[Leif’s POV — ThorenVald Estate—Continuation]

His lips parted, but the words came out hollow, trembling.

"Then..." he said slowly, as though each syllable hurt to breathe, "Who is Leif Thorenvald, then?"

The question hung in the air like a blade suspended between us—unmoving, gleaming, waiting to fall.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry, my heart pounding so loudly it felt like the sound was echoing through the entire room.

When I finally spoke, my voice came out small and unsteady. "A second male lead," I whispered. "A man written to exist in the shadows of someone else’s story. The loyal one. The obedient one. Elowen’s dog."

He froze.

I forced the words out, each one scraping my throat raw.

"His destiny... was to take an oath for her. To love her blindly. That was what the world wanted him to be." A bitter laugh escaped before I could stop it. "But I didn’t want that life. I didn’t want to live as someone else’s tool. Someone else’s tragedy and just wanted to Laze around."

He stared at me, disbelief flickering through his eyes like stormlight. "So... you rebelled?"

"I escaped," I said quietly. "I thought maybe if I came here—to Frojnholm—I could write something different for myself. Be something other than her shadow."

His voice softened, almost breaking. "Because you... didn’t love her."

"Because I don’t love women." The words came out flat, but my chest trembled. "I like men."

He looked down, his fingers curling tightly at his side. "...and then?"

I exhaled, my pulse thrumming in my ears. "Then Grandma God decided to play puppeteer."

His brow furrowed. "Grandma... what?"

"Grandma God," I said faintly. "The same old woman we saw in the marketplace that day. The one who smiled when my blood hit the marble floor. That was her—the creator of this world."

He blinked, utterly still. "...the creator?"

"She told me," I whispered, "that the real Leif Thorenvald—the true bearer of the Seraph King—was a foolish man. A divine vessel who fell in love with a woman who wanted his power more than she ever wanted him."

"Elowen," he said immediately.

I nodded. "Yes. She knew what he was—what power he carried—and she wanted it. She wanted him to swear his loyalty, to bind his divine light to her name."

His jaw clenched. "She wanted him to take the oath."

"Exactly," I murmured. "And he almost did. That’s when Grandma God interfered. She said she couldn’t let the Devil win... so she took him out."

His eyes darkened. "Took him out? You mean—"

"She just... removed him. Took his soul away and put mine in its place."

Alvar’s expression shifted—disbelief, confusion, and anger all twisting into something far worse. Understanding. He looked away, his voice low. "So that’s what she meant by balance. Replacing a divine vessel with a human one."

"Yes," I said.

He nodded, understanding everything. As though he had discovered every piece of the puzzle. Then he looked at me, asking, "Then....The real one has died?"

"Then..." he whispered, "that means the real Leif... is dead?"

The question hung heavy in the air. I looked at him—really looked at him—and said softly, "No. He’s alive."

His head snapped toward me. "Alive?"

"Yes," I said. "He’s alive. Just... asleep somewhere deep beneath the seal. Waiting. When the Devil returns... and I defeat it... he’ll wake up."

He stared at me, eyes wide, disbelief flashing across his face. "Wake up?" he repeated. "You mean—"

I hesitated. My voice faltered, trembling under the weight of what came next. "...he’ll come back."

Something flickered in his eyes. Hope. Horror. Then something that looked far too much like grief.

His voice trembled when he spoke again. "Then what about—"

He stopped mid-sentence, but I knew what he was asking.What about you?

I forced a small, bitter smile. "I have to return," I said quietly. "To my world."

For a second, he didn’t move.

Then, slowly—too slowly—his shoulders slumped. His eyes went distant, unfocused. Like something inside him had just... gone still.

I could almost hear it—the sound of him breaking. Not loud. Not violent. Just... quiet. The kind of shattering that leaves no sound, no mess, just absence.

His lips parted, but nothing came out. He looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time—and realizing I was already gone.

Alvar trembled. Just barely—the kind of tremble you’d miss if you didn’t love someone enough to know how they hide it.

"And what about..." His voice cracked. "...what about us ?"

I looked up at him, my heart twisting so violently I thought it might stop. And for a moment—for a heartbeat—I almost believed I could lie.

That I could say something soft. Something merciful. Something that wouldn’t destroy the man sitting in front of me.

But I couldn’t. Because there’s nothing merciful about the truth. My chest ached, my throat trembling as I forced the words out.

"You’ll forget me," I said quietly. "That’s... the destiny Grandma decided for us."

The silence that followed was unbearable. He just stared at me. Unblinking. Unmoving.

"I’ll wake up back in my world," I went on, each word scraping my throat raw. "And you... you’ll wake up in yours. You’ll have your home, your title, and your people. But you won’t remember me. You won’t even remember that you once—"

My voice cracked before I could say loved me.

And he—He just stood up.

For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak. He just stood there—the Grand Duke Alvar Regulfsson, the man who once carried kingdoms in his gaze—trembling like the ground beneath him had given way.

His jaw tightened, his fists curling and uncurling at his sides. When he finally spoke, his voice didn’t sound like Alvar’s anymore. It sounded like someone who had forgotten how to breathe.

"I..."

he started, then stopped, his throat locking around the rest.

When he found his voice again, it was quiet. Barely there. "I need some time."

The words shouldn’t have hurt as much as they did. But they did. He turned his back to me slowly—as if afraid that if he moved too fast, something inside him would break completely.

And I didn’t stop him.I couldn’t.

Because how could I hold onto him now, knowing every heartbeat I stole was temporary?Knowing that one day soon, even this pain wouldn’t belong to him?

So I just watched.

Watched the man I loved walk toward the door—every step deliberate, restrained, suffocating in its calm.

The silence between us was deafening. He reached the door. His hand hovered over the handle for just a moment—just long enough for me to think maybe he’d look back.

He didn’t.

He opened the door, the faint draft from the hall brushing past me like the ghost of him already gone.

Then he stepped out. And the door closed behind him with a soft, final click.

No slam.No goodbye.

Just an ending.

. . .

I sat there for a long time—not moving, not breathing—staring at the empty space where he’d been.

The room felt too large now. Too quiet. Like even the air was holding its breath, afraid to echo what had just happened.

And maybe I was too.

Because this time, there was no fight. No shouting. No anger. Just silence. And the sound of something breaking quietly inside us.

I lowered my gaze to my hands—trembling, cold, almost foreign—and whispered to no one,"...I won’t let this end with nothing."

My chest ached as I said it, but the words felt right. True.

Because even if fate had already decided to take everything from me... I could still decide how I’d lose it.

So I made a promise.

Until the day I’m sent back—until the moment this body is no longer mine— I’ll spend every second I have left with him.

With the man I love.

So that when the end finally comes... I won’t regret anything.