[POV: Otos Exemplar | Otos: Age 28 | Vanitas: Age 19 | Aretia & Justitia: Age 22]
I was sitting on the edge of the old, dry fountain in the maze, staring at the night sky and the stars.
(I wonder, where did it go wrong? Does this house create monsters?)
I tightened my grip on the cold stone of the fountain until my knuckles turned white.
(But... I cannot believe this. This house has its problems, but not to that extent. This house has love).
"Here you are. I found you."
I slowly raised my gaze. Before me stood Aretia.
"The roles have reversed," I said, my voice coming out hoarse.
"You are right, they have reversed." She stepped forward and sat beside me.
"How did you know I was here?"
"I felt it."
Silence fell between us, broken only by the rustle of the cold wind passing through the maze and the sound of crickets filling the void.
"He went to the Mountains of Silence," Aretia said while watching the darkness. "He told Mama this before he left."
"Really?"
Silence returned, heavy with the sound of grass rubbing together in the breeze.
"Are you not afraid for him?"
I did not answer. I stared into the dry bottom of the fountain, my breathing growing heavier. "I do not know what to do."
Aretia looked down at the ground. "I am really bad at this."
"Yes," I replied while watching my trembling hand. "You are bad."
"It did not seem this difficult when you used to do it."
Silence.
"Brother..." She turned to me. "He is still Vanitas."
I looked into her eyes. "Really?"
"Really."
Silence.
"If this side of him had not appeared..." Aretia said with steady calmness, "he would still be the Vanitas who wants attention and love."
"Really?"
"Really," she repeated without hesitation.
I took a ragged breath. "Come on, Aretia. He said 'filthy blood'... and you are defending him?"
"To be honest," she replied with her usual coldness, "he did not say filthy blood. He could not describe it with words. And also... what about her blood? It is not that good. And truth be told, marrying Vanitas off at nineteen years old is a stupid idea."
I looked at the ground, squeezing my eyes shut tightly. She did not see. She did not know.
"Aretia..." The words came out brokenly. "You... you do not understand. You do not know what I saw. That... just..."
"Yes, I do not know," she interrupted me quietly. "But then... you are too idealistic, Otos."
I sighed and looked up at the sky.
"You view values as if they truly exist," she continued softly. "There is no such thing called justice, or any of that. We are in a world ruled by none other than people who sat on their thrones through blood and war. We were all built by that. And what remains... are the people."
She looked directly into my eyes. Then, she extended her arms, and hugged me—a long, still embrace.
[Location: The Mountains of Silence - Third-Person Perspective]
"Well... it exploded."
A quiet voice cut through the freezing, icy void.
"How expected. Isn't it?"
He turned around. On the snow, the driver's corpse lay motionless, blood slowly seeping from it to stain the pristine whiteness.
He laughed softly and walked with steady steps. The weather was truly freezing. He ran his finger over his golden ring, pulling out a heavy coat to wear against the blizzard.
"These are the famous Mountains of Silence," he muttered while observing the towering peaks. "How white they are. Aren't they?"
He looked to the side. There was no one. Of course, there was no one.
Perhaps above?
He looked up. There was no one above. They were all killed.
He continued walking.
Awoooooo.
The sound of wolves howling tore through the frost. The howling grew louder; they were closing in.
He stopped walking.
Four Chlorophyll hybrid wolves emerged from between the trees. They circled him—scared, tense, and cautious.
He looked at them, a faint smile gracing his face.
"[Fljúgandi Skjöld]."
The card appeared between his fingers. It did not vanish. An alchemical sword emerged, and in a swift flash, he cut the four into pieces. Blood splattered across the snow. Three of them died instantly. One remained agonizing, panting and making choking sounds.
The card shot toward its chest, sank into its heart, and vanished without a trace.
He walked slowly and sat on the blood-stained ground, watching the suffering hybrid. He took a cigarette from his usual pack and placed it between his lips.
He raised his right hand. With a lightning-fast motion, he rubbed his thumb against his index finger. The friction generated a precise thermal spark in the air, igniting the tip of the cigarette in a single second.
He slowly exhaled the thick gray smoke into the freezing air.