystal-blue eyes.

"Hm… Little wolf," she murmured. "When you return to the waking world… I want you to find someone."

Klaus swallowed, forcing himself to look at her.

"My daughter," she said softly. "If she's alive… please, take care of her."

A shaky breath.

"Her name is Tatiana. Tatiana Zakharov."

Klaus barely managed to nod. His head hung low, and hot tears slipped silently down his face, falling onto the floor.

He clutched her hands like a lifeline.

"…Thank you," he whispered hoarsely. "For everything."

His voice cracked.

"For being there."

His grip tightened.

"I'm really… really thankful," he choked out. "For your kindness. Your warmth."

A breath.

"You taught me so much… about life. About history, about art… about being human."

A single tear fell onto her hand.

"I'll be forever grateful for that."

He bowed his head, pressing his forehead against her knuckles.

"I love you," he whispered. "So… thank you. For being my mother."

His voice trembled.

"And… farewell."

Nadia smiled one last time.

Her body was already turning to dust.

Her ink-black skin, as mesmerizing as ever, began to dissolve into silver specks. Her white hair, softer than snowfall, slipped through his fingers.

Her crystal-blue eyes, once so full of warmth, closed for the final time.

And then—

She was gone.

Klaus didn't move. Didn't breathe.

The silence was deafening.

A single ember from the candle flickered.

Outside, the moon shone down, bright and cold.

And inside the dimly lit room—

Klaus sat there, his hands empty, staring at the space where she had been.

Alone.

Klaus had never felt pain like this before.

It was worse than being ripped apart. Worse than having his bones shattered, twisted into grotesque shapes. Worse than the Abomination tearing chunks of flesh from his body. Worse than being burned alive.

It was worse than having his soul ravaged, his soul cores destroyed. Worse than peeling his own face from his skull.

No physical torment could compare to this.

There were no words for it—only a void, an abyss of agony that swallowed him whole. It crushed the air from his lungs, clawed into his chest like invisible talons. It felt like losing something so vital, so irreplaceable, that he would never recover. Never find it again.

And the worst part?

He understood it.

His flaw had awakened.

For the first time since his first nightmare, his emotions were laid bare—sharp, undeniable, clear.

And that was why it hurt so much.

Before, when autism clouded his understanding, emotions had been a puzzle. Distant, unclear. But now? Now he felt everything. He knew what this pain was. There was no confusion, no disconnect to dull the impact.

Only raw, agonizing truth.

At this moment, he wished—begged—for his flaw to vanish.

To go back to being confused. To not comprehend what was tearing him apart from the inside. To return to that hazy state where emotions didn't cut this deep, where they didn't consume him.

Because this?

This was unbearable.

This wasn't just pain.

This was hell.