DREAM

Lucil's Domain | The Rose Field

A single step carries Seria Goldblood from the humid Tokyo night into Lucil's private domain— a boundless meadow of blood-red roses swaying under a paper-white sky. In the distance, a silver waterfall plummets from a knife-edged mountain, feeding a lonely water tower that rises like a misplaced modern relic. The scene is almost absurd in its calm.

Lucil stands among the blossoms, scarlet petals brushing his sneakers. He neither turns nor speaks.

Seria kneels at his back, fingertips grazing velvet petals. Her blond hair falls loose around the rose-shaped pin she always wears.

"Lucil… Erysia… ???... ???" she whispers, the true name trembling between them.

"Don't." he says without looking up. "I hate that name."

Seria rises, brushing soil from her skirt. "Hate? After all these cycles?"

Lucil finally turns. He presses two fingers to his chest. "Each time someone says it, something inside me tears. It's not comforting, Seria."

"But you share it with the few you deem worthy— opponents or friends." she reminds him.

He answers with a tired, melancholy smile.

"Nine hundred years." Seria murmurs, stepping close enough that her dress grazes his sleeve. "That's how long we've know each other!"

Lucil blinks, startled. "You've been counting?"

"I have." She slips her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his shoulder. "For centuries, Silver was the fire— the fuel that kept you going but these last few cycles? No rage. Just… longing. Planning to defy fate. Is that really all? I've had enough of these facades. So tell me— what is your dream?"

She steps back and looks deeply in his eyes.

Her question cuts deeper than any blade. He closes his eyes and lets out a low laugh that sounds almost shy. "Honestly? I'm not sure anymore. If I ever had a dream, it's slipped from my grasp. I can't remember it. Every day I try… I see a girl with green hair. "But— I can't." he exhales. "I thought killing Silver again and again was my goal, but I know how meaningless it is. I mean, everything is meaningless. Right?"

He thinks for a moment, then abruptly shifts the topic "Hmm… and you look great, my little vampire!"

Seria sighs— extravagant, theatrical. "Here I was, staging a perfect bonding moment, and you ruined it."

"We max-leveled that bond ages ago." he teases.

"Spoken like a gamer." she says,raising an eyebrow. "Let me guess— you lost again?"

He looks genuinely wounded. "Utterly destroyed… by Ruin. Silver's sister."

"That strong?"

"She mains off-meta characters. I'm still mastering the basics." Lucil's laugh turns boyish. "Did you know you can play matches wireless? This world's technology is wild."

Seria shakes her head, laughing with him. "You're really enjoying this time here."

"I am. Imagine, Seria— staying here for good. My parents actually…would like each other without that war. I could give up the mage life. No killings. No resurrections. Just grocery runs and game nights."

"Then do it, Lucil Erysia." She takes his hands, her thumbs circling the faint scars on his knuckles. "You live to break the world's rules. Start now. Break this cursed reality!"

"You know it won't work." he says at last. "Peace runs against my nature."

"Your nature is to break rules." she counters. "Why not break this one?"

Lucil chuckles, low. "Bloodshed, fighting, killing— that's all I've ever known."

Seria steps closer, her eyes searching his. "Then live with me. Start from nothing. We could be more than friends." She pauses, cheeks warming. "If you want."

He shakes his head, gentle but firm. "You're like a little sister, Seria."

She huffs, he blush deepening. "I'm over two thousand years old, and you call me little?"

"And still." he says softly, "I am a magnet for cataclysmic events.Var'kath, Scotland and Germany proved that. Peace is a dream I'm never allowed to keep."

Seria's gaze drifts upward, toward the pale sky above the waterfall. "Your newest rule makes me laugh— no civilian casualties. Almost heroic." She sighs. "I'll be your safe haven, Lucil. There's a reaper out in the Three Island States— eyes like Jake's. Always busy, yet he manages a normal life between disasters. Loving family. Real friends."

Lucil smiles. "The Nameless Reaper? You met him?"

"I did." She nods. "Strongest living assassin— but not a fanatic. He proves peace is possible without unnecessary killing. So—" She seizes Lucil's hands and spins him through the roses. Petals scatter.

"Hey!" Lucil protests, laughing.

"I'm happy for each cycle I see you." Seria says, breathless as they twirl. "My loyalty won't fade. So promise me one thing."

"What?"

"Enjoy your life. Don't sacrifice everything. Be more than a hero." Her voice softens. "Since Italy, I've seen something real in you. Know yourself, Lucil, and you'll know your worth."

She stops, roses brushing their knees. "Promise."

"I promise. And being called a hero doesn't suit me." he murmurs.

Seria brightens. "Good. Now— the replica weapons. You have the locations?"

Lucil nods. "Why the complicated trials?"

"Garner hated me." she says with a theatrical sigh. "He littered his domains with fake trials. Fun, right? Still, you need those replicas— your old strength. At least for the changing moment."

Lucil hesitates. "Shouldn't we tell Silver?"

"I don't like him." Seria says flatly. "He's killed you too many times. And you know our history."

"I know."

"And you're more capable as a warrior." She flashes a devilish grin. "Collect the replicas. It'll be fun."

Lucil returns the grin, devilish—he clearly enjoys that.

One Year Later | Domain of the White Fox

Scarlet chrysanthemums blanket the valley like spilled ink, their petals trembling in an air too still for wind. At the field's heart looms a colossal white fox— its fur bleached moon-bright, nine tails rippling behind it like silk banners. Its glacial eyes lock on Lucil, who stands alone among the flowers.

He huffs a wry breath. "Seria… fake trials, huh? First a red fox, now white. Your sense of irony never quits."

With a snarl that shakes the valley, the fox charges.

Lucil rolls his shoulders, a crimson aura flickering across his knuckles.

"Very well. Red World—Apocalyptic Blossom."

The chrysanthemums convulse, transmuting into blood-red roses that wither into dust before touching the ground. Power floods his arm; his veins glow red. One step. One punch— faster than thunder. The impact detonates through the fox's skull, reducing fur and bone to a cyclone of white embers. The recoil splits Lucil's skin; blood webs across his forearm.

"Note to self." he mutters, flexing aching fingers. "More training. And never skip leg day. I used my hands too often…"

Ash settles. From the ruin of the fox's body emerges a single red katana— its blade veined with black, its hilt wrapped in ivory cloth. Lucil takes the weapon.

He turns, eyes already scanning the horizon.

"Next trial." he says— voice low but sure— and strides onward through the fading scarlet dust.