Vierna looked around. The parents’ room was probably the most well-kept room in the house. It was clearly something that both Robert and Sylia valued, yet they let her and Lina sleep in it.
She recalled the conversation during the farewell and welcome party—the way they joked about Korrn’s physique, how they shared their backgrounds along with cheerful memory before it all went dim.
It felt as if they had known each other for a lifetime despite only just meeting. If only she hadn’t been sent here as a spy, she felt she could have belonged, doing menial jobs and living quietly among them.
The thought grew more appalling the longer it lingered. Every day here would be monotonous but stable, predictable yet exciting. Meeting with friends, enduring everything together, and facing the world with only their bond as sanctuary.
Guilt pressed down on her as she turned the idea over in her mind. Yet it was either that pipe dream or the coming of peace.
She wondered how someone like her, who had only just begun to study magic and barely possessed any mana, could ever achieve that. But she discarded the thought, because if everyone kept saying “how can someone like me change something,” then nothing would ever change. The war would never end if people thought that way.
Another question gnawed at her. People who went to war—what were they thinking? Were they the same as her, wanting to end it for good? If not, then how did they carry on? How did they still their trembling fingers as they were stained with the vermilion sin of every life they had taken? She couldn’t find the answer.
For her, however, one thing was clear: the Imperium and the Cult had to fall if she and Lina were ever to have a future. And so, she had to press on, even if innocent people became the cost of ending the war. At the end of the day, it was for the greater good or so she told herself to stop her heart from faltering.
And so, with her moral wounds patched over with planks and nails, held fast by the rough tar and rope of rationalization, she finally forced her body to embrace the sandman, drifting off to a place where war was not her constant companion.
But the sleep that took her was thin and brittle, more like drifting on the surface of a cold pond than sinking into warmth. Her brow stayed faintly furrowed, her fingers twitching now and then as if gripping something that wasn’t there. Even in rest, her shoulders remained tight, her body angled slightly as though bracing for a blow. The weight in her head refused to lift, whispering reminders of what she was about to do.
She woke up around half past five. Despite her exhaustion, her internal clock refused to let her sleep for long—if she could even count that as sleep.
Since there was no private washroom like the one in the facility, Vierna decided to just wash her face using the water in a trough.
Then she wanted to clean the house a little; it was the least she could do before getting Sylia fired. She dusted the cobwebs from the corners and wiped down the glass and furniture. But her movements were stiff, jerky, her joints feeling as though they were corroded by something evil. Every time she lifted her arms or bent her knees, she could swear they creaked like rusted gears forced to turn.
The more she cleaned, the worse it became. The dust didn’t vanish, instead it multiplied with every brush. The stain didn’t disappear but it crept along the furniture, slithering at everything around her. Every sweep of her hand made the room feel filthier, darker, wrong.
Her breath quickened. Her fingers began to tremble. She scrubbed faster, harder, until her knuckles throbbed, until her shoulders shook with each motion. Tears stung the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill, but she forced them back, damming them with whatever scraps of her mind were not yet in shambles. She would not break. Not now. Not here.
Behind her, the phantom murmurs pressed against her skull — unintelligible but suffocating, like someone whispering truths she didn’t want to hear directly into her bones. She worked faster, desperate, frantic, chasing an impossibility: a clean room that stayed clean.
Finally, Robert woke up, only to find her already awake and cleaning the house.
“Good morning, miss…” His eyes widened slightly.
Robert’s voice snapped her out of the spiral. Just like that, the filth stopped growing, the room stopped breathing, the whispers retreated.
Despite the uneasiness clawing under her skin, she forced herself to straighten, forced her expression into something calm. The tears she had buried stayed buried.
She put the mask back on.
The masquerade had begun — the one that would determine her future.
“Hello, Robert. I cleaned up a bit—I hope you don’t mind,” Vierna said as she dusted the table.
“Uhmm… not at all, miss. Please, don’t trouble yourself.”
