'Damn it, why is she right here!?' Lucy's thoughts screamed as he stood frozen outside Alias's medical tent.
Seraphine stood just a few steps away, her piercing blue eyes locked onto his pale ones. The intensity of her gaze made him flush, though not from affection—not anymore.
She twirled a strand of silver hair between her fingers as she spoke in that familiar melodic voice.
"Lucy, could you accompany me to my tent?"
He blinked, snapping out of the daze. That voice—it used to comfort him. Now it brought nothing but memories of the slaughtered innocent.
Rage brewed in his gut, rising like magma, barely contained.
His brows furrowed into a deep V, casting dark shadows over eyes that burned with barely concealed fury. His jaw clenched until his teeth ached, a muscle twitching in his cheek. Lips drawn thin, nearly colorless. He looked like a man one word away from erupting.
'Does she really think I want to see her right now? After everything she did?'
Lucy's fists clenched at his sides, ready to unleash all the venom he'd kept bottled inside.
But before he could speak, Seraphine's voice softened.
"I would like a chance to explain myself."
Her words didn't ease the storm—if anything, they made it worse. She stood there looking sorrowful.
'Explain yourself?'
'How the hell do you explain something like that?'
He wanted to scream. Wanted to tear into her with every cruel word he could muster. But just then, from the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of golden hair—Darfin. The elf watched them from across the camp with icy contempt, and Taras' warning echoed in Lucy's head.
He forced himself to breathe.
Bit by bit, he buried the fire burning within and allowed his face to settle back into neutrality. It was more mask than calm, but it would do.
"Fine," he said in a low, gravelly growl.
Seraphine's eyes lit up in surprise. She hadn't expected him to agree. Still, she didn't smile.
"Follow me," she said, turning and walking toward the largest tent in camp.
Lucy said nothing and followed. His gaze wandered to his surroundings. The night had finally calmed the camp. Most soldiers were resting in their tents, and only a few elves stood guard at the cliff's edge.
Among them sat Llarm, picking his nose and staring up at the stars blankly.
The sight, ridiculous as it was, brought Lucy a flicker of warmth. He'd assumed the idiot survived—he'd saved Lucy more than once, but seeing him there was a relief all the same.
He looked exhausted.
'Makes sense. He doesn't have a lot of mana, and burned it all protecting everyone. What a hero!'
Lucy made a mental note to thank him later.
Up ahead, Seraphine walked with the elegance of divinity. Her long white and gold dress hugged every curve, flowing around her like liquid light.
Before the war, Lucy might've stared without shame. But now?
Now she was something else. Something monstrous, no matter how remorseful she acted.
This better be one hell of an explanation, he thought grimly as they reached her tent.
Two guards—a dragonkin and an elf—opened the heavy flaps for them. Both shot Lucy a glare filled with barely restrained murder, but he ignored them.
Inside, the tent was far from modest. A spacious bedroom greeted him, bathed in the cool glow of a blue crystal chandelier suspended from the ceiling.
At the back, a towering canopy bed dominated the space, framed in dark wood and draped in rich velvet curtains. The fabric muted both sound and light, turning the space into something quiet and private.
With a flick of her finger, Seraphine sent the curtains fluttering up and away, exposing the bed. Then she sat gracefully on its edge and gestured for him to join her.
"I'm fine right here," Lucy replied, his voice cold and sharp.
But Seraphine didn't relent. "I must insist, Lucy. It feels strange talking to you while you're standing."
He wanted to snap at her again. But she was still a goddess; if she wanted him dead, he'd already be ash. His personal grudge didn't outweigh his life in the grand scheme of things.
"…Okay," he muttered, finally sitting beside her.
Only a foot of space separated them. Close enough to feel the warmth of her skin, the softness of her breath.
She looked into his eyes—or maybe right through them—and for a moment, her beauty made his heart stutter.
But he shoved that feeling deep down.
"Explain," he said, his tone like ice.
Seraphine looked away, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "Where should I start?"
She paused, her expression tight with hesitation, and Lucy braced himself for whatever came next.
Seraphine stared down at her hands as she began, voice barely above a whisper.
"They were innocent. I know that."
