Ash's eyes fluttered open, blinking against the sterile white light above.
The sharp, antiseptic smell of a hospital stung his nostrils, undercut by the steady beep… beep… beep of a heart monitor.
He lay in a crisp white bed, an IV taped to his hand, the walls a soft, calming blue.
The Merge. The river. The Clover Kingdom. Had it all been a nightmare? A fevered hallucination?
The door swung open softly.
A woman stepped in—blonde hair perfectly styled, sharp features softened with worry.
His mother, Sophia, but not the cold, calculating woman he knew. Her eyes brimmed with fear as she rushed to his bedside.
"Lucian?" she breathed, her hand brushing his forehead with unfamiliar tenderness.
"You're awake. Thank God. The doctors said you'd be disoriented. How are you feeling, my love?"
Ash stared, mind reeling.
My love? She never called him that. "Mom?" he croaked, voice rough. "What… what happened?"
"You gave us such a fright," she said, voice trembling with real emotion.
"At the festival. A firework malfunction—a loud bang. You were too close. The shockwave… you passed out. You've been out for a day."
The festival. The fireworks. It made a terrible, wonderful sense.
The door opened again.
Noah and Kelvin piled in, grinning with relief.
"Ash! You're alive!" Kelvin yelled, too loud for the quiet room, punching Noah's arm. "Told you he wasn't gonna kick it from a little firework!"
"Dude, you scared the crap out of us," Noah added, his warm brown eyes full of concern. He nodded to Sophia. "Ms. Gray."
It was perfect. Normal. His mother cared. His friends were here. The relief was a drug, pulling him under. It was a dream. None of it was real.
But a sound bled through, faint at first, a woman's voice calling from a distance. "Ash."
His mother's smile didn't falter. Noah and Kelvin kept talking, their words muffling, like underwater.
"Ash. Wake up."
The heart monitor's beeping warped, slowing into a grotesque groan.
The white light dimmed, the walls bleeding into cold, grainy wood, the antiseptic smell souring into damp stone and mold, clawing at his throat.
"ASH!"
The voice was sharp, real, slicing through the dream. It came from behind the fading door—a door that wasn't a hospital's anymore.
The world shattered.
He woke, gasping, on a hard cot in a cold stone room. The beep… beep… beep was gone, replaced by his ragged breathing and a firm knock… knock… knock.
"Ash?" It was Elis's voice, the one that had torn him from heaven. "Are you awake?"
He didn't move, didn't answer, just stared at the wooden beams above, the ghost of his mother's voice and his friends' laughter echoing in the hollow space where his heart used to be.
The realization was a blow, deeper than any wound: it was a dream. He'd been home. And now it was gone.
Knock… knock… knock. "Ash? I know you're in there."
Slowly, he sat up on the cot's edge, the movement draining him.
The room was small, stark, and foreign.
Rough stone walls, patched with moss, closed in around him.
A single narrow window, its frame warped and rusted, let in golden light, casting shadows across the uneven floor.
The cot was a thin straw mattress on a creaking wooden frame, draped with a coarse gray blanket that smelled of dust.
A rickety stool stood nearby, the only other furniture.
Ash wore a white shirt, clung to his frame. His brown shorts. His sandal, caked with dried mud, sat discarded by the cot, leaving his feet bare against the cold stone.
Elis pushed the door open, balancing a wooden bowl of steaming stew and a cup of water.
She froze.
Ash sat slumped, hands limp, eyes fixed on the wall, seeing nothing. The defiant boy from the woods was a hollow shell.
"I brought you food," she said, voice soft, careful not to shatter the silence.
She set the bowl and cup on the stool.
He didn't look at her. His voice was a flat monotone. "You didn't have to lower yourself to do that, your a princess."
The words were empty, a statement from a world where he no longer belonged.
Elis studied him, her green eyes searching his despair.
She wore a simple gown, its dark blue fabric plain but fitted, the hem frayed from use, a practical choice for the Clover Kingdom's rugged life.
Her auburn hair was loosely braided, strands escaping to frame her sharp features.
She stood a moment, a war behind her eyes—between the practical princess who knew he needed to eat and the echo of her own grief, the hollow ache of losing her mother years ago, a wound that still bled in quiet moments.
Without a word, she left, the door shutting with a soft click.
Hours later, under the twin moons' glow, Elis returned.
Ash was asleep, collapsed sideways on the cot, one arm dangling. His breathing was shallow, brow furrowed in a nightmare. The stew sat untouched, congealed.
She retrieved it and left, a silent sentry.
Three days passed, this was the pattern.
