Chapter 1 : The Saintess Who Killed Me - Part 1

My wife ran me through with her sword...

The blade still gleamed, covered in the scarlet of my blood on her pale hands. The liquid slid slowly, marking her skin with every heartbeat fleeing my body. Her fingers showed slight tremors as they tried to cling to the cold metal.

«Husband and wife»

Words that once rang so strongly in my mind now... were so hard to pronounce.

—How long had it been since those vows meant anything? —When had they become such a cruel mockery?

In the end, they were just empty phrases. Stripped of meaning. Trampled by the same mouth that had spoken them.

—Till death do us part —we promised to the sky.

And oh, how well they kept it.

...

I watched her in silence, searching for some sign, some answer. But the gods... today they were unusually quiet.

I looked down at my body, at the blood escaping from my wounded chest. And without meaning to, I remembered her hands in mine that winter night.

Her promise under the stars of Lys.

—"Neither fate nor the gods will separate us," she had whispered.

A lie.

Everything was a lie.

"Stupid...!" I screamed, powerless.

My voice came out strange. Foreign, drowned by the blood filling my mouth. The taste of iron reminded me I was still alive. though inside... I was already dying.

She didn't answer.

And I —like an idiot— still expected her to shout at me, to get angry, to shed a damn tear.

But she only looked at me.

That damn look!

The same that had once been my refuge when everything was falling apart.

The one that stayed with me on the nights of war.

Now it was colder than the steel that pierced me.

Empty. Inhuman.

There was no trace left of the woman I loved. Only the golden glow of the Chosen, that curse the gods had embedded in her soul like blades disguised as blessings.

—When did they take everything from me...?

My knees gave out for an instant.

The world swayed around me, but my eyes never left her.

Her knuckles, white from tension.

The almost imperceptible tremble of her lower lip.

Was it pain? Rage? Or maybe... remorse?

It didn't matter.

A bitter smile cut across my lips.

—How ironic, I whispered, —In the end, it was you who betrayed me.

I stepped back.

One step. Then another. Staggering. Dizzy. My chest torn to pieces.

The blood no longer burned.

Now it was cold.

As cold as the winter when I first saw her.

.

.

.

The snow fell silently, covering rooftops and trees as if the world were trying to fall asleep. I carried firewood with hands red from the cold, while my grandmother dragged her slow steps behind me, murmuring her old stories. Nothing ever changed. It was always the same routine… until the roar of a black car burst like thunder in the middle of the snowfall.

It was shiny, gleaming. Imposing.

Far too clean for a muddy road.

And then, she stepped out.

A little girl. Silk coat. Impeccable boots. Proud gaze. As if the world belonged to her.

I remember her eyes. Big. Clear. Fixed on mine. And for an instant... it wasn't her who felt out of place. It was me.

We didn't speak.

Not a word.

Just our eyes.

And that was enough.

Because something, deep inside, lit up without my permission.

An absurd certainty, childish perhaps… but inescapably I knew my life would be tied to hers.

I didn't know how. I didn't know why.

I just… felt it. Like a spark that would keep burning for years.

.

.

.

The wet crunch of metal tearing from flesh snapped me back to reality.

My fingers, covered in blood, closed around the hilt of another sword—mine— still embedded in the chest of the Demon King.

With a grunt, I pulled it out. The sound was wet, grotesque.

An inevitable end to this war that brought nothing but suffering.

I raised it, heavy as a sentence. And pointed it at Helena.

The saintess.

The one who slept in my arms, mumbling clumsily.

The one who kissed my lips and swore never to let go of my hand on that moonless night.

The woman to whom I entrusted my life...

... and who now came to take it with her sword.

We faced each other. On Asier's grave.

There was nothing sacred left there.

Only blood, ashes. And the shattered echoes of all the promises we once made.

CLANG!

The first clash of our swords let out a dry crash, sparks flying between us.

The edge of her blade scraped my guard, cutting through part of the reinforced leather protecting my arm. It passed so close it brushed the scar she herself had healed years ago...

"I'll never let them hurt you," she had said.

A lie.

CLANG! CLASH!

Her strikes were perfect. Brutal. As if she had never known my face, my touch, my name.

I dodged every thrust by sheer instinct.

The cold air brushed my cheeks where her fingers had once written promises.

—Why did you do it...? I spat, counterattacking —don't you even have a voice left to answer?

She said nothing and lunged at me.

We rolled on the ground, covered in mud, ash and dried blood.

Her elbow hit my face.

My sword split her lip.

But neither the pain nor the wound stopped her.

She got back on her feet with uncanny ease, as if nothing could touch her.

As if she were no longer human.

I was fragile, my breathing ragged, the strength in my arms fading, yet I kept searching her.

For some glimmer. Some memory.

A sign that there was still something of Helena left behind those empty eyes.

—Tell me... I murmured, voice breaking— Have you really given up already?