The night sky pressed heavy over the old inn. Cold air seeped through the worn, fragile wooden cracks, carrying the metallic scent of recently spilled blood.
"Goodbye, sir..."
"W-Wait—"
BANG...
The shot tore through the silence. The blast echoed down the narrow hallway. A inn's dilapidated walls seemed to absorb the sound of death with a terrifying stillness. Iago stood frozen. A thin wisp of smoke curled from the end of the revolver in his hand. The flickering light of an oil lamp cast fractured shadows across his face.
He just realized... this place had five guests when he arrived. Four of them were now stiff, dead, killed by Eliana in the narrow alley earlier. And now, the only one left was the old merchant from the north.
I have to get rid of all the evidence... Should I kill the old merchant?
"Naturally. He must be eliminated." The voice was deep, slow, and sibilant, like a venomous snake coiling in the dark. It wasn't from outside, but from the chilling depths of his mind: cold, calm, and maddeningly identical to his own.
"Who are you?" he asked, barely a whisper.
"Hahaha... I am you."
Iago gave a low growl, trying to suppress the turmoil. His memory was jumbled. For some reason, he couldn't remember what he had done before.
"Damn it! You again?!"
"Don't be dramatic, Iago. We are one and the same. Since you've started this, you must ensure no trace remains."
"He's an innocent man! He hasn't even left his room!" A sharp, blinding pain instantly lanced through his head. His body went limp, and the pistol clattered to the floor—the metallic sound a jarring, echoing death knell. Both of his hands were now gripping his head.
"Damn it... Why is the pain back... Arghh... My brain feels like it's being sliced by shards of glass."
"That's because you're rejecting me, Iago. I'm a part of you. You can't run from me."
"No... No! You're just... a delusion! A hallucination! Get out of my head!"
"Then why were you willing to kill the inn owner, but not the old merchant?"
Iago froze. When he pulled the trigger just now... Was it really him? Or... his other self?
"Did I kill him?"
"Of course, that was you. Or... me. But we are one. The same."
The space around him began to shrink. The walls seemed to press inward, constricting his fragile mind. The oil lamp's light flickered wildly, as if cringing away from the violence.
"Come on... hurry. Finish this."
Iago picked up his pistol again. His fingers were cold, stiff. His steps were heavy as he climbed the stairs. The stairs creaked under his feet as if moaning. The clock showed one in the morning. The upstairs hallway was silent. But the silence screamed louder than any human voice. He stood in front of the room door.
He knocked softly. Knock... Knock...
The sound of a bed shifting. Then an old, raspy voice: "Yes? One moment..." The door opened slowly. In the doorway stood an old merchant with sleep still heavy on his eyelids. His wrinkled face paled when he saw Iago and the pistol in his hand. "You're... the one from the bathroom queue, right?"
Iago only stared, a fathomless blankness in his eyes. The lamplight cast a gargantuan shadow on his face, creating a terrifying silhouette. The merchant glanced at the gun. His heart seized in his chest.
"Y-young man? What's the meaning of this? Why— why do you have that gun?" The old merchant's voice was a shaky, terrified whisper.
Slowly, Iago raised his hand. But not to shoot. He handed over the pistol. The old man didn't take it.
"What... do you mean, young man?! Why are you giving it to me?!" His steps backed away slowly. His hands trembled.
"Shoot me."
"W-what?"
"Disappointing, Iago. Did you forget your purpose?"
"I'll erase all traces. That includes myself."
"Pathetic."
The old merchant was stunned. His eyes widened. "I won't shoot you! Young man... What are you going through?!"
"See? Letting him live is just wasting your time."
Iago stared at the floor for a moment. Silent. The old merchant's heart pounded loudly in his own ears.
"You're right."
Without warning, Iago raised the pistol and pressed it against the old merchant's head.
BANG...
The blast was deafening. Fresh blood flowed once more onto the cold, old wood.
Iago walked slowly toward his room, leaving the body of the old merchant, who now lay stiff on the floor. Silence crept into every step, as if the world was holding its breath. He packed his belongings with mechanical movements, like a person who no longer thought about the future.
As he was about to leave, he stopped in front of a cracked mirror hanging in the corner of the room. "My purpose, huh? I don't even know why I'm here anymore." His empty gaze met the reflection of a stranger, a face that had shot two people in one night.
Exiting the room, he passed the old merchant's body again. On the stairs, the wood creaked softly. The first floor was still filled with the smell of blood and gunpowder.
The inn owner's corpse still lay near the exit door, frozen in his last expression of terror.
He opened the door. The cold morning breeze greeted him, piercing his bones and cutting through his tangled thoughts. It was still the dead of night; time no longer mattered to him.
"What time is it even? God, I'm exhausted." His steps were listless, with no definite direction.
His mind was a mess. He had taken two lives, but that wasn't what hurt the most. What gnawed at his soul was the whisper in his head, the voice of his other self.
I even forgot to ask Eliana's location. If only I knew where to find my former subordinate… my IV member.
Iago looked down; his own reflection felt foreign. He walked along the deserted path. The trees stood like silent witnesses to his sins.
Am I truly the founder of IV? Why would I want to erase my own memory? How do I escape any of this? He felt a morbid admiration for his former self.
Finally, after walking far enough from the inn, Iago slumped down on the side of the road. He leaned his back against an old tree. His eyes were blurred, half-open. His breathing was heavy.
"Maybe... if I sleep for a bit, the world will stop spinning..." Unconsciously, he fell asleep.
The sun began to etch a faint light over the horizon. The morning air replaced the night's chill. A rooster brayed in the distance.
"Brother? Are you okay?" A soft voice woke him up.
When Iago opened his eyes, he saw a small boy looking at him with concern. Beside him, a young girl stood holding a shopping bag. Her red hair was loose, and her face was calm and gentle.
Iago's face was pale, his eyelids heavy. "I'm fine..." he replied softly.
"Really? But you look so tired..."
"It's true, are you sure you're okay?" the girl asked, her tone sincere and worried.
Iago nodded faintly. "Maybe..."
"Where's your home?"
"I don't have one." His stomach suddenly let out a loud growl, breaking the awkward silence. The feeling of hunger was immediate and sharp.
The boy looked at his sister. "You can come to our house. We just bought stuff for breakfast!"
The girl seemed a little surprised by her brother's sudden invitation, but she didn't object. Her eyes still showed empathy.
"He's right. You can have breakfast with us."
Iago smiled weakly. "Thank you... but I don't want to be a bother. I still have some pocket money, maybe-" He looked to the side. His gaze was empty for a moment. His bag... was gone.
Damn... Don't tell me Shadow the thief got to me. His face tightened for a fraction of a second before he quickly regained his composure.
"Brother? What's wrong?" Iago looked at the boy and the girl beside him.
"Can... I really come with you?"
They both smiled at the same time. "Of course." The girl's face was calming. There was a genuine kindness there, something Iago hadn't seen in a long time.
"Alright... let's go," the boy said cheerfully.