Elizabeth grabbed the popcorn on the table and accidentally hit the remote, switching the TV to a different channel. It landed on a news broadcast.
The moment Viola saw the report, her expression darkened.
The news was exposing Ezekiel, accusing him of orchestrating the missing dungeon resources. Furthermore, rumors of his trial were already spreading, discussion underway.
Aside from the problem with the gates, Viola now faced a sharper, more urgent mission, she had to clear Ezekiel's name while finding a way to exact revenge on Clyde and his group. But time was not on her side.
Elizabeth watched Viola, her curiosity tinged with unease. She had always sensed something strange about this girl, how she could seem so calm and gentle one moment, then shift into a shadow of cold calculation the next second. Whenever it involved that man, she became fragile and fierce all at once, teetering on the edge of reason.
While Elizabeth was observing her, a darker plan was already taking root in Viola's mind, shadows coiling deeper with every heartbeat.
And then the silence of the house shattered.
Thud!
The sound came from upstairs,it was sharp and commanding.
Viola and Elizabeth exchanged alarmed glances and rushed toward the staircase. The air felt heavy, almost expectant, as if the house itself held its breath.
They stopped in front of the closed door. For a moment, and neither of them moved.
Viola swallowed, forcing herself to steady her trembling hands. Slowly, she reached for the handle. She pushed it open, while her heart was hammering.
And there he was.
A man of striking presence stood in the room, dark hair tousled, violet eyes glimmering like rare gems in the soft light. He wore clean pajamas, simple yet with an elegance that made him seem otherworldly, as though he had stepped out of a dream rather than waking from sleep.
Time itself seemed to still.
Their eyes met. Neither blinked, neither looked away. The world beyond that doorway dissolved, leaving only the silent pull between them, thick with unspoken questions and memories neither dared voice.
That fragile bubble of reality shattered when he finally spoke.
"Where… am I?"
Ezekiel's voice was rough, hoarse, as though it had not been used in years. Confusion knotted his brow, and his gaze drifted from Viola to the unfamiliar room.
In his mind, certainty burned.
He had died.
The memories came crashing back, vivid and merciless, the blade slicing through him, the poison searing his veins, the blows raining down as laughter echoed around him. It had all been painfully real. Every strike, every wound, every stolen breath etched into him.
Even now, phantom pain throbbed beneath his skin, a cruel reminder of what his body had endured.
Instinctively, his hand rose to his chest, expecting blood, wounds, anything. But there was nothing. Only clean fabric. Only unbroken skin.
His heartbeat accelerated.
If he had truly died…
Then why was he standing here now?
His gaze found Viola again.
She stood frozen in the doorway, emotions colliding so violently it made her chest ache. Sadness lingered, relief trembled on the surface, and disbelief held everything together, as if one blink could shatter the fragile miracle before her.
The man she had last seen as a lifeless, tattered corpse in her previous life now stood before her, whole and breathing.
Alive.
In that life, she had never seen his eyes open again. When they found him, cold and still, his gaze had been sealed from the world forever. She had never heard his voice, never had the chance to say the words trapped in her chest.
The last time she had seen those violet eyes had been long before that—on the day he saved her. Even amid danger, his gaze had been calm, reassuring, almost tender, as if her safety mattered more than his own life.
And then he was gone.
Now, those same eyes looked at her again, alive, searching, questioning.
Warmth pulsed from him with each breath, a proof that this was real. That fate had granted her a second chance.
Viola's vision blurred, tears threatening to fall.
A quiet prayer formed in her trembling heart.
Thank you.
Thank you for giving him back.
This time, she swore silently, fingers curling at her side—she would not let the world take him away again.
Ezekiel's lips moved, struggling to form words.
"You…" he began, voice rough, hesitant.
Viola blinked, reality snapping back, and she forced herself out of her frozen reverie. Concern replaced awe.
"You must not be completely recovered yet," she said softly, stepping closer. "You shouldn't stand up and shock your body."
She reached out, intending to steady him, to guide him gently back to the bed, but then she hesitated.
"Oh, right…" she murmured, remembering. "You probably don't remember me… or know me at all."
She drew in a deep, steadying breath, heart pounding.
"I know you. We… we met five years ago, I believe. And… you sometimes visited my mother before."
For a heartbeat, she waited, unsure. Then a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at her lips, relief and warmth blooming in her chest.
He remembered.
Even after everything, he still remembered her. And for Viola, that was enough to spark a fragile hope that this time, their paths would not end in tragedy....
"Where am I? Am I… in a hospital?" he asked, his voice hesitant, laced with confusion.
"That—, you're not in a hospital," Viola replied gently, stepping closer. "You're currently in my house."
Ezekiel's brow furrowed, his eyes searching her face for answers. Questions swirled in his mind like a storm. Why was he here? What had happened after he lost consciousness in that dungeon? The memories of pain, betrayal, and death pressed against his mind, refusing to let him think clearly.
Everything felt unreal, yet the warmth of the room, the solidity of the floor beneath his feet, and the steady presence of Viola reminded him that somehow… he was alive.
He took a tentative step forward, as if testing the reality around him.
"But… how? I—I died. I remember…"