“You will?” Pest asked—still.

  The word didn’t echo.

  It froze.

  The forest seemed to lose its breath. Leaves hung motionless in the air, half-fallen. Even the monsters—those twisted things born of curse and despair—stopped moving.

  They turned.

  Not aggressively.

  Not hungrily.

  They simply looked.

  At Pest.

  At Arttu.

  At Reid.

  As though something older than instinct had commanded them to listen.

  Arttu swallowed. His hand trembled as he extended it, each step forward feeling heavier than the last, as if the ground itself were questioning him.

  “You are like me,” he said quietly. “You have a lot of curse in you. I think… I think I can help you.”

  The words landed.

  And Pest collapsed.

  His knees struck the ground with a dull sound, but he didn’t seem to feel it. His body folded inward as though the strength holding him together had finally been removed.

  He cried.

  Not the violent, broken laughter from before.

  Not madness.

  This was raw.

  Ugly.

  Helpless.

  “I am not like you,” he sobbed. “I am not like anyone. I am a Pest. I am a f*cking PEST.”

  The curse around him writhed, reacting to the hatred he had learned to direct inward.

  “Yes,” Arttu said.

  The answer came too fast.

  Pest froze, staring up at him, disbelief cracking through the tears. He had expected denial. Pity. Fear.

  Not agreement.

  Arttu’s face twisted, tears spilling freely now, soaking into the dirt beneath his feet.

  “But so am I.”

  The forest didn’t move.

  Even Reid didn’t interrupt.

  “I destroyed everything I had,” Arttu continued. His voice shook, but he didn’t stop. “That tavern… it was my home. I let that man kill them. I let him.”

  His chest tightened, each breath shallow and sharp.

  “I don’t even remember my real parents. But to me… Roy and Betty were my mom and dad.”

  He turned his head slightly toward Reid—not looking at him, but needing him there.

  “I could have saved them. I couldn’t. They died in front of me. One by one.”

  His mouth trembled.

  “Fiona… Fiona was my only friend. If I knew this would happen… I would never steal her toys. I would never mess up her hair.”

  The curse around Pest faltered.

  For the first time, it didn’t feel like hunger.

  Pest wiped his face slowly and stood.

  One step.

  Another.

  Another.

  Reid’s fingers tightened around Genusrosa. His instincts screamed—now, now, now—but something in Pest’s eyes made him hesitate.

  Pest reached out.

  And instead of striking—

  He hugged Arttu.

  Reid’s breath caught.

  “No,” Pest said softly, smiling through tears. “You’re wrong. We are not Pest.”

  The curse peeled away from his eyes like mist burning off under sunlight.

  “My name is Pesil.”

  A faint, fragile light shimmered in his gaze.

  “What’s your name?”

  Arttu blinked. His stiff posture crumbled, shoulders sagging as something warm and painful spread through his chest.

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  “My name is Arttu.”

  Pesil laughed—a sound so human it hurt.

  “What a beautiful name,” he said. “Your mother must’ve really loved you.”

  He stepped back.

  Slowly.

  Deliberately.

  Black aura gathered at his fingertip, coiling not like a weapon—but like a decision finally made.

  The monsters screamed.

  Not in pain.

  In release.

  Their bodies twisted back, bone snapping, flesh reforming. Fangs receded. Claws broke and fell away. One by one, they collapsed into the shapes they once were.

  Human.

  Reid stared.

  This wasn’t purification.

  It was forgiveness.

  “Thank you,” Pesil said softly. “You really saved me.”

  Something answered.

  Pity.

  The word didn’t sound like sound. It felt like a thought forced into existence.

  Pesil gasped.

  The black aura inside him rebelled, surging upward, clawing at his throat. He dropped to his knees, hands clutching his neck as the curse tried to escape through his mouth.

  “No—!” Arttu ran forward, white aura flaring wildly around his hand. “You can’t die!”

  Reid grabbed him and pulled him back.

  Hard.

  “I’m sorry,” Reid said, voice breaking despite himself. “We can’t save him.”

  Pesil screamed.

  His body twisted unnaturally, eyes cracking like glass under pressure. His voice faded with each breath, growing smaller, weaker.

  He reached upward.

  “Mom?”

  The curse fled.

  It spilled from his body like smoke and vanished into the trees.

  Pesil fell.

  Still.

  Arttu stumbled toward the body and fell to his knees.

  He turned Pesil over.

  What met him wasn’t sleep.

  Pesil’s face was ruined—skin cracked, eyes dulled and half-collapsed, as if something inside had torn its way out and taken the light with it. His mouth hung open, but no breath came. No warmth. No sign that life had ever been there at all.

  For a moment, Arttu just stared.

  Then his chest caved in.

  “YOU SAID I SAVED YOU, DIDN’T YOU?!”

  His scream ripped through the burning ruins, raw enough to hurt the ears.

  “THEN WHY ARE YOU DEAD? WHY? WHY? WHY COULDN’T I SAVE YOU?! WHY CAN’T I SAVE ANYONE?!”

  His fists slammed into the dirt again and again, knuckles splitting, blood mixing with ash. The world didn’t answer him.

  Reid moved.

