Diving deep into memories seems like a nostalgic place for a normal person, but what happens when you have buried your memories so that you could escape what your mind perceived was a memory so bitter that it's better to forget it and it fabricates fake ones to cope up with the bitterness. Veynar told me to dive deeper but my psyche didn't allow it, it was constantly pushing me back, keeping me from the trauma, but what can your psyche do when death is standing in front of your eyes?

  Lucius heard the shot, saw the candle flame shudder, and then his eyes were open again.

  Same room. Same chair. Same chains. Same single candle burning between him and Veynar.

  The only difference was the angle of the gun.

  Veynar had fired into the ceiling.

  Plaster dust drifted down in lazy spirals where the bullet had lodged itself overhead. Veynar lowered the revolver and set it on the table between them, the heavy weapon suddenly looking less like an instrument of judgment and more like a tired prop in a play that had run too long.

  Lucius stared at him, confusion etched into every line of his face.

  Veynar exhaled, the sound long and worn. When he spoke, the edge that usually honed his words had dulled into something closer to exhaustion.

  "Lucius, what's the point?" he asked. "What's the point of all this? Your vengeance. Me wanting you to remember your sin. What's the point?"

  He leaned back in his chair, head tilted slightly toward the ceiling as if weighing the cracks.

  "In the end," he said, "it won't even matter."

  The words weren't mocking. They weren't a taunt. They carried the heaviness of someone who had thought about this for far longer than any mortal should ever have to.

  "I understand that I gave you hope," Veynar continued. "Hope to find your exit. Hope that if you dove deep enough into your own rot, you'd find a key at the bottom. But in the end, we both stand on the same ledge, don't we?"

  He leaned forward slightly, his eyes meeting Lucius's with an honesty that felt almost indecent.

  "The thing is: I know that if I fall, I will die. And you know that if you fall, you won't."

  Silence pooled between them, thick as the darkness outside the candlelight.

  "I am just tired, Lucius," Veynar said. No theatrics. No performance. Just fact. "When I first saw you, I thought I might find a purpose again. Another piece on the board. Another pattern to set in motion. Maybe even someone who could understand."

  His gaze dropped to the revolver on the table.

  "But what would it change? If you kill Gazer. If you remember your sin. If you find your snail. What does any of it change? I will still be immortal. You will still be what you are."

  The candle crackled softly.

  "So here we are," he said. "You, chasing vengeance because you don't know what else to do with eternity. Me, digging through your past because I don't know what else to do with mine."

  He gave a small, humorless laugh.

  "Two men on the same ledge. One who can never reach the ground. One who can never stop hitting it."

  Lucius's throat tightened. It wasn't the chains or the fear anymore—it was the crushing weight of Veynar's words. He understood in that moment that Veynar had found his exit, knew exactly how to leave this existence, yet remained paralyzed by hopelessness. There was a piece missing. A crucial fragment of the escape that Veynar had kept hidden.

  Veynar stood from his chair slowly, moving like a man whose bones were made of lead. He picked up the brusnium revolver, turning it over in his hands, admiring the craftsmanship as if memorizing its shape for an eternity he didn't want.

  Then, he unlocked Lucius's chains.

  The metal shackles fell away with a heavy clank. Veynar handed Lucius the revolver—grip first, a gesture of absolute surrender or absolute trust—and then sank back into his chair.

  "You are the only one who can hear me without thinking I am insane," Veynar said quietly.

  He leaned back, staring past the candle flame into memories so old they were crumbling at the edges.

  "Lucius... back when I was small... hell, I can't even remember the memories correctly." A short, dry laugh escaped him—no humor, just exhaustion. "Back when I was little, I met this guy, you know. He was a scrawny man, almost like you in looks, but really scrawny. He had white hair. As I was playing, I saw him. His lips were dry. He looked like he was about to die."

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Veynar's gaze drifted, lost in the narrative.

  "I gave him some water. He drank all the water I had in one gulp. I guess he must have been thirsty. Anyway... he looked me dead in the eyes at that moment and said: 'Kid, name one thing you would want.' Childish as I was, I said I wanted to live forever. So that I could be with my mom and dad forever."

  A single tear rolled down Veynar's cheek. It tracked through the lines of his face like a river through a dry canyon.

  "He continued... then the man smiled and left. I saw him go inside my house. And when he came out... there were just cries coming out of the house. The man left, and when I returned home, I saw my mother laying dead. She was ill from as far back as I could remember."

  Veynar looked at Lucius, his eyes searching for comprehension.

  "Do you understand what I am trying to tell you? I saw Death, Lucius. At first, I thought the man killed her. But my father had been by her side all along, and he said she passed away peacefully. And this death... this was what granted me immortality."

  He took a shaky breath.