Lucy didn't respond. His silence was heavier than any accusation.
"But this world is finite, Lucy. It's mana, its resources, its space. I brought five thousand soldiers here, and Ithriel brought just as many. We had already torn up the land by the time we arrived. Your presence, along with every one of my children's presence, unbalances everything. If I had let those villagers live, the strain would have killed the planet."
Her fingers curled into fists on her lap.
"Ithriel would have done it. Not out of necessity, but cruelty. He delights in annihilation. He'd have turned that village into ash to mock me."
Lucy clenched his jaw. "So you beat him to it?"
"Yes," she said softly. "But there's a difference."
She looked at him then, eyes not glowing now, just blue, clear, and sad.
"Anyone I kill, I can bring back."
That made him pause.
"Their souls are bound to me now. When the war ends—if it ends—I can restore them. Whole. Unbroken. Better than they were."
Lucy's voice was cold. "You say that like it makes it okay."
Seraphine didn't argue. "It doesn't. Not for you. Maybe not for them. But it was the only way I could keep Ithriel from making their deaths permanent."
"And you weren't going to tell me?"
"What good would it have done? You'd have hated me either way."
"You were right," Lucy said flatly. "I do."
The words came out sharp, just as he intended. But when Lucy saw the hurt in Seraphine's eyes, it twisted something inside him. And he hated that it did.
So he kept going.
"I understand why you killed them," he said, his voice low and steady. "I really do. And while I may never be able to forgive you for it. That's not why I hate you."
Seraphine blinked, her sorrow deepening with confusion. "Then why?" she asked softly. "Why do you hate me?"
He breathed as if trying to brace himself for the truth. "Because you drafted me," he said, the words soaked in pain. "You turned me into a killer."
His voice began to rise, raw and unfiltered. "I have a dozen lives on my hands now. Do you know what that feels like? Every time I took one of them down, I thought about who they might've been. Their families. Their friends. People who'll never see them again."
His hands trembled. The tears came faster.
"You never even gave me a choice!" he roared. "Two weeks! That's all I got before you threw me into a war I didn't ask for. I had to kill or die—and I chose to live. That choice... that blood is on me now."
Lucy stood from the bed, his shoulders heaving as the fury poured out of him. Then he looked at her—really looked at her—and froze.
She was crying too.
The sight caught him off guard. Her tears weren't divine or glowing. They were just tears—human, broken, real.
He wiped at his own with the back of his hand, his voice softening to a whisper. "You turned me into something I swore I'd never become. When my parents died, I made a vow: to value every life. To never become the kind of person who takes it away. So tell me, Seraphine…"
His eyes locked with hers, full of aching disbelief.
"…Why did you draft me?"
He already knew the answer. She had told him once, on her balcony, before everything fell apart. 'Together, we'll build a utopia,' she'd said. But hearing it then had felt like a promise. Now, it felt like a trap.
And yet, she answered anyway—her voice trembling.
"Because I was selfish," she whispered. "Because I've always been infatuated with you."
Lucy blinked, confused. "What do you mean, always?"
She sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "You don't know much about the draft process… but I do. I see everyone, Lucy. Every soul across the universe. I don't just pick randomly. I evaluate. And I've followed you for a long time."
His heart thudded.
'What?' he thought, stunned and silent.
"You were such a kind boy," she continued, her eyes misty. "And brilliant too. I could see how deeply you loved, especially your parents. When they died, I grieved for you."
Just the mention of them stirred a fresh wave of pain in his chest. She saw it and quickly shifted.
"But as I watched you grow, I realized how special you were. Everything came so naturally to you. Like the world bent to your will. I knew then I needed you. With you by my side, I could finally make it real. My dream. A world without death. Without sickness or poverty. A world where I bring back everyone I had to destroy."
She looked into his pale, tear-stained eyes and said it plainly:
Seraphine's voice trembled. "I'm sorry I drafted you, Lucy. But I had to. Because I need you."
Lucy didn't respond. He simply stood, eyes lingering on her tear-streaked face. Whatever war had been waged in her heart, it wasn't his to solve—not yet.
He turned and walked out of the tent without another word.