  He grabbed Arttu by the shoulders and pulled him up hard, forcing him to face him.

  “Listen to me,” Reid said sharply. “LOOK AT ME.”

  Arttu’s eyes were red, unfocused, drowning.

  “You can’t save everyone,” Reid continued, voice low but unyielding. “Do you understand? There will always be someone who loses. Someone who falls.”

  Arttu’s teeth ground together.

  “BUT YOU SAVE EVERYONE!”

  The words struck deeper than any blade.

  Reid froze.

  For a second, the flames reflected in his eyes—and then vanished, replaced by memories he never let surface.

  “No,” Reid said slowly. “I didn’t save anyone.”

  His grip tightened, fingers trembling.

  “Our mother died. I couldn’t save her.”

  His voice cracked despite himself.

  “Do you know how much I regretted that? Every night. Every single night, I remember her face. I remember how she smiled at me—knowing she was going to die.”

  Reid inhaled sharply, as if the air itself hurt.

  “She’s not the only one,” he went on. “I couldn’t save Betty. I couldn’t save Roy. I couldn’t save Fiona either.”

  Arttu’s breath hitched.

  “They didn’t die because of you,” Reid said. “If anyone is at fault, it’s me. I’m your older brother. I’m supposed to protect you. I’m supposed to guard you.”

  He leaned closer, forehead almost touching Arttu’s.

  “But if I break every time someone dies… then I won’t be able to save anyone at all.”

  Arttu’s eyes widened, something shifting behind them—pain giving way to understanding, just barely.

  Reid lifted both hands and held Arttu’s face, thumbs resting at his temples.

  “You know what I did?” he asked quietly. “I became stronger. Faster. I endured.”

  His gaze hardened, but there was fear there too.

  “Tell me, Arttu. Do you really want to save people?”

  Arttu nodded, tears spilling freely now.

  “Yes.”

  Reid exhaled.

  “Then I’ll teach you,” he said. “I’ll teach you how to save people.”

  They pulled each other into a tight embrace.

  Around them, the world burned—trees blackened, bodies cooling, curses fading—but inside that moment, something burned even hotter.

  ***

  Deep beneath the earth, at the base of the Cult of Hatred, Lucius sat upon his throne.

  His elbows rested on his knees, fingers pressed against his forehead. A slow, restless black mist seeped from his body, pooling behind him like a living shadow.

  It coiled.

  And spoke.

  “One of your generals,” the mist said in an ancient, echoing voice, “has died.”

  Lucius straightened instantly.

  “Which one?”

  “Pest.”

  Lucius’s eyes narrowed.

  “…By who?”

  The mist expanded, stretching into the vague outline of a face.

  “By me.”

  Silence followed.

  Lucius frowned. “Why?”

  “He fought the dragon-eyed boy,” Lord Hatred replied. “And your childhood friend. After that, he ceased listening to me.”

  The mist thickened.

  “So I killed him.”

  A slow smile crept onto Lucius’s face.

  “It’s them again,” he said. “If you’d let me fight them back then, this wouldn’t have happened. You know that.”

  “I do not repeat myself,” Lord Hatred said coldly. “You act when I command you to act.”

  Lucius waved a hand lazily.

  “Sure. However you want, my Lord.”

  A knock echoed through the chamber—sharp, impatient.

  The mist recoiled, flowing back into Lucius’s body like smoke pulled into a lung.

  Lucius’s posture straightened.

  “Enter.”

  The door opened.

  Lexy stepped inside, her hair falling loosely to her shoulders. The usual excitement Lucius felt at the sight of her didn’t come this time.

  Instead—

  Fear.

  Her expression was wrong. Not playful. Not warm. Something hungry lurked behind her smile.

  “Lucy,” she said softly. “Could you lend me more power?”

  Her eyes gleamed.

  “You know I want to find the kid.”

  Lucius stood abruptly.

  “Why are you doing this to yourself?” he asked, his voice cracking before he could stop it. “I don’t want you searching for him. I’m already looking. Please… let me handle it.”

  He didn’t want her searching.

  Not after last time.

  Lexy had been chasing something then—something she never spoke about. Something Lucius could feel but never fully grasp.

  She tilted her head, amused.

  “Oh, come on,” she said lightly. “You know I’ll find him much faster than you ever could.”

  Lucius’s shoulders sagged.

  Every visit was the same now. Power. Questions. Curses. “Sins.”

  “You’re using me,” he said quietly. “You don’t even try to hide it anymore.”

  His voice trembled.

  “But I love you. So please… stop.”

  Lexy stepped closer.

  Her smile softened as she reached up and brushed her fingers through his hair.

  “Lucius…”

  Hope flared in his chest, fragile and desperate.

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  For a heartbeat, joy bloomed—small, shaking, alive.

  “I really do love you,” she continued, her voice gentle.

  Then—

  “But I hate that boy more than I’ve ever loved you.”

  Something inside Lucius collapsed.

  The light left his eyes without a sound.

  He rested a hand on her shoulder, resigned, hollow—and poured the curse into her. Exactly as much as she wanted.

  Lexy’s smile widened as the power settled within her.

  “Thank you, Lucius.”

  She turned and walked away without looking back.

  The throne room felt colder after she left.