“Haha… it’s no trouble at all, Robert.” Vierna set the duster aside. “Now, should we go to the market? We only have about an hour.”
“Okay miss.”
The two of them departed. The town was still half-awake—stalls just opening, merchants hauling crates of fresh vegetables, butchers stoking their kilns.
Robert tugged Vierna toward the butcher’s stall.
“Good morning, sir. Can I have a cut of lamb shoulder, and some smoked pork belly?” he asked, standing on tiptoe to see over the counter.
The butcher didn’t reply. Vierna looked at him, catching the hostile gaze he cast toward an eight-year-old child, only because his sister worked in the tax office. The scene was too familiar, reminding her of when she had been Alice, shunned for something she couldn’t control.
“Hey, Robert… do you usually do your shopping this early?”
“I do, because I also need to be at school by eight. And Sis honestly only wakes up a few minutes before she has to leave for the office. Sometimes she didn’t even wash her face.”
“Haha, Lin—Aline does the same,” Vierna said with a bitter smile. Back then it was simple; you woke up, they poked some needles into you, you felt a little pain, then went to Albrecht for training. You didn’t have to poison a little boy.
Robert leaned in with curiosity. “Oh, you both live in the same house? Are you guys… lovers or something?”
The question shocked Vierna out of her gloom. What exactly was her relationship with Lina? Best friend? The description felt lacking.
Yet She immediately stopped the thought; now wasn’t the time. She still needed to figure out how to make Robert eat some sugar. So instead she decide to humor his curiousity so he opened up to her.
“Is it that obvious?” she said with a sheepish laugh.
Robert snickered a little. “Well, I just got the feeling.”
The butcher returned with Robert’s order. “That’ll be fifteen shingles.”
“Fifteen?” Robert checked his purse, counting carefully. The increase would throw off his entire shopping list. “But yesterday it was twelve.”
“Tax went up again. You know who to blame,” the butcher said, giving him a cold look.
Robert tried to talk back, to haggle the price but the words just didn’t come out.
“Here, sir, fifteen shingles.” Vierna placed the coins on the counter.
The butcher swiped them up. “If you’re done, scram. You’re bothering my other customers.”
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“Thank you, Herr.” Robert bowed despite the rude remark. He turned to Vierna. “Miss, there was no need.”
“It’s okay, Robert. After all, you’ll be cooking for me too,” Vierna laughed, trying to ease the tension.
Robert smiled sheepishly. “Of course miss, prepare for the best stew in Haustwitch” He said with a small laugh.
The two continued with their shopping, but everywhere they went, it was the same treatment. Merchants looked at them sharply and their voices clipped, eyes lingering on Robert with the same cold judgment. To them, it was as if Sylia herself were the one profiting from all those taxes, and by extension, her brother carried the blame on his small shoulders.
As they walked, Vierna glanced at Robert. His shirt was already damp with sweat, his breaths shallow and uneven. His face looked pale, and there was a faint bluish tint beneath his eyes. Even this short walk had left him trembling, each step heavier than the last. He didn’t complain, though—just pressed on stubbornly.
“Should we take a rest?” she asked.
“No… we only have a few… items left.” Robert tried to catch his breath, his voice shaky. “I can… keep going…”
Vierna could see that wasn’t the case.
“It’s okay, Robert. Just tell me what items are left. I’ll get them for you. You can wait at that bench with the rest of the groceries.”
“But—”
“I can run pretty fast, you know. If it’s only a few items, it’s no problem.”
Robert hesitated, but he realized by now he was only slowing her down.
“Okay, miss… thank you. You really help us,” he said, handing her a parchment with the list and the money.
With haste, Vierna ran off toward the stores, buying what was needed and even haggling with the merchants. Since she was new to the town and Robert wasn’t with her, their demeanor shifted; they became far friendlier.
One merchant even slipped her an extra egg. He said because she looks pretty. She couldn’t help but wonder how such a merchant managed to stay in business if he gave things away so easily. Vierna then also stopped in a certain store that’s not on the list, to prepare something for Robert later on. A sweet treat, a normal gift for a kid around his age.
