Veythor’s eyes opened slowly.... very slowly... his crimson irises glowing faintly as a shard of bright light fell across his face. For a moment, he could only see the endless stretch of blue sky above, vast and eternal. A cool wind brushed against his body in fleeting waves, tugging at him here and there.
At first, his mind was blank. He hadn’t yet realized what was happening. But when the truth sank in, he understood: he was in the sky... high above the ground... and he was falling.
Yet he felt nothing. No shock, no fear. Only the steady pull of gravity dragging him down.
Above him drifted the soft shapes of clouds, gleaming white against the boundless sky. Once, long ago, he had thought of them as giant cotton candies drifting in the heavens. Back then, he had only been a boy... a boy who admired his mother, who still believed in innocence and sweetness.
"Giant cotton candy, huh?" He let out a low chuckle.
"Pathetic," he murmured, though a faint smile curved across his lips.
Suddenly, rain began to fall, scattering droplets across his face as he plummeted. The sky, endless and eternal, wept over him. His smile faded. His crimson eyes grew distant.
"Oh, I hate rain..." he muttered, narrowing his gaze. "When I was sad, it always rained. And now, even though I no longer feel sadness, the rain keeps falling forcefully reminding me of what I once endured. That’s why I hate rain."
He chuckled again, dry and hollow, his eyes half-lidded.
"The smell of happiness... Have you ever felt it?" His voice was low, musing as though speaking to the clouds themselves. "Every time you draw closer to happiness... true happiness you feel a strange euphoria. And then, in that moment, your nose picks up a scent... a heavenly fragrance, like a garden of flowers. Unreal and dreamlike."
His lips twisted into a bitter smile.
"Yes, I know. You’ve never smelled it. No one has because in truth... very few in this world can even claim to be happy. What we feel is pleasure... temporary, fleeting. But happiness... happiness is permanent. That’s why it is only a dream. That’s why people chase it, like fools chasing smoke. We are drawn to things we can never have. That is why... the smell of happiness doesn’t exist."
The rain continued to fall as his body plummeted. He knew the ground was near, yet his gaze still lingered on the clouds above. Then came the end.
With a sickening impact, Veythor struck the earth. Blood painted the soil scarlet, spreading beneath him like a broken canvas. The pain tore through him brief, raw, unbearable but it lasted only seconds, one or two at most. Then everything went black.
When he opened his eyes again, the world was gone.
Everything was dark, an endless abyss without horizon, without shape. Only his own body was visible, faintly illuminated. He looked down and saw that he was dressed in a strange, white gown, loose and unfamiliar. Slowly, cautiously, he rose to his feet and then he froze.
A sound pierced the silence a soft, beautiful laughter, feminine and melodic. His eyes widened in disbelief as a figure began to take form in the darkness.
She emerged before him: a woman with pale, radiant skin and an exquisitely delicate face. Her movements were graceful, almost otherworldly. She spun, leapt, and twirled, dancing elegantly through the void as though it were a stage made only for her.
"...Shushana," Veythor whispered.
The woman turned her head and smiled at him, a smile so luminous it could make any man fall into a daydream.
"Veythor... Veythor..." Her voice was soft, playful, filled with a strange sweetness. "Veythor... Veythor... hehehe... Veythor..."
She repeated his name again and again, her laughter weaving into the syllables. But then, without warning, her neck snapped with a grotesque crack, twisting unnaturally.
Veythor’s eyes widened. The sound was followed by cruel, mocking laughter the same laughter of devils he had once endured in his second life, when he had been tortured to death. This update is available on novel•fire.net
The woman’s neck was broken, her head bent at an impossible angle. Yet her smile remained, serene and horrifying. And then darkness swallowed her.
Veythor woke with a start. His breath came steady, but his gaze remained cold. Slowly, he turned his head. There, beside him, were Shimi and Raika. But not as one would expect. They were both bound, hanging from a steel bar, their legs and torsos tightly wrapped in rope.
"Oh, look who’s awake," Raika scoffed, his voice dripping with bitter sarcasm. "Mr. Genius himself."
"Vey, you’re awake! Thank God," Shimi said, her voice louder than necessary, betraying her relief.
Veythor’s eyes flicked toward her, his thoughts quiet.
I see. She woke up successfully.... good for her.
"So that whole Shushana thing... was just a sily dream," he murmured.
"What silly dream?!" Raika snapped. "We’re trapped here, and you’re talking about dreams?!"
Veythor’s crimson gaze turned on him cold, merciless. Something primal stirred in Raika’s chest. His heartbeat quickened, pounding against his ribs. Fear took root before he even realized it.
"Shut your fucking mouth, you good-for-nothing," Veythor said flatly.
Raika and Shimi both froze, stunned by the sharp venom in his tone. Their eyes widened. Raika’s teeth clenched in fury.
"What did you just call me, you bastard?!"
Veythor smirked faintly.
"What? you didn’t hear me? That’s fine. Good-for-nothings are total shitheads anyway. Tell me, Raika, in what situation were you ever useful? You couldn’t even carry Shimi for five minutes. You just ran around, making trouble for me like a mindless dog. Maybe that’s exactly what you are."
"Vey—don’t!" Shimi’s voice cracked as she tried to intervene, her expression hardening. "Don’t say that to Raika. He’s our friend! He—"
Veythor chuckled, low and mocking.
"What? You think you’re any better than him? You’re even less useful. In fact, your value is equal to junk. Don’t lecture me when I’m the one always saving your butts. First of all, you’re the reason we’re even here trapped."
Shimi’s eyes trembled. Her heart twisted painfully at his words. Every syllable cut deeper than a blade. She liked Veythor perhaps more than she had admitted, even to herself. And now it felt as though he were stabbing her heart again and again without mercy.
She could not bring herself to argue. She only lowered her head, silent tears brimming at the corners of her eyes but refusing to fall.
The three of them hung suspended in the open field. Veythor’s gaze swept across their surroundings: a scarecrow stood crookedly in the distance, dead trees loomed beyond, their branches twisted and skeletal. It was already night; shadows cloaked everything, rendering the world into silhouettes.
From deep within the forest, a chorus of howls echoed. The sound carried across the field like a warning, primal and sharp.
Veythor’s eyes shifted toward the sound. Then, breaking the silence once more.... footsteps.