Absences of pain

My eye slowly opened—only to snap shut again as a blinding light pierced through my vision like a spear. I winced instinctively and raised a trembling hand to shield myself from it, then tried again, more cautiously this time.

I slowly opened my eyes again, squinting against the radiance, and fixed my gaze on the source of the light.

It was the sun.

Golden. Serene. Softly flooding the room in warmth.

"..."

And yet—I felt nothing.

Not relief. Not joy. Just an oppressive stillness within.

So… I survived in the end.

I should have felt something. Anything. But instead, a strange calm settled over me, almost unnaturally so. I stared at the sunlight pouring in through the tall window, feeling more suffocated by its warmth than comforted. The darkness had felt more honest. At least in that void, there were no lies of hope.

Life no longer held meaning for me. Every breath I took felt like a burden. Each inhale scraped against my lungs like broken glass. I wanted to scream, but there was no point.

Closing my eyes again, I allowed the sunlight to fall across my face. It was warm, almost gentle—but I couldn't appreciate it. My mind was adrift, untethered, like a ship lost at sea.

The last thing I remembered was her—that woman—driving the blade into me, the sharp pain blooming across my chest like a black flower. Death should have come. And yet, here I was.

Clinging to life like a cockroach… but i was still curious who saved me and bring me here... There shouldn't be anyone capable of it. No healer alive could undo that kind of damage.

And beside no one was there to save me the only person present should be that women and Ah-

The realization struck me with quiet inevitability.

Kiel.

That stubborn child.

The thought settled like a stone in my chest. Of course. It had to be him. That disobedient fool had defied my orders—again. I had told him to stay away, to let it all end. I had prepared everything perfectly. Even the final gift I left for her... a parting surprise, my final goodbye. All of it was crafted with precision.

But it failed.

Just like everything else.

Strangely, I didn't feel anger. It was almost funny. After all that effort, all that careful orchestration—it failed. The plan, the ending I had longed for, had slipped through my fingers. Death was supposed to be my release. My final act. Instead... I was here. Still Breathing. Still Suffering

No longer interested in her.

No longer interested in anything.

When I was a child, I used to dream of immortality. I imagined living for a hundred thousand years, Spending my life in luxury with my family.

How ironic.

At just twenty years old, I had grown so tired of life that I planned my own death. What happened to me wasn't murder. It was suicide. Because in truth, if I hadn't wanted to die, no one could have killed me.

But now?

Now it all felt... pointless.

I lay there, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling, and wondered: Should I kill myself?

It would be easy. Clean. Peaceful. Just let it all end—this time for real. I had no reason to continue. No dreams. No goals. No attachments.

And yet—

Something held me back.

Fear.

The fear of that darkness. Of losing everything. Not my life—but myself. My identity. My memories. That endless void had nearly swallowed me. And in that moment, I realized: perhaps the only reason I didn't tear my own heart out was because I was afraid.

Afraid of disappearing.

Sigh~

I let out a long breath

After a moment, I slowly opened my eyes once more.

This time i look around and notice my surrounding 

And frowned.

Where am I?

That was the first question to surface from the fog in my head.

I stared at the unfamiliar ceiling above me. Ornate carvings traced across the plaster, delicate and refined—designs I'd never seen before. Confusion twisted in my gut. This wasn't my room. This wasn't even my castle.

As clarity slowly returned to me, logic began piecing things together. The numbness in my thoughts started to recede, replaced by a sharp clarity.

The first thing i notice was the fact that...

I could move.

I could move without pain.

Under normal circumstances, such a discovery should have filled me with relief or joy. But instead, it only deepened the pit of confusion in my stomach. I sat up slightly and looked around.

I was lying on a bed—soft, plush, and covered with slick, expensive sheets that smelled faintly of lavender and herbs. Everything in this room screamed luxury. Heavy curtains framed tall windows. A velvet carpet muffled even the slightest movements. Paintings and décor unlike anything from the Empire adorned the walls—foreign, exotic, yet refined. This was not my home.

My frown deepened.

This place… it rivaled even the royal chambers in my own castle. And yet it wasn't mine. I had never been here before.

I moved my hand. My body responded fluidly. Too fluidly.

Wasn't I injured?

Shouldn't I be bedridden?

Paralyzed with pain?

But instead, I felt fine. Too fine. The absence of pain was unnatural.

It was true—I had grown numb to pain long ago. But numbness never meant absence. The pain was always there, faint but persistent—like the sting of an ant, biting just beneath the skin. A quiet reminder that I was still bleeding, still broken.

But now… nothing.

No ache. No sting. No trace of what had once torn through me.

I had grown so used to pain that its absence now felt like a warning bell.

Suspicious.

I ran my hand slowly over my abdomen, where the wound should have been.

That was when I felt it.

Something was wrong.

Something was very wrong.