After a while, Vierna finished the shopping faster than anticipated. She made her way back to the bench where Robert was resting.
“Here, I’m finished,” she said, setting the groceries down. “And here’s the change.”
Robert stared in disbelief. The groceries Vierna carried were exactly what they needed, and yet she had coins left over.
“How…? You even brought back change. I only gave you the exact amount based on yesterday’s prices.”
“Hehe… I have my own way,” Vierna said. Faking a proud smile, tapping her chest as if to show off her skill at haggling with the merchants.
“I can’t thank you enough miss.” Robert smiled, “I can buy some more eggs with this change.” He looked at a few shingles Vierna gave him.
“Hey Robert… Is money really that tight?”
Robert lowered his head, lips pressed tight as if he didn’t want to answer. For a moment she thought he’d stay silent, but then his small fists trembled and the words came pouring out.
“Yes, miss. Even when Sis works until midnight, the pay at the tax office is so little. She never says anything, but I know. She doesn’t even have other clothes besides her uniform. We barely have enough.” His voice cracked, thin and unsteady. “Sis says we’re living from one coin to the next. And… and I need medicine too… because my body is stupid and always sick.”
His breath hitched, and he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “That’s why Sis has to keep that job. I hate it. I hate myself. I always see how tired she is, how sad she looks when she has to go to Rolbart. That’s why I don’t blame her when she drinks.”
Vierna’s chest tightened as she watched him. His words tumbled out between guilt and tears, far too heavy for someone so young. It mirrored her own past with unnerving clarity—Alice, the girl who had carried every misfortune on her back as though she were the one to blame. That memory made it both painful and much harder for Vierna to think of exploiting his guilt.
He was just like me.
But then again, without doing this, her mission ended. She would fail, and the possibility of returning to life as a test subject haunted her. Maybe she could shoulder that fate again, but what about Lina? Her chance at revenge would be gone if she became just another experiment. Vierna ground her teeth; she couldn’t allow weakness to control her. Her hands whitened as she gripped her knuckles.
I have to do this. I’m sorry, Robert… I really am sorry.
“Ah… I’m sorry, miss… I don’t know why I’m saying all this.” He sniffled and tried to smile. “Maybe the sun just made me dizzy…”
“Hey Robert, do you want to help Sylia?”
The words made his eyes light up. He wanted so badly to stop being a burden to her, even just a little.
“Help? How?”
“You know how much Sylia hates being sent to Rolbart, right?” Vierna placed her hand gently on his back. “She told me she saw something there that was truly terrifying. That’s why she drank so much yesterday. And even then, she cried loudly, saying she couldn’t take it anymore.”
Robert’s eyes trembled. He knew Sylia was suffering, but not to that extent. And now he believed all of it was because she was forced to work there—because of him.
“Then how can I help her? I don’t want to continue like this.”
As Robert said this, Vierna take a caramelized apple, a weapon she bought especially for this occasion.
“If you were sick, then Sylia could get a permit from her boss to stay home. She wouldn’t have to go to Rolbart.”
Robert froze. He understood what Vierna meant, but his lips pressed tight and his hands fidgeted in his lap. His eyes darted away, as if he were afraid to speak the thought out loud.
“Can’t Sis just tell her boss that I’m sick… without me actually being sick, miss?”
“Uh-uh. Bad idea. Her boss can see through lies. I’ve only met Sylia once, but I can tell—she’s a terrible liar.”
Robert’s hand twitched a little. “But being sick is scary, miss… it’s awful. My chest gets tight, everything goes numb, and I can’t breathe. It feels like dying. And Sis always tells me not to get sick. She cries herself to sleep whenever I did.”
“Don’t you want to help her?” Vierna pressed.
“I do, miss… but I don’t know. I hate to be selfish, but maybe I can cheer her up before she goes to Rolbart?”
