The air around him felt heavier, pressing down on his chest like a weight he couldn’t shake off. His hands were ice-cold, but his palms burned — as if they still held the warmth of her fading body from a lifetime ago.

He shouldn’t be here.

He shouldn’t be near her.

But fate, cruel and merciless as always, had placed her back into his path.

She was waiting for a response, her head slightly tilted, those same familiar eyes peering up at him, utterly unaware of the storm raging beneath his quiet exterior.

“So?” she asked, nudging his arm lightly. “Aren’t you going to say anything? You know, people usually introduce themselves back when someone tells them their name.”

Her touch was casual, friendly. But to him, it was fire.

He flinched. It was slight — barely noticeable — but she caught it.

Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she forced it back, trying to play it off. “Okayyy… maybe asking for a full conversation is too much, huh?” she chuckled, though it lacked the usual lightheartedness. “No worries. At least now you know my name. That’s progress.”

He swallowed, forcing his lips to part. “I don’t… need to know your name.”

It was the first time his voice held weight, the first time there was something in it beyond indifference.

And she noticed.

Her brows knitted together. “Why not?”

Because I don’t deserve to say it.

Because I stained it with blood long ago.

Because if I say it now, it’ll only remind me of what I did.

The words clawed at his throat, but he said nothing.

She exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “You’re really something, you know that?” She wasn’t angry. Just… confused. Maybe even hurt. “Most people at least pretend to be interested in others. But you? You’re just — ”

She stopped herself, shaking her head. “Never mind. I don’t even know why I’m trying.”

Silence stretched between them. He thought she might finally leave, that she might walk away and never come back.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she just stared at him, her expression softer now, more thoughtful. And then she smiled — not the usual teasing, mischievous one, but something quieter.

“You must be really lonely,” she said.

His breath caught.

He had lived for centuries. Had met countless people. Had watched the ones he loved perish again and again. He thought he had become immune to words.

But that one? That one felt like a knife through his ribs.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

A Past Life — The 12th Cycle

The prison cell was cold, damp. Chains rattled against stone as he shifted, his wrists raw from struggling against iron bindings. He had lost count of how many days had passed. Maybe weeks. Maybe months.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor. Slow, deliberate. Then, a voice — smooth, familiar.

“You look like hell.”

He lifted his head. And there she was.

She stood just beyond the cell’s iron bars, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

He had betrayed her. He had done unforgivable things. And yet, she was here.

“Why?” he rasped, his voice hoarse from days of silence.

“Because you’re still my friend,” she said simply. “Because even after everything… I know you don’t want to be alone.”

She reached through the bars, her fingers ghosting over his bruised hand. A touch so light it almost wasn’t real.

“I should hate you,” she whispered. “And maybe a part of me does.”

He closed his eyes, ashamed.

“But… I also know the truth,” she continued. “That the person who did those things… wasn’t the real you.”

She smiled, and it hurt more than any wound.

“I’ll come back,” she promised. “Even if you don’t want me to.”

And she did.

Day after day.

Until the day he was executed.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The memory slammed into him with full force, leaving him breathless. His fingers dug into his palms, nails pressing into flesh, grounding himself in the present.

He couldn’t do this again.

He had already repaid kindness with blood once before. He wouldn’t — couldn’t — let history repeat itself.

She was still looking at him, waiting.

He took a slow breath, steadying himself.

“Go home,” he murmured.

Her lips parted, taken aback. “What?”

“You shouldn’t… waste your time here.”

She frowned. “That’s not for you to decide.”

“I’m not… what you think I am.”

She studied him for a long moment. And then, to his surprise, she laughed.

It wasn’t cruel or mocking. Just… amused.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, shaking her head. “But you seriously think I’m here because I expect something from you?”

He stiffened.

“You don’t have to be anything, you know?” she continued. “You don’t have to talk, or share, or do anything you don’t want to. But I come here because… I want to.”

Her voice softened.

“Because even if you won’t admit it, I think you need someone to sit beside you.”

His heart clenched.

He didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve her presence, her patience.

But for the first time, he didn’t tell her to leave.

And for some reason, that terrified him more than anything else.