Chapter 98
He didn’t remember who he was or where he was. Yet, every touch, every feeling directed toward Elia was so desperate, it was almost unbearable.
“I am Elia Martina.”
Elia whispered as she buried her face in Cyrone’s chest. Their warm bodies intertwined, the pounding rhythm of their hearts echoed between them. There, standing before each other, were their long-awaited saviors.
At last, their eyes fully met. Without many words, their gazes said everything. They looked at each other with a depth that needed no explanation.
The moments of fierce love, born from the depths of hatred, were what the world called fate.
8. Between Winter and Spring
The exile of Cyrone Edelward, the Empire’s second prince and Crown Prince, to the edge of the continent happened that very summer.
After that long, scorching summer passed, Pope Winter erased the sinner’s name entirely from the divine flame. Erased from history, he could no longer bear the name Edelward and was forbidden to return to the capital.
Instead, Eyl Edelward, son of the late Crown Prince and adopted heir of the Damon family, succeeded him. That same year, the long-reclusive Emperor Mondol abdicated the throne to his nephew, Eyl.
Before the first snow of that winter even fell, the Emperor took his own life. It was a winter heavy with snow. All that had passed was buried beneath the cold, white blanket.
The people mourned and, in part, felt relief as the beloved history and times of old faded away. Yet, the turmoil was brief, and time flowed quietly as always.
When spring came again, like the melting snow, many things slipped away—forgotten as naturally as they should be.
* * *
At the edge of the continent, in Anita, the horizon was clear. Where the sky met the sea, the sun rose and the moon set as if by natural order. That seemingly ordinary place was home to a tiny seaside village.
Here, the only noise was the sound of waves breaking against the shore. People hadn’t lived there for a while, but three years ago, the quiet was broken by the sounds of life returning.
No one knew who the young couple were or where they had come from, and no one cared to ask.
They were simply the villagers, without even proper names. Just like everyone else.
They were known all as Raphael and Raphaela, the names of gentle and kind angels.
* * *
Though the sun had already risen high in the afternoon sky, the two still couldn’t bring themselves to leave the bed. It was deep into spring, but the wind that swept across the hilltop house by the beach was sharp.
As the sea breeze rattled the door, the woman snuggled closer into the man’s embrace. Their shared warmth was more comforting than any sunlight.
The man pressed a deep, reverent kiss upon the woman’s still sleep-laden eyes.
“I hope we have a child who looks like you.”
Gently, he caressed her slender belly. If the child inherited her pale green eyes and her hair, the shade of red flowers, they would be beautiful indeed. The thought alone brought a quiet smile to his lips.
The prospect of loving more was both joyful and slightly daunting, but two or three children seemed just right.
At his words, the woman’s eyes slowly fluttered open. Every time she met his gaze like this, his heart still skipped a beat.
“I hope the eyes look like yours.”
With tender fingers, she traced the contours of his eyes. Within them shone the strikingly beautiful blue-green of Anita’s sea. He kissed each finger that gently stroked his face, his breath warm with the lingering heat of the previous night.
“…Heh.”
The woman giggled softly, her shoulders shaking as if tickled. To him, her smile was warmer than the afternoon sunlight spilling through the window. She softly ran her hand through his shimmering golden hair and asked,
“How’s your head? Not hurting, is it?”
“I’m fine. It doesn’t bother me anymore.”
He shook his head slowly with a relaxed expression.
Since that day, the man’s headaches had become a chronic ailment. It was sometimes so severe he would break out in cold sweat, sometimes waking from nightmares filled with lightning flashes in his mind.
Even so, half of the memories from his past were lost to him.
“How did I live without you?”
He often asked this suddenly, though even he didn’t fully understand why. In the darkness of his mind, such thoughts would occasionally flash by. The vague fear and terror of how he managed life without her, how he survived the days when she wasn’t there.
The woman chuckled softly, as if used to the question, and always answered the same way:
“There was never a moment like that. We’ve always been together, since we were very young.”
Then the man tilted his head slightly in confusion. The woman looked at him and smiled playfully.
“You chased me around so relentlessly, it might be better if you didn’t remember.”
“I was the one chasing you?”
“Of course. For ten whole years!”
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