What would you truly give to reclaim what you've lost?
In every life, there comes a moment—an inescapable event. The one that reflects who you really are. The choice you make doesn't just shape your future; it defines your character. Do you bend your morals to grasp what you desire? Or do you stand firm, accepting that you may die forgotten?
A funny thing, morals: morality has ambience.
Kill a butterfly, and you're a villain. Kill a moth, and you're a hero. Same act. Different lighting. It makes you wonder—maybe morality isn't a compass, but a costume. Perhaps it's not about right or wrong… but how the act looks, feels, resonates.
Perhaps morality has an aesthetic.
"Huh… hu… huhuhu…"Remy gasped on the ground, daggers still in hand.He hadn't even touched the Saintes.
She had swatted him aside like an insect.
His hands trembled with fury, veins pulsing beneath his skin.
"Damn it… damn it. I'm so weak."Against the god-like figure before him, he felt utterly helpless.
A failure.
"Are you sure?"
Remy raised his head, eyes burning with rage and grief. The Saintes watched him with intrigue, like observing a wild thing cornered and ready to bite.
"Oh… you look like you want to burn the world," she murmured.
"But fear not.
I am here."Her voice softened, almost loving.
"I told you… I can bring her back."
Warm fingers cupped Remy's face—and the most temptatious promise in the world lingered in her smile.
"What do you want?"Remy's daggers clattered to the ground.
Behind the veil, the Saintes' smile stretched wider—too wide.
"Oh, nothing much, really."She circled him with graceful steps."You see… a few insects scurried into my domain recently. They're plotting something, and thanks to your dear friend's memories…"Her hand gestured lazily toward Charles."It seems you know one of them."
She leaned down, her voice a sweet poison.
"So how about this? Become one of my Knights. I will grant you strength… power…"She paused, her tone softening like a mother comforting a child.
"And even your mother is back. When she returns to life, she'll need a place to live comfortably, won't she?"
The Saintes moved toward Lucy, brushing her fingers along Lucy's rosy cheek.
"I can give her to you, if you would like. She would make a great wife," she whispered, squeezing gently.
"All I want in return is the truth."Her smile glimmered like a blade."Tell me what they're planning… and pledge yourself to me. Fair trade, isn't it?"
She tilted her head.
"You know they lied to you, right? They knew she was dead—and still they used you."Her voice dripped with sympathy, but her eyes shone with hunger.
"Isn't it better to stand beside an enemy whose nature you understand…Rather than an ally who hides theirs?"
Her words coiled around him like vines.
And Remy felt his resolve slipping—The honey in her voice was turning sweeter by the second.
"Oh, you can refuse. Killing you now wouldn't make me lose any sleep," the Saintes said, her words sharp and cold.
"You have one minute. If your answer is yes… cut your palm and place your hand against the tree."
She turned and walked lazily back toward her throne.
Dum. Da. Dum. Da.
His heartbeat pounded like a broken drum.
Silence swallowed the world.
Remy stood alone — utterly alone.
He knew what she was.
The evil in front of him… undeniable.
But his mother…
This is the only way. The only way to get her back.
His thoughts spiralled.
What if she's telling the truth? Tear… did he betray me?
A sickness churned in his gut.
Everywhere he went, someone wanted to use him. Even Tear — why had he helped so much? What did he want?
A seed of distrust was rooted inside his chest.
"Damn it… damn it… what should I do…?"
His voice cracked with helpless fury.
The minute vanished.
Remy rose to his feet, breath trembling.
He scanned the balconies — the silent spectators stared down at him like he was a performance, not a person.
'Get up and fight, boy. No one is coming to save you.'
The old voice echoed again — the voice that always returned in his darkest moments.
"How do I save myself… if I don't even know how…" he muttered.
He took a shaky step forward.
Then another.
He reached the tree.
Shadow forged itself once more into daggers in his hands. His eyes studied the twisted grooves in the bark — grooves filled with faces.
He could hear them.
The cries of those sacrificed.
Their agony was carved into the wood.
"Please… please, it hurts…"
A child's voice whimpered.
The little girl with orange hair.
Her face contorted in torment.
"Do good and good will come to you, they said." Remy began. His voice started shaky, but it firmed up. "My mother was good, yet she never experienced anything good all her life. From the moment we are born, we serve you.
I can see now—we are no different from cattle. Waiting to be slaughtered." There they were, murmuring within the people.
Lucy looked down as her face tensed up.
"No matter how smart some cattle are, he is still cattle at the end of the day. He must come back to the stable when the sun sets." Remy looked up at the spectators.
"If from birth I can't choose for myself, then what is the point of living? What is the point of being born at all? What is the point of being human?
Half my life, I couldn't even afford to eat fish, let alone meat" Remy took the dagger and aimed it at his own heart.
"Right here, right now, for the first time in my life, I am going to choose without anyone's influence. I will do this for myself. If I am to die, then I will die on my own terms." Remy drove the blade toward his heart.
"Maybe in death… I will finally find freedom," he murmured.
"No—stop him! Stop that fool!" a piercing voice echoed.
It was the Saintes.