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The wind moved the flowers with the delicacy of ancient hands, and Éreon took a long moment to realize he was breathing without pain.
"You are not here," he murmured, like one recognizing a dream.
Medeia approached — and the light bent around her, as if the world itself, even in delirium, refused to touch her without reverence.
"Dream or memory?" she answered, her voice silk over steel. "Or perhaps your soul is so tired it sought the only place where it still finds peace."
He closed his eyes, exhausted, and she knelt beside him.
"Peace is a lie," Éreon whispered.
"No," she said. "Peace is simply more expensive than the gods dare admit."
A silence — tense, intimate, eternal.
"You still walk toward your destiny," Medeia touched his temple with cold fingers. "And if you dare to fall… remember: you were not made to serve gods. You were made to break them."
The field breathed around them — blue flowers bowing, as if recognizing weary kings.
Éreon looked at her as one might look at a ray of light trapped in dark glass.
Beautiful.Untouchable.Inevitable.
"Why do you always find me here?" he murmured, voice almost failing. "When the world roars against me, when even my flesh wants to give up… you appear. As if you belonged to me. Or I to you."
Medeia sat beside him — not touching, yet close enough that her presence crossed skin, blood, and fear.
"Because your name still calls me," she replied softly, a smile that was more sorrow than joy. "And I listen."
Her fingers traced the air above his temple — no contact, only intent.
"I thought you were a dream," Éreon confessed.
"And perhaps I am," Medeia tilted her head, eyes burning in deep gold. "But dreams are truths the world fears to wake."
Silence fell like a heavy veil.
The wind brushed his face like hands trying to heal what they could not understand.
"I'm tired," Éreon admitted — and that sentence carried centuries within it. "Tired of proving I deserve to exist."
She looked at him with ancient pain, yet controlled — a flame tamed within a temple.
"You were not born to deserve," Medeia whispered. "You were born to mark. The gods fear you because they cannot mold you. Fate watches you because it cannot contain you."
And then, softly — almost forbidden:
"And I… fear you because I cannot stop feeling you."
His breath caught in his chest.
Medeia looked away, vulnerable for a rare instant — then raised her gaze again, solemn, unbroken.
"One day, Éreon, you will wish to tear the world apart just to survive it. Don't let them turn you into nothing but a blade. Remember you were once a child, and you laughed among flowers."
"And you?" he asked, voice too low. "Who were you before becoming curse and myth?"
Medeia smiled — small, broken, yet whole enough to wound.
"Me?" she said. "I was silence that learned to speak. And now… I am destiny that learned to feel."
She reached out a hand — hesitant, as if touch itself were sin — and brushed his face lightly.
The touch was cold and warm at once — a living paradox.
"It won't last," she whispered, somewhere between pain and prophecy. "This place, this moment, this calm. Everything beautiful for us is born condemned."
Éreon's eyes glowed deep violet — an ancient sorrow bleeding outward.
"Then why let me dream?"
Medeia closed her eyes, breathing as if she carried universes inside her.
"Because you're the only one who sees me," she said — voice low, fragile, and vast all at once. "And every condemned being deserves, at least once, to be seen."
She leaned in slowly, as if even the air hesitated to touch them. Her lips met his in silence — Medeia kissed him.
A gesture of someone who knows affection is a rare, always dangerous gift.
It was not a mark, nor poison — it was a warm, sincere kiss, heavy with the longing for something they never had time to become.
A soft, precious touch — as if both were made of glass, and we could hear every fracture healing and breaking at the same time.
She drew back slightly, her forehead still resting against his for a heartbeat — breathing there, as if that fragile contact were the last place in the universe where she was still whole.
When Éreon finally returned the kiss, his eyes closed for a fleeting instant — a brief sigh, a moment suspended between dream and pain.
The silence between them had weight — not gentle, but taut, like a rope about to snap.
A short pause.
The field of flowers swayed, as if breathing with him.
When he opened his eyes, everything had changed.
The gentle wind was gone, replaced by an acrid stench of burnt blood and gunpowder.
The blooming field vanished, giving way to a scene in flames — chaos pulsing like a heart in agony.
A chorus of sounds tore through the air:a high, shrill "Aaaahhh!" lost between choking sobs,the dry crack of wood splintering beneath fallen bodies,the metallic clang of weapons clashing and shattering,a hoarse cry of despair mixing with the whisper of hungry fire.
Éreon felt his head throb, his senses drowned by that symphony of terror.
His blurred eyes searched desperately for Medeia.
A strangled sound escaped his lips — almost a broken whisper:"Medeia…"
The ground beneath his feet seemed to give way — his steps faltered, sinking into a sea of outstretched, twisted, lifeless bodies.
A sharp pain pierced his abdomen, like an invisible blade tearing through his flesh.
Turning his body, he felt the cold sting of arrows buried in his back — each one a frozen promise of death.
Then, amid the smoke and the deafening silence, he saw her — Medeia, kneeling.
A sad, eternal smile crossed her lips as fire licked the ruins of the ancient square where humans had once raised their prayers.
Behind her, a colossal figure advanced — golden armor reflecting the blaze, and in its hands, a blade made of pure light, cold and merciless.
Each step of the invader thundered like a verdict being spoken.
When the sword was raised for the final strike, Medeia's voice cut through the air — trembling, fractured, each word costing her everything:
"Er… Éreon… I'm so sor… cof… cof… ta… take care of our little girl…"
The sound of the blade slicing through silence was the crack of fate sealing itself.
Her head fell.
"Elyooonnn!"