From within the still-smoldering fog of death, amidst the scent of old blood and overturned damp earth, the chime of Elysion's bells fell like dewdrops upon a wilted leaf. Its sound spread, touching every corner of the ravaged field, washing over wounds with a mournful song of victory. And in the center of that field—a silent witness to bloodshed—they stood: a perfect painted contrast between violence and tenderness.
There was Ken—speaking to a woman of Elysion.
"K—Ken... I—I brought your violin..." What made the woman nervous wasn't fear of the cold-blooded assassin before her. Rather, it was the first time she beheld the face of the void behind the shadow. Though his hood still clung tightly to his head, his deathly pale skin was enough to make any woman's heart feel as though it were taking flight, pulling her soul right out of her body.
"Thank you... May I ask... What is your name?"
To someone like Ken, it might have been just an ordinary question, nothing worth debating. But to the woman before him, it was enough to make her bow her head and wait for a miracle—waiting for her sweet lips to finally speak in the presence of the handsome ghost standing before her.
"Y—You look... cute..." Ken's deep voice broke the silence between them. Though he hadn't meant to flirt—his eyes remained distant even after saying it—those words made the beautiful woman before him lift her head with an annoyed expression.
The woman, with hair as brilliantly dark and beautiful as the heart of a first full moon night, had her locks gently tousled by the calming night wind. Every strand reflected the dim light, glowing softly like pearls hidden in the depths of the ocean. Her eyes, as blue as a forbidden mountain lake where the universe sings its beauty, widened with unspoken emotion. Within them was reflected the image of a man whose skin was just as pale as hers—a palette that brought together two souls from different worlds. Her skin, clear like untouched porcelain, radiated a protective light that might have made even the weariest soldiers rise from the ground just to gaze upon her. Her pomegranate-red lips were slightly parted, as if lost for words before the masterpiece standing before her.
And he—Ken, the shadow made flesh. The assassin whose name was whispered in fear throughout the kingdom. Now, without his hood, his face was revealed like a legendary sword drawn from its scabbard after centuries. His jawline carved a silhouette of resolve, but his eyes—oh, his eyes—were a calm lake in the midst of a storm, holding a peace so deep that anyone who fell into them would wish to drown forever.
When the word "cute" slipped from his lips—unaware of its effect—the woman's world collapsed and was rebuilt in a single breath.
Her head, which had been bowed in a futile attempt to hide the fever in her cheeks and her trembling nervousness, slowly rose. Her smooth forehead wrinkled slightly, her finely drawn eyebrows arching beautifully in a mix of annoyance and disbelief. The moonlight now swept across her entire face, revealing how an embarrassing blush spread from her high cheekbones, across the bridge of her elegant nose, to the tips of her pointed ears.
"C—cute? Her voice finally found its way out, trembling lightly like a violin string touched by accident. "You... you really can't be judged by appearances alone!"
She narrowed her sparkling eyes, but beneath the annoyed tone lay an unmistakable softness—a hope that her words weren't taken too seriously. A small, unconscious smile almost formed at the corner of her quivering lips.
She lifted her chin defiantly, even as her heart beat like a war drum calling her forward. Before her, Ken remained silent. His dark, profound eyes continued to gaze at her—unblinking, unquestioning—as though studying a poem that had just been recited to him. In that silence, the air around them seemed to shift. The smell of death and mud seemed pushed aside by the sudden fragrance of jasmine from her hair, and by the chill of the night that enveloped both their pale skins.
They were like two statues of pale marble created by the same god, standing amid ruin, finding each other in a silence that spoke louder than any song of victory.
"I... am Seraphina. You can call me Sera..." she finally whispered, her name floating out like the faint flutter of a butterfly between them—a surrender, a confession.
And for the first time, something deep within Ken's usually frozen eyes flickered—a faint light, like the first star appearing in the twilight sky. His fingers, which usually held deadly weapons, now moved almost soundlessly, brushing against the tips of Seraphina's fingers as she held his violin. The touch was light as dew, yet it burned.
"Seraphina," he said, shaping her name like a newly discovered mantra. His voice was still flat, but something within it had cracked—a small fissure in the wall of ice that had long encased his soul.
From a distance, Liora and Danteus exchanged glances. A small smile touched Liora's lips, while Danteus gave a slow nod, his eyes bright with understanding. They knew—amid the rubble and bitter victory—something more delicate was being born. Something that might one day become a light capable of driving away even the deepest shadows.
