Chapter 29
“Give me your heart, Cyrone. Give your heart to your mother.”
Her dry, rough nails caught on Cyrone’s golden button, bending and tearing it, but she didn’t give up.
“Cyrone? It’s really you, isn’t it?”
Cyrone silently looked down at her face as she lunged at him like a seizure. Her once radiant golden hair was tangled and dull, and the emerald eyes that once gleamed with nobility had lost their color, stolen by the demon.
She had been worshiped by many names. The once most noble woman of the empire, the empress of Kelyon, praised across the continent.
But now everything was different. Her family was destroyed by the Hyposis, the union of dukes, she was cast out as the deposed Empress and imprisoned in the iron tower. A pitiful shell going mad, her soul stolen by the devil.
“Mother.”
And… Cyrone’s mother. Her real name was Loran Hestia.
Even as he looked at her wretched form, Cyrone’s eyes were emotionless. His voice, calling her ‘Mother,’ was rough and cracked. At the sound of his voice, Loran’s dark, distant eyes flickered faintly.
“Yes, Cyrone. I am your mother.”
That was the moment Cyrone gripped the hilt of his sword tightly. He pointed the blade, radiating fierce poison, at her neck. Feeling the cold steel against her body, she froze stiff.
Cyrone did not release his grip. Only the savage sound of flesh being crushed echoed. The blade slowly sank deeper into her throat.
“Stop! Stop! This woman might die!”
The woman screamed desperately. But Cyrone didn’t stop. Until the dark, murky blood began dripping from the torn flesh.
“Ugh…!”
She gagged and retched uncontrollably, then trembled violently before collapsing onto the cold floor. For a long time, she lay there gasping for breath and clawing at the ground. Cyrone watched her with cold, emotionless eyes.
“Cyrone…”
It was then, a faint voice came. Loran, weakened and exhausted, coughed softly. Her voice was completely different from before. The sharpness and greed were gone.
Only then did Cyrone throw down the sword with a clatter. The blade skidded across the floor, making a sharp ringing sound.
“Cyrone, now I am more often not myself. Even I can’t recognize you anymore.”
The woman lying on the floor let out a dry, bitter laugh. Though cloudy, her pale green eyes were regaining some color. Loran gently brushed aside her brittle hair.
She spent a long while barely pulling herself together.
“I thought turning back time would let me undo fate. But it’s the same.”
Loran gave a bitter chuckle, her thoughts drifting back.
Even when she returned to that moment, nothing had changed. To her father, she was merely a spark to expand the influence of the new nobility. To Mondol, the Emperor and her husband, she was just a shield against the powerful noble coalition.
“…Why did I ever believe it would be different?”
Loran murmured softly, staring helplessly at her feet that no longer listened.
She no longer felt the flow of time. The days when she was the most revered woman in the Empire, the day her crown was stolen as Empress after the collapse of the new nobility, and the times she was bound and locked away in the iron tower. All seemed like lies.
The moments clinging to the passage of time felt utterly hollow.
Cyrone remained still, watching his mother’s broken form. His emotionless eyes felt desolate.
“Cyrone, remember this hollow sight well, as you grow and face death.”
Blood burst forth from her pale, cracked lips, filling the air with the scent of iron and despair.
“Remember well, and take revenge for me… especially on that Reiffers bastard…”
Desperately trying to keep her voice going, Loran finally spat a mouthful of blood and lost consciousness. She was the tragic end of one who clung to the past, defied the flow of time, and chased the desires of Belial.
The pooling blood slowly crawled, searching for its owner. Before long, the blood thickly oozed around Cyrone’s feet. Cyrone knelt upon it. He gently stroked Loran’s tangled hair. After gazing at her unconscious form for some time, he finally let out a low, faint smile Like a fading afterimage.
“Mother, there are things in this world that no matter how hard you try, just cannot be changed.”
Cyrone murmured, recalling the day when the rain poured down in torrents. He had begged at Reiffers’s feet to save his mother’s life, but it was all in vain.
Unlike Loran’s wish, Cyrone was far too much like her. Like those who cannot let go despite knowing they will regret it.
“Do not forgive me, Mother.”
His voice was calm, devoid of any emotion. With his bloodied hand, Cyrone pressed firmly against his eyes. He no longer felt any pain.
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