[Leif’s POV—ThorenVald Estate—Continuation]

"So," he continued quietly, eyes searching mine with that calm, unrelenting precision that could peel anyone open, "did you ever save her desperately? Did you ever give her your light?"

His words hung in the air—heavy, too heavy—pressing against the walls until even the silence began to ache.

I didn’t answer.

Because... I couldn’t.

Because there was nothing to answer with. My mind was a blank page where a life should’ve been written.

"Leif?" Alvar’s voice softened, but it still sounded like an interrogation I wasn’t ready for.

I clenched my fist, nails biting into my palm, and looked away. "I... don’t remember."

His brows furrowed. "You don’t remember?" His tone sharpened—not angry yet, but teetering on the edge. "Leif, this isn’t something you can forget. This is divine resonance. It means you—"

"I said... " I cut him off, sharper this time, "... I don’t remember."

The echo of my voice bounced down the corridor. Then—nothing. Just quiet. He stood there, watching me for a long moment—the kind of silence that wasn’t empty but filled with all the things we weren’t saying.

Then, finally, he exhaled, slow and deep, and his expression shifted—not angry, not even disappointed. Just... wounded.

"I see," he said, voice quiet enough to almost disappear.

He walked past me—not brushing against me, not touching, but close enough that the warmth of him grazed my arm. And as he reached the end of the corridor, he stopped.

Without turning fully, he glanced back over his shoulder, eyes shadowed by moonlight.

"You dueled with me today," he said softly, "because I hid something from you."

The words hit like a confession disguised as a reminder.

His gaze lowered—not accusing, not pleading, just heartbreakingly tired. "But now," he murmured, "I feel like you’re the one hiding something from me, Leif and You don’t trust me enough to share things with me."

The way he said my name—soft, careful—hurt more than if he’d shouted it.

He lingered there for a breath longer, as if waiting for me to deny it. To say something. To reach out.

I didn’t. I couldn’t.

Because the truth was simple. And cruel.

He wasn’t wrong. Something was

hidden—not by my choice, but by the very fabric of who I was.

This may be the real world. The real ThorenVald Estate. The real Alvar. But I wasn’t the real Leif ThorenVald.

That’s the harsh Fact.

I was the ghost that took his place. The echo wearing his name. The imposter is trying to fill the space.

He stood by the stairs, half-lit by the sunlight. His knuckles were white on the railing, his jaw locked. When he spoke, it wasn’t loud—but gods, it was sharp enough to split bone.

"Looks like," he said slowly, his tone cutting with every word, "we didn’t love each other enough to trust each other."

The air thinned. Something in my chest twisted—hard, aching. But he wasn’t finished. He turned, his eyes glinting under the dim torchlight, voice low but cruelly steady.

"You were so eager to accuse me of keeping secrets, Leif. To drag me into a duel just to make me bleed for your doubt."

He stepped down one stair, his boots echoing with the kind of finality that made my throat close.

"But tell me," he continued, quieter now, almost a whisper—the kind of whisper that burns. "When did you start keeping your secrets from me?"

I froze.

"Alvar, you’re misunderstanding. I---"

"Leif," he said again, stepping closer, his voice trembling—not with fear, but restraint. "Tell me something honestly..."

His gaze locked onto mine, sharp and searching, like he was peeling through skin and memory all at once.

"... Do you really love me? "

It felt like someone had punched the air out of me. "Wh—what are you saying? Of course I love—"

"Then tell me, " he cut in, his voice breaking through mine like thunder cracking stone. He took another step forward, close enough that I could see the faint tremor in his jaw. "Who was that man?"

My breath hitched. "...What?"

His eyes darkened—grief, fury, and disbelief all twisting together into something raw.

"That night," he said. " The night Alina went missing. I saw it, Leif. I saw him. The man who looked exactly like you. "

My heart plummeted. "Alvar—"

"Don’t."

His voice cracked like glass under weight. " Don’t deny it."

He was shaking now, but it wasn’t weakness—it was rage forced to stay still.

"I saw a man who looked exactly like you," he said, each word deliberate, cutting. "Same face. Same voice. Same aura. And then..." He swallowed hard, his voice dropping to a whisper that trembled. "He vanished. Into thin, white light."