ELYSION UNDER THE MOONLIGHT
The chill of the fortress stone crept slowly through the soles of Seraphina's shoes, crawling up the bones of her feet like an unhurried, frozen mist. But the sensation was almost meaningless, drowned by the warm wave rushing fiercely inside her chest. All her senses, her entire being, were anchored to one point: the top of the tower, where that silhouette stood tall like a statue carved from moonlit silver and night's darkness. Every note from Ken's violin plunged freely through the sky, weaving sorrow and longing so mesmerizingly, like a siren's song luring lost souls into its allure.
Though her mind resisted, her heart had surrendered. She kept gazing upward, a small, wild hope beating in her chest—the hope that the man would descend, come for her, see her.
Under the whitish glow of the moonlight, Seraphina closed her eyes. And behind her eyelids, that shadow came alive. She saw him—not as the feared assassin, but as an elegant night guardian, his violin an extension of his soul. In her imagination, that shadow smiled, an alien expression impossible on his usually cold face. The shadowmist formed duplicates of him, each continuing the melody, creating a phantom orchestra that filled the air. And then, he reached out his hand—not a killer's hand, but a dancer's—inviting her to waltz across the sky, under a dome of glittering stars.
"Seraphina!"
The voice shattered the illusion like a stone through glass. Her eyes flew open, and the real world returned roughly. She nearly collided with the cold, solid stone wall ahead. Her heart raced, more from stinging embarrassment than near danger.
"L-Liora!" she stammered, voice tinged with suppressed irritation. "What are you doing here?"
Her friend only laughed, the sound like small bells chiming in the night's silence. "Saving you from a love affair with a stone wall," Liora replied, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "He's not the good type, trust me." Her finger pointed first at the wall, then upward toward the tower's peak. "Compared to the one up there. His melody... sounds deeper tonight, doesn't it?"
Above, Ken continued playing his violin magnificently, motionless, as though his entire being had merged with the instrument in his hands. But this time, something shifted. His head—almost imperceptibly—tilted slightly. And for a frozen moment, Seraphina could feel, rather than see, his gaze piercing the distance, touching her. Her blood hummed, and a strange warmth spread from her chest throughout her body, making her dizzy.
Liora, with her sharp eyes that missed nothing, grinned. "Come on..." she said, her voice softening as she wrapped an arm around Seraphina's shoulder. "It's cold out here. The view from the top is far more breathtaking. Danteus won't mind."
As if summoned, Danteus approached from the fortress entrance. His smile lit up the dark corners, seemingly brightening even the darkest hearts. "Of course not," he said. "The view is meant to be shared. Unless..."
His eyes twinkled, shifting between Seraphina and the tower's peak. "... you prefer a more... specific view?"
Seraphina shook her head quickly, her face growing warm, her breath caught in an inexplicable swell of emotion. "No! I—I just wanted some fresh air. I'll head back soon." Her words sounded flat and unconvincing, even to herself. She couldn't control her eyes, continually drawn upward as if pulled by an invisible magnet.
Liora and Danteus exchanged a look. A wordless conversation passed between them. They knew better than to force a woman who felt rejected by the one she loved. Her weak resistance only revealed a deeper longing.
"Alright," Liora said finally, still holding Seraphina's shoulder. "But don't stay too long. Tonight's cold can pierce right to the bone." With one last meaningful glance, she and Danteus turned and left her alone.
The solitude suddenly felt wider, emptier. The violin's sound grew clearer, each note seeming to pierce straight into her soul. She took a deep breath, her exhale forming a small cloud in the cold air.
"How is it possible," she whispered to the wind, her voice almost inaudible, "that I could harbor feelings for someone who doesn't even notice my existence?" The words hung in the air, a secret confession heard only by the moon.
She looked up at the tower one last time, determined to break this spell and return to reality. But when her eyes searched for that silhouette, all she found was empty sky. Ken was gone. His violin had fallen silent. Only stillness remained.
A sharp sense of loss pierced her. She lowered her head, turning to leave.
Time froze the moment she turned around.