  "My father was a counselor for the king at that time, so he went away to the capital after my mom passed and took me with him. My father became hollow. I saw him become more and more hollow as days passed by. But the king... the king was furious. He couldn't understand grief. And after my father failed to help him... he had him executed."

  Veynar's voice hardened slightly, the old resolve surfacing through the fatigue.

  "On that day, I took an oath. That no matter how far a king strays, there would be a guide for him. Someone who would keep him on track so that people wouldn't have to suffer what I did. Then the idea of Lightbringer came to my mind."

  He looked directly at Lucius now.

  "Your father was a friend of mine. I got into military ranks and climbed my way to the top. Then I founded Lightbringer with your father. The thing was, Lucius... your father was a trained assassin. A swordsman who had the king in fear. So he kept him in line."

  The candle flickered, casting shadows that seemed to dance with the ghosts of the past.

  "But then... the fateful day came. Something happened. I got word that both your father and the king had died. And the king... the king was killed by a teenager."

  Veynar stopped. He didn't say the name, didn't point the finger. He simply let the silence fill the space where the terrible truth lay waiting. The teenager who had killed a king. The teenager who had held the black katana. The teenager who had been shattered by a destiny he was never meant to carry alone.

  Lucius sat across from him, the revolver heavy in his hand, realizing that the architect of his suffering was also the only man who truly understood it.

  "After you killed the king and my only friend died, I had no purpose, Lucius," Veynar said, his voice barely a whisper. "I couldn't understand how a man of your father's caliber could die. How could a child wield a sword that killed a king? It was like Death had again rubbed my face in the ground by taking everything I held dear to me. My purpose. My friend. My parents. All gone."

  He looked down at his trembling hands, the polished armor suddenly seeming like a cage.

  "So what does a man do when he has lost all that he holds dear? He tries to die, Lucius. I was in the same position as my father had been that day when my mother died. But unlike him, I didn't have the courage to carry on. So I went into a secluded room... and took a sword and drove it straight through my heart."

  Veynar touched his chest absently, as if remembering the phantom pain.

  "My vision faded. Mouth choked with blood. And then... I woke up. As if it never happened."

  The room seemed to grow colder.

  "That's when I saw a letter in my room. It was from Gazer."

  Silence fell over the room like a shroud. Veynar took a ragged breath and continued.

  "The letter was what kept me going until now, Lucius. It said that I was immortal. It explained how I achieved my immortality. I received my immortality because I sacrificed my mother and father, Lucius. Immortality required two sacrifices... and a childish request became my nightmare."

  His voice began to shake. His hands trembled violently now.

  "The letter didn't end there. It said that there was a way out. My snail. And it said that to know the name of my snail, I had to keep acting as commander of the King's Guard until I saw an immortal like me."

  He looked up at Lucius, eyes glistening with tears.

  "The day I saw you at the blacksmith... I realized who you were. You were busy making gun parts, but I found hope in your despair, Lucius. I knew you were condemned, but you were my salvation. That day, when I returned back... another letter awaited me."

  Veynar reached into his coat with a shaking hand and pulled out a small, worn chit. He placed it on the table between them.

  Lucius picked it up.

  There, written in precise, familiar script, was a single name:

  Lucius.

  A chill went down his spine. Sweat broke out on his forehead. His heart began to pound against his ribs, a frantic rhythm of fear and realization.

  Veynar stood up. He reached out and grabbed Lucius's hand—the one holding the brusnium revolver. He guided it until the barrel was pressed against his own forehead. Then he kneeled.

  He looked up at Lucius, not with anger or malice, but with the weary affection of a father looking at his son.

  "Put me out of my misery, Lucius," he whispered. "Just let me die."

  Lucius was frozen. His mind reeled, unable to process the weight of what had just been unloaded upon him.

  "You said... you said both snail and immortal die when they come in contact," Lucius stammered, his voice shaking. "If I am your snail... how come neither of us are dead?"

  Veynar started crying. Openly. Shamelessly. The tears of a man who had held them back for centuries.

  "I am sorry, Lucius," he sobbed. "Only the immortal man dies. I deceived you. Just put me out of my misery. Promise me that you will get rid of this infestation named Gazer for me, for your father, for all of us Lucius, just tell me that you will kill him, he is death lucius, he is playing us for his entertainment Luicus, he is the reason your father died”

  He reached into his coat again, fumbling through his tears, and pulled out another chit. He pressed it into Lucius's free hand.

  "This is your way out, Lucius. But don't open it until I am dead."

  He closed his eyes. Waiting. Praying.

  Lucius stared at the kneeling man. At the revolver in his hand. At the trigger that required a decision.

  Bang.

  I…I can't even tell you how I felt after hearing that I had been given hope just to shatter it afterwards.

  What can a dying man offer? Salvation, hope?

  How far is he willing to go when he is on the edge of the rope?