Chapter 294
No, he wasn’t reprimanding her.
From the very beginning, he had simply accepted it as natural that Ysaris would try to kill him.
And what’s more—he showed no will to resist. A person facing death should instinctively defend themselves, yet he welcomed her as if he’d been waiting.
As if he’d done this countless times before.
In the end, Ysaris asked a question that strayed far from her purpose of waking him.
‘Why won’t you listen? Why do you look at me like that? Why do you speak of your own death so casually?’
‘Do you truly wish to die? Do you want me to kill you?’
Her confusion etched itself into her expression. As she clenched her fists and bit the inside of her lip, Kazhan’s crimson gaze settled on her.
A pause.
The hand that had been stroking the platinum-haired figure’s hair—gentle, as if soothing her to sleep—froze midair. Then, as if moving on instinct, it awkwardly wrapped around the woman’s waist instead.
Her voice rose in disbelief. She nearly fired back, but something flickered in her mind, stopping her.
Instead of answering, Ysaris studied him carefully. The way he faced her with genuine confusion stirred an uneasy déjà vu.
How should she even phrase this?
A conversation from years ago—one they’d had when she’d lost her memories—resurfaced in her mind.
Back then, Kazhan had refused to sleep with her, offering that excuse.
He often had nightmares, he’d said. A side effect of the Tennilath’s power—so much so that it would be stranger if he didn’t dream of horrors.
And if that was the case… what were those nightmares made of? If her abandoning him to die had been his worst one, as he’d later admitted, then what were the others?
Her voice was quiet when the question finally escaped.
Yes, everything had been strange from the start. The way he spoke as if he’d expected her. His unshakable belief that she’d come to end him. The way he dismissed her as a fake yet still yielded, as if life held no meaning to him—it all pointed to one thing.
‘How many times have I died at your hands in this dream?’
Kazhan had died by her hand over and over. Enough for it to become routine. Enough for it to feel inevitable.
She prayed her guess was wrong. But his answer came without hesitation, and her face twisted.
His tone was flat, as if discussing the weather. If anything, he seemed puzzled by her question.
“Rested.” Had she only observed him from afar, she might have missed it. But after spending time with him, Ysaris had noticed something.
The figure in his arms was not alive.
Like the real her, it was little more than a corpse—unmoving, unbreathing, eyes forever shut.
And Kazhan, cradling it with such care, was nothing short of grotesque.
Her voice failed her. All she could see was his face—unnervingly calm, as if her mere presence was enough to bring him peace.
In this broken world, the most shattered thing of all was Kazhan.
And Ysaris had only just realized it.
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