She didn't need to search. He was already there, right in front of her. Ken. No longer a distant silhouette, but a solid, breathtaking reality up close. The moonlight illuminated his face, showcasing his strong jawline, sharp nose, and thin lips in all their glory. His skin, pale and smooth like alabaster, reflected the moonlight, making him seem almost otherworldly. But it was his eyes that truly captivated Seraphina. Deep and dark, usually hiding all emotion, they now fixed on her with an intensity that felt almost physical. It wasn't the cold stare of an assassin, but the gaze of someone solving a puzzle, looking at her with a raw honesty that left her nowhere to hide.
Her breath caught in her throat. Her whole body froze, but inside, everything churned. She turned her face away, trying to hide the flush on her cheeks, but it was futile. As if nature itself conspired against her, the night wind blew stronger, sweeping aside her silver hair and forcing her to meet those captivating eyes again.
My God, up close.... he's even more devastating, she thought, her knees feeling weak. From afar, he already made me tremble—but this...
Her consciousness began to waver, the world around her seeming to spin slowly.
Hold on, Seraphina...
You can't embarrass yourself in front of him! But how...
Ken... Please, stop looking me like that...
Or... should I slap him? Just to snap him out of it?
Madness! You can't even lift your hand his presence, Seraphina!
Only then did she notice something. Ken wasn't wearing his dark assassin's cloak. He had on only a simple white tunic that made him look younger, more approachable. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing slender yet muscular arms, and his hands—hands that usually held deadly weapons—now hung loosely at his sides.
Three seconds passed in tense silence. Ken finally broke it.
"You..." his voice was low, resonating with unexpected depth. "You face... is very red. Do you have a fever?" His flat tone hadn't changed, but there was a hint of genuine concern in his question, an awkwardly expressed worry.
"N-No!" Seraphina protested, her voice nearly squeaking. "I'm just...hot. Been standing here too long." A weak excuse, and she knew it.
Ken frowned slightly, puzzled. The night's chill was real, yet the woman before him claimed she was hot.
From above, Liora's voice, whispered but intentionally loud, carried down: "Hold her hand, Ken! Not to check for fever!"
Danteus stifled a laugh, adding, She's not your patient. Hold it gently."
Ken glanced toward them, his face still a mask of neutrality, but a flicker of confusion shone in his eyes. He looked back at Seraphina, then at his own idle hand. With an awkward, almost stiff movement, he reached out. His long fingers touched Seraphina's wrist.
The touch was warm, solid, and full of a reality that made Seraphina jolt. The pulse in her wrist beat fiercely, throbbing under his fingertips.
"You're trembling," Ken stated matter-of-factly.
"The outside... is cold. But the inside... is hot," Seraphina replied, flustered, trying to explain a sensation she herself didn't understand.
Ken observed her blazing red face, then the wrist he held gently. Logic and instinct warred within him. Finally, slowly, he adjusted his grip. His thumb barely brushed her skin, holding just enough to feel her rapid pulse.
"You shouldn't be out here alone," he said, his voice still even.
To Seraphina, under the moonlight, with his warm hand holding her cold wrist, and those beautiful eyes still watching her with innocent curiosity, those simple words became the tipping point. The hum of her blood, the pounding of her heart, the sweeping warmth, and the night's chill—all collided. The world spun faster. The moonlight faded, replaced by black spots at the edges of her vision.
"Forgive me," she whispered, her voice faint, almost inaudible, before darkness swept away her consciousness. Her body went limp, falling slowly forward, caught by strong arms that, for the first time, held her not as an assassin, but as a savior.
_ _ _
At the summit of Elysion's fortress, where the wind speaks the language of the moon and the stars whisper in awe, Ken's violin melody began to change. It was no longer just a narration of battle or loneliness—it became a search. An emptiness that had long dwelled in his chest—a void filled only by duty and the shadows of death—now trembled with something unfamiliar. Something warm, tempting, and frightening. It was the first song of love, born from fingers accustomed to taking lives but now weaving notes more alive than life itself.
The hum of his violin strings seemed to weave moonlight into threads of silver dancing in the air. Every note born was a question, every pause a hesitation, and every recurring melody an unspoken confession. For the first time, fingers trained to kill trembled not from fatigue, but from a foreign emotion rushing through them like a river finally finding its way to the sea.
In another corner, lost in their own romantic illusion, Liora leaned close to Danteus's ear. "If you love me," she whispered, her voice trembling with challenge, "then shout to the world that you truly love me."