Vierna watched him. His attempt to dodge her trap was clumsy, but she could see he honestly wanted to ease Sylia’s burden, even a little. His small arms opened and closed, sweat dripping down his pale face. For a moment, it looked as though he might break—but he held on.
She had been there before. She knew what to say. The words curdled in her throat, cruel enough to make her stomach twist, yet she steeled herself, letting her mouth become the mouth of a viper.
“Robert… I understand…”
She let the pause linger, giving Robert a fleeting breath of relief—before she slaughtered it, twisting that comfort into something unimaginable.
“This was supposed to stay between our group, but I need to tell you, because honestly? I’m afraid myself.”
He turned to her, innocence shining in his eyes like stars on a moonless night. “What do you mean, miss?”
Vierna closed her eyes briefly.
There is no turning back now…
She stared Robert dead in his eyes. “When Sylia was drunk… she said that...She hates you. Hates that you always chain her to that awful job.”
Robert’s eyes went blank. The very fear he had whispered to himself in silence, now spoken aloud, sank into him like a blade. His lips parted soundlessly, his breath catching in his throat. His shoulders curled inward as if trying to make himself smaller, trying to disappear. His fingers dug into his own arms, gripping so hard his knuckles blanched. A shiver ran through him, sharp and involuntary, as if the room had suddenly turned freezing.
“No… no… no… no…” Robert repeated the words like a mantra, clutching himself as if warding off a cold that wasn’t there.
Vierna knew that Robert wouldn’t even think of rebutting her statement. He had already internalized that fear, already believed it to be the truth, because he was exactly like she once was—blaming herself for her mother’s misfortune.
“I know she was drunk when she said it,” Vierna pressed, stilling her trembling hands because she was already too deep, “but she also said… if she went to Rolbart one more time, she would definitely…”
Her voice faltered. The next words would butcher what little spirit Sylia’s brother had left. Her heart beated violently.
“She would what, miss?” Robert whispered, his voice breaking.
“She would kill herself.” Vierna’s tone dark and final. No hesitation whatsoever as she lied again.
As the words left her mouth, a piece of Vierna’s soul left with them. She could feel it as vividly as the sun overhead—that a scalpel had cut her innocence away, twisting her into something she was never meant to become.
Hold it in, Vierna. Hold it in, she told herself. Keep lying until the end.
She looked at Robert. His lips spasmed with disbelief. It was clear Robert now on the verge of breaking, able to be manipulated by Vierna according to her whims. So she pushed the caramelized apple toward him.
“So please, Robert. Help Sylia.”
Robert lifted the caramelized apple, its glossy skin catching a warped reflection of his own face. For a moment, he stared as if seeking courage in that brown glaze.
Then, with the clumsy hunger of a child, he bit deep. The crunch rang sharp. He chewed fast, almost frantically, swallowing before the sweetness had even faded on his tongue.
But his hands shook. His eyes darted toward Vierna, wide, searching, afraid. He knew. Even without words, he knew this wasn’t right.
Still, he forced another bite.
His lips glistened with sweat, and his throat convulsed as he swallowed again. A tremor ran through his arms. His breathing turned ragged, shallow pulls of air as if the sweetness itself was choking him.
He chewed harder. Faster. Desperation blurred into obedience.
His pupils swam, unfocused. He blinked, but the world slipped sideways, colors bending, shadows stretching too long. The crunch in his mouth grew louder, grotesque, echoing like glass breaking inside his head. His small body twitched, knees knocking the table as if strings had been tied to his limbs and pulled.
He coughed, half-choked, but still swallowed.
Then his head lolled. The half-eaten piece of candy slipped from his fingers, sticky against his palm. His chest heaved once, twice, before faltering.
He slid sideways onto the bench, eyes half-lidded, lips trembling with a faint, breathless whimper—then silence.
Robert had forced himself past fear, past pain, until his body refused him.
Vierna lift him up clutching his fragile frame against her chest. His weight felt far too light, his breath already shallow.
She pressed her face into his hair, whispering through clenched teeth:
“I’m sorry, Robert…”
Would Robert die after this?