My fingers twitched. The floor beneath me suddenly felt too far away.

"I have seen everything," he said again, louder this time, his hand curling into a fist at his side. "So, Leif, don’t you dare deny anything. It will not end well for both of us.

My lungs wouldn’t work. Every word he spoke pressed harder on my chest until it hurt to stand straight. He stepped closer—so close his breath brushed my cheek. His voice softened again, but it only made it worse.

"I know you’re hiding something from me," he whispered. "And I want to know what it is. Because whatever you’re fighting—I want to fight it with you, Leif."

His hand found my shoulder, gripping it tight enough to ground me. His eyes softened—not in pity, but desperation.

"I want to stay beside you. I will stay beside you. But not like this. Not when I don’t even know who you’re fighting—or who you are. "

He leaned in slightly, the glow of the corridor catching the edges of his eyes. "So tell me, Leif..."

His voice broke.

"... Who was that man? Why did he have your face?"

The question burned through me. The air was suddenly too thin, too bright, and too heavy.

I opened my mouth—but nothing came out.

Because how do you tell the man you love that he doesn’t even belong to the same story as you? That he’s from this world—his world—while you’re just the intruder wearing someone else’s skin?How do you look him in the eyes and admit that maybe the person standing before him isn’t the real Leif at all?

That maybe I’m just a shadow—a fragment of someone divine and long dead—still pretending to fit into a life that was never mine to begin with.

Or worse... maybe I’m not even a replacement.

Maybe I’m just a placeholder.

A temporary echo, holding a seat that still belongs to the real Leif.

Because the truth is—I don’t even know if the real Leif ThorenVald is dead or alive. And until I do... I can’t tell him anything.

So I looked away.

And said nothing.

The silence stretched—long, merciless, and final. Every second of it pressed down like a blade against my throat. His hand slowly loosened on my shoulder. And I felt it—the warmth leaving me before his fingers did.

"I see,"

he said at last, his tone calm in that terrifying, surgical way. The kind of calm people only use when they’ve stopped hoping. "So this is your answer."

The words weren’t shouted, but they cut.

He stepped back once. Then again. Each step was a wound. His face—that face that once softened when he said my name—had gone cold. Empty. Untouchable.

"I understand now," he said, and the quiet venom in it made my stomach drop. "I understand everything."

"Alvar—" I breathed, reaching out before I could think. Panic clawed up my ribs, desperate, wild.

He turned halfway down the stairs, the torchlight carving fire into his hair. His voice cracked like thunder through glass.

"Don’t."

That one word hit harder than any strike.

"Please," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Listen to me—"

He spun—cloak flaring, movement sharp enough to make the air tremble. His hand SLAPPED mine away, the sound echoing in the emptiness.

" STEP. AWAY. FROM. ME! "

It wasn’t a yell. It was a crack. A sound born of someone trying not to break and failing anyway.

The words hit like the blunt end of a sword—not meant to kill, but to leave you gasping on the floor wishing it had. I stumbled back, breath catching in my throat, my hand still half-raised—the ghost of his warmth already gone from my skin.

His chest heaved. His eyes were bright with anger, but behind it was something worse—pain, deep and raw. When he spoke again, his voice trembled, half-anger, half-grief.

"I could forgive secrets, Leif." His jaw tightened, his next words barely a whisper. "I thought love was stronger than truth."

He laughed once—bitter, broken. "But it’s not. Not when you look at me like I’m a stranger. Or...Maybe I never really knew who I was holding at night."

Something inside me cracked.

And with that, he turned.

No more words. No hesitation. Just the steady rhythm of his boots striking marble—walking down the stairs, each step taking him further from me.

Further from us.

I reached out—one last, useless motion, trembling fingers grasping at air. But the distance between us was already too wide.

Too final.

The echo of his footsteps faded, leaving only the ragged sound of my own breathing.

The hall stretched around me, cold and echoing—a cathedral of silence where warmth used to live.

I stood there, staring after him. At the man who used to call me my love like it meant forever —and now couldn’t even look back.

The worst part?

He didn’t leave angry.He left hurt.

And that hurt more than any wound I’d ever bled from.

Because anger can be forgiven. But hurt...hurt never lets you go.