Elis brought food; Ash ignored it. She spoke softly, offering water. He stared through her or muttered, "Leave it," his voice a ghost.
Her worry grew, etching lines into her regal composure.
On the third day, Elis stood before Captain Blackthorn in the longhouse, the air heavy with the scratch of pens.
He leaned against his desk, his dark green cloak catching the dim light. Elis's gown was the same simple blue, sleeves rolled up, revealing calloused hands from training.
"The King is still away," she reported, voice clipped. "The border reports are stable, but we need his decision on the eastern patrols."
Blackthorn nodded, his scarred face unreadable.
Then, softer, she added, "Ash hasn't eaten in three days. He won't move, doesn't speak. He's… starving himself."
Blackthorn didn't flinch. "Whatever's happening to him? He'll be fine"
"I don't know," she admitted, frustration in her eyes.
"But I know grief, when I see it. I felt it once before, when I lost my mother, the queen." Her voice hardened. "He only became like this after your discussion, that day and as your Princess, I'm ordering you to help him."
Blackthorn's jaw tightened, discomfort flashing across his rugged features.
Emotional talks weren't his battlefield. But he nodded. "As you command."
Blackthorn barged into Ash's room without knocking, his heavy boots echoing.
"Get up," he growled, his towering frame filling the doorway, his sharp eyes piercing the dimness.
"The princess sent me to you,so now get up"
Ash sat on the cot, staring at the wall, eyes dead. "There's no point," he whispered, voice hoarse. "I have no purpose in this world, I don't want to be a part of it."
Blackthorn didn't flinch. "You haven't even considered it," he countered, voice a low rumble.
"There's a reason you're still breathing. How sure are you your family and friends are gone? You willing to give up on finding them?"
"Everything here is wrong. I don't belong," Ash said, anger cutting through the numbness.
"I don't care about my blood family. Noah and Kelvin were my real family. They were why I felt alive. Now they're gone… the world's empty. It's not the same."
"Nothing is ever the same," Blackthorn said, tone hardening. "Everything's all about a try. A risk. Your memories are complete—that's not a curse, it's a weapon. Your friends might be out there, lost in the world, who knows."
Ash turned his head, a bitter sound escaping. "And if I find them, how sure am I they'll even remember me?"
"How would you know," Blackthorn shot back, "if you don't try?"
Silence hung heavy.
A spark ignited in Ash's eyes. "…Can I really end the Merge?" he asked, barely audible.
Blackthorn leaned closer, eyes locking onto Ash's. "Did you ever try?"
The spark grew brighter.
"I wouldn't be Captain if I didn't make an effort," Blackthorn said, voice low, confidential.
"If I didn't try to be better, stronger. If you're gonna die, Ash, die with a purpose. Not in this bed."
"…I want to close the Merge," Ash stated, the words insane yet right.
Inside, Blackthorn recoiled. Close the Merge? A fool's dream. The Merge reshaped the world a thousand years ago—no one's dared undo it. But outwardly, he gave a sharp nod.
"Then you'll need to be strong. You can join the Clover's I'll train you. Come to the yard when you're ready."
He left, closing the door.
In the hallway, he leaned against the wall, running a hand over his face. "I didn't just promise—?" he muttered. "—He won't come".
That evening, Blackthorn sparred in the training yard, his katana clashing brutally.
He disarmed his opponent, movements precise.
He didn't look up as Elis approached. "It's done," he said, wiping his brow. "And successful."
Elis turned to leave.
"You say you want to be fierce, but you still hold on to that soft heart of yours," Blackthorn smirks.
Elis's lips curved in a relieved smile. She nodded and left.
Later, a royal maid arrived at Ash's door with a tray of fresh bread, roasted meat, and water.
Her appearance was practical, her dark hair pinned tightly under a white cap, her face plain but kind, with faint lines from years of service.
Her dress was a simple gray tunic, patched at the elbows, over a long brown skirt, the fabric stained from kitchen work.
A leather apron, tied at the waist, held a small knife and cloth.
She pushed the door open and froze.
Ash was on the floor, slick with sweat, finishing crunches, muscles straining with fierce energy.
His white shirt clung to his chest, his brown shorts. His eyes were clear, sharp.
"The… Princess sent this?" he asked, breathing ragged.
"Y-yes, sir," the maid stammered, holding out the tray.
Ash stood, wiping his face. "Thank her for me," he said, voice stronger.
He took the tray and ate voraciously, the first food he'd touched since the river.
As he ate, a cold resolve solidified.
If opening the Merge took my world away, then closing it has to bring it back. He was ready to close the Merge. Even if he'll die doing so.