The great shadowed doors closed behind him with a low, grating sound.
Wilfred crossed the empty hall of his forgotten manor, his footsteps echoing against the cold stone slabs. He looked at nothing, yet saw everything: Roy's hands on Aria, the fear in his voice, the way he had pulled her away from him. And most of all… the way she had let him.
He entered his chambers — a vast, austere room, draped in black curtains and carved stone pillars. There, he stopped. His fists trembling.
A silent scream swelled within his chest — but he swallowed it.
He stared at his hands as if the fault lay there.
— "She's slipping away…" he whispered.
He turned abruptly and struck one of the stone pillars. A sharp crack echoed. A fissure.
Silence returned.
He closed his eyes. Roy's voice still echoed in his mind:
> "This Wilfred… this cursed king, he's enchanting you."
He opened his eyes again. Two red glints burned in the shadow.
— "I never enchanted her… Never."
His voice was nothing but a whisper — hoarse and raw.
He walked to the single window where pale light filtered in. He laid his hand against the frozen glass, gazing at a world he could no longer touch.
> "I wanted the light… and now she's leaving."
A whisper stirred inside him — an old fear he had buried too long:
> You're alone, Wilfred. You've always been alone.
But the memory of a glance, a laugh, a hand brushing against his… lingered.
He clenched his jaw, slowly.
Then murmured:
— "They can hate me, cast me out… but I won't give up on her."
And in the shadowed room, the black flame of his power flickered faintly — like a heart about to beat again.