Chapter 295
“…I resented you.”
Ysaris’s words slipped out as if enchanted. Before Kazhan could respond, she lowered her head and continued.
“But I never wanted you to suffer like this. I just…”
Just.
What words could possibly follow that? Or rather, what words could she even say?
Ysaris stared blankly at the floor.
Realizing Kazhan’s state hadn’t changed anything. If anything, she was left drowning in a helplessness so vast it felt like the ground had crumbled beneath her.
Guilt toward Kazhan came first. She couldn’t shake the thought that she was the reason he’d been completely broken.
Some part of her had wanted him to hurt—but not like this. Not to this extent. She never wanted to see him unravel like this, even if he still clung to her with desperation.
She had every reason to hate him. But now, she wasn’t even sure if that hatred was justified.
Back then, she’d dismissed it as the excuses of the perpetrator. She thought it was just another desperate attempt to keep her from leaving.
Honestly, she’d even found it laughable. She was the obvious victim between them—how dare he say such a thing to her? Resentment had coiled beneath her skin.
Looking back, misunderstanding was the more accurate word. Both of them had been trapped in their own perspectives, their vision narrowed by pain.
So Ysaris hadn’t known the extent of Kazhan’s condition. She had no way of knowing how much he still longed for her, how much he’d rotted away in solitude.
His words had never truly reached her.
“…Was it my fault?”
Ysaris muttered self-deprecatingly. It wasn’t a question directed at Kazhan, nor was it one she asked herself.
It was just… a sliver of regret, an unconscious whisper of what if? What if she hadn’t avoided him? What if she’d tried, even once, to truly understand him?
Maybe he’d been right.
“But if we really think about it, maybe it’s no one’s fault. Or perhaps it’s everyone’s.”
Just as Kazhan had his reasons, Ysaris had hers. Wounded people defending their own positions wasn’t inherently wrong—but if it was wrong, then the blame fell on both of them.
“I’m sorry. For not returning even a fraction of the effort you poured into me.”
“……!”
Kazhan’s eyes widened slightly. Stunned by words he’d never expected to hear, he froze as Ysaris slowly stepped closer.
“I thought about you often while we were apart. It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? I left because I didn’t want to feel confused, hurt, or hurt you anymore—yet here I am, the one who abandoned you first, still unable to let go.”
It was inevitable. Beyond enduring pregnancy and childbirth alone, every time she looked at Casilia—who resembled him so much—it was only natural that he crossed her mind.
The face that most often overlapped with her beloved child’s wasn’t that of the husband who’d once been cruel to her. No, it was the man who’d whispered endless words of love to her when she’d lost her memories.
Even if it had all been built on lies.
“I didn’t want to admit that, so I never reached out. And when I heard you were doing fine, I even felt spiteful. Part of me wondered how long you’d last without my purification ability. But…”
Ysaris stopped directly in front of Kazhan and gazed down at him. She studied his dazed face—half-propped up, staring at her—before slowly reaching out.
Her back, always so straight unless she was carrying a child, bent slightly.
Her slender, pale fingers, now calloused, brushed against Kazhan’s cheek.
“You didn’t break because of my ability. You broke because of me, Kazhan.”
Her voice was flat, yet tinged with something mournful.
Truