The night in the capital was alive.
Not the kind of life born from forests or gods, but from people—their laughter, their noise, their stubborn will to exist.
The streets glowed under the golden lamps, reflections rippling across puddles left by the evening rain. Merchants still shouted from half-closed stalls, couples wandered arm in arm, and somewhere a bard strummed a soft tune about the new Hero's "radiant destiny."
Kyle walked through it all, hands buried in his coat pockets, eyes half-lidded. The rhythm of footsteps, the scent of roasted chestnuts, the idle chatter—it was too human.
Too… peaceful.
And yet, it always felt borrowed.
He stopped near a fountain, watching as the water shimmered under the moonlight.
It reminded him of something—or someone.
His gaze drifted upward to the sky, quiet and distant.
It's been a while, hasn't it?
The sound of the city dimmed, melting away into a memory that rose unbidden—
a place where time itself didn't move, where silence wasn't absence but existence.
White petals floated in the air like snow. The ground beneath him was soft, pulsing faintly with light.
A garden that wasn't part of any world, blooming with flowers that hummed with life.
And there, sitting on a marble bench, was her.
The world in his memory was not made of light or shadow—it was both.
A boundless field of white lilies swaying in windless air. A place that wasn't heaven or earth, but something that existed between.
And she was there.
The Goddess of Life.
Barefoot, dressed in flowing white that shimmered like sunlight through water. Her hair glowed faintly gold, her eyes bright enough to make even Death hesitate.
"You shouldn't linger here, Reaper," she said softly, her voice carrying like a melody that didn't need words.
Kyle—or rather, what he was before Kyle—stood a few steps away, black coat and scythe trailing shadow through the lilies. "Funny. I thought you'd be the one place I'm welcome, Life."
Her smile was sad, not offended. "You're always welcome. Even I know balance doesn't exist without you."
He scoffed lightly. "Balance. Is that what you call it? You breathe life into them, I take it away. Feels more like we're cleaning up each other's mess."
She turned, kneeling to touch a single wilted flower. Under her hand, it bloomed again. "Without death, they would never cherish their days. Without life, you would have no purpose. We are the same rhythm, Reaper. Different notes."
He looked away. "Tell that to the ones begging not to die."
"I do." Her gaze lifted to his. "And I tell them that Death listens more kindly than the living ever did."
He said nothing. For a long while, they just stood there—light and shadow, the first and last breath of all things.
Then she smiled, faint but genuine. "You'll tire of it someday. Not killing—existing. When that day comes… maybe you'll finally understand why I love them."
"Love?" His voice held quiet disbelief.
"Yes," she said, turning back toward the endless lilies. "Love is the one thing neither of us can create… yet it binds everything we touch."
A breeze pulled him back to the present—the smell of rain, the sound of distant bells.Kyle blinked, the image fading from his mind like smoke.
He exhaled slowly.
"…Still too sentimental for a goddess."
After some long walks
Kyle reached the inn. Warm yellow light poured from the windows, the scent of stew and ale cutting through the damp night air. Perfect. He was half-dead tired and only wanted a bed.
But of course, peace had other plans.
Right in front of the damn door, three bulky men were blocking the entrance—drunk, loud, and apparently trying their best to look intimidating. In front of them stood a woman in a travel cloak, silver hair cascading down like moonlight, her posture straight and furious.
One of the men was laughing. "C'mon, lady, just share a drink with us! No need to play all high and mighty now—"
"My servant did nothing wrong!" she snapped, her tone sharp enough to cut glass. "You struck him down simply because he spoke to you!"
The biggest of the bunch stepped forward, grinning with broken teeth. "Maybe you should be the one apologizin', princess. How 'bout that?"
Kyle stopped a few paces away, exhaled through his nose. He could've walked around, but they were literally fighting on the door. And he needed to go through the door.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, muttered under his breath, "Every time I want sleep, the universe gives me idiots."
Then he spoke up.
"Hey. You three."
The men turned, one brow raising.
"Move," Kyle said simply, voice flat as stone. "You're blocking the damn entrance."
The leader sneered. "Oh, look, we got ourselves another hero. You wanna play knight, huh?"
Kyle tilted his head. "Knight? No. I just wanna sleep."
The silver-haired woman shot him a glare. "You're seriously just going to walk past while a lady is being harassed?"
Kyle looked at her, deadpan. "Ma'am, I don't know if you've noticed, but they're between me and my bed. That's my only issue here."
One of the drunks barked out a laugh. "This guy's got jokes!"
Kyle sighed. "Yeah. And you're about to be the punchline."
The first man lunged, grabbing Kyle's collar.
A mistake.
A quick shift—Kyle's hand snapped up, fingers locking around the man's wrist. There was a soft, wet pop as bones twisted the wrong way.
The man screamed.
Before the other two could move, Kyle kicked one in the knee hard enough to drop him, spun, and casually drove his elbow into the third's gut. The air left his lungs in a single pathetic wheeze.
In less than three seconds, all three were groaning on the ground.
Kyle brushed off his coat, muttering, "You guys really need a new hobby."
The silver-haired lady stood frozen, wide-eyed for a moment—then straightened, huffing indignantly. "Took you long enough. A true man would've acted sooner!"
Kyle glanced at her, unimpressed. "Sure...."
She blinked, offended. "Excuse me?"
He stepped past her, finally pushing the door open. "Excused."
Inside the inn, the warm air hit him like heaven. The barkeep looked up from cleaning a mug, eyes darting between Kyle and the commotion outside.
"Need a room," Kyle said, fishing out a few coins.
"Sure," the barkeep replied, glancing nervously toward the doorway. "Uh… problem outside?"
Kyle shrugged. "Three idiots and a lady with a damn stingy voice."
Just as he finished paying, the door slammed open again.
The silver-haired woman strode in, glaring at him like she'd just been insulted by a peasant—which, technically, she had.
"You," she declared.
Kyle groaned quietly. Of course.
She marched right up to him, eyes sharp as daggers. "I have yet to thank you for your assistance—though your lack of chivalry leaves much to be desired."
He blinked. "…You're welcome?"
"And," she continued, ignoring the tone, "you stand before Lady Seraphina Lys Aurelian, third daughter of House Aurelian, nobility of the Empire. You should consider it an honor to be in my company."
Kyle just stared at her. Then, slowly, "Congratulations?"
Her mouth fell open slightly. "That's… that's not how you respond to a noblewoman!"
"yeah," he said, stepping past her toward the stairs. "'Cause I'm not nobleman."
She followed him up the steps like a storm in heels. "Hold on—are you even listening to me?!"
"Trying not to," Kyle replied over his shoulder.
"You—you're insufferable!"
He stopped halfway up, turning just enough to grin faintly. "Yeah. That's what most people say after I stop talking to them."
For a second, she looked like she might throw something at him. Then she huffed, lifting her chin.
"You'll regret speaking to me like that when you learn who my father is!"
Kyle raised a brow. "If he's got a spare room, tell him I'm interested."
And with that, he vanished up the stairs, leaving Seraphina standing there—fuming, confused, and, against her will, a little intrigued.
The innkeeper quietly leaned toward her. "Uh… you, uh, want a room too, miss?"
She crossed her arms, still glaring at the stairs. "Yes. Right next to his."
The innkeeper just blinked. "...Alright, then."