Danteus did not answer with a shout. Instead, he responded with a whisper that shook her even more deeply, his calm voice flowing like warm honey, melting straight into Liora's soul. "I love you..."
Liora froze. The world seemed to stop spinning. Her cheeks, usually immune to blushing, now flushed like the first dawn breaking over the eastern horizon. "W-why are you whispering it to me?" she protested weakly, her hands unconsciously clenching at her sides. Her blood hummed intensely, as if every pulse sang the same song as Ken's melody.
"Because you are my world," Danteus replied, simple yet devastating, like an arrow hitting its mark. His eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were now serious and deep, reflecting the moonlight and all the honesty held within.
Amid Ken's increasingly enchanting melody, Danteus's words felt like a spell. Liora felt her heart pounding uncontrollably. She, who was always so confident and tomboyish, now felt like a young girl touched by poetry for the first time. "You... you're not playing fair," she complained softly, trying to hide her flushed face by looking down.
Meanwhile, Seraphina began to regain consciousness. Her eyes opened slowly, gazing around in confusion.
"W—where am I?" she murmured weakly. Her gaze immediately landed on Ken, who was still engrossed in playing his violin. The melody sounded even more beautiful, as if dedicated solely to her, embracing her half-awake soul. Every note seemed to hold her, saying something that couldn't be expressed in words.
Ken felt her gaze. He gradually stopped playing, the last note echoing softly before disappearing into the night wind. His dark eyes looked at Seraphina, and for a moment, in their depths, something resembling tenderness could be seen.
"Good evening, Sera..." his voice sounded deeper than usual, accompanied by the echo of the violin that still seemed to linger in the air around them. His voice was like a deep river, flowing calmly yet carrying an irresistible force.
"Ken..." Seraphina uttered, almost like a prayer. His name felt sweet on her tongue. Her eyes sparkled, filled with admiration and emotions too vast to be put into words. Yet, unconsciously, her body shivered. The night wind felt colder than usual, or perhaps it was just a reaction to being so close to the man who made her so nervous.
Ken noticed. Without a word, he turned and took his neatly folded white cloak from the edge of the fortress. With a gentle, almost worried motion, he draped it over Seraphina's shoulders. The fabric still carried his warmth, and the scent of cedarwood and night air clinging to it felt like a fragrance created just for this night.
"If you're cold, just say so," he said, his tone flat but no longer cold. "I won't hurt you..."
Seraphina, still swept up in her emotions, confusion, and racing blood, unfilteredly replied, "N-no! I love you!"
Their eyes met. The atmosphere suddenly fell silent. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath. Ken frowned, looking confused by the sudden confession. Seraphina's heart raced, and she realized her mistake.
Seraphina became aware of her own words. Her face flushed crimson. "I—I mean... Yes, I'm cold! The wind is stronger than usual. Hehehe..." She laughed nervously, trying to cover her fluster. Her hands gripped the edges of the cloak and pulled it tighter, as if she could hide herself beneath the fabric.
But something had already been set off. Before her eyes, something rare happened. Ken's lips, usually pressed into a firm, straight line, parted slightly. The corners of his mouth lifted slowly, forming a small smile. It wasn't a wide smile, but it was enough to change the entire aura of his face. It was the first smile born not from a battle victory, but from a pure, unexpected warmth that filled his entire being with a feeling he had never understood before.
That smile, small and simple, shone brighter than the full moon illuminating them both. And in the silence of the night, with the stars as witnesses, something beautiful began to grow between the melody and the shadows.
"I don't know what I'm feeling," Ken whispered, his voice almost carried away by the night wind, yet clear in the intimate silence between them. His eyes, usually dark and unreadable, now shone with an unfamiliar clarity, as if the mist that had long shrouded his soul was slowly parting.
"But this... is calming."
Those words hung in the air, honest and pure, like a simple note that somehow touches the soul most deeply in a complex symphony. It was the greatest confession a man who had spent his life in shadows and solitude could offer—the admission that, for the first time, something was radiating warmth in his cold world.
And there, Seraphina could only remain silent. The small smile that had earlier graced Ken's face was now eternally sealed in her memory—a treasure more precious than any beautiful melody she had ever heard. It was tangible proof, beyond words, that this night was no illusion. A warm certainty flowed through her chest, washing away all doubt and nervousness. She was sure—an impossible night had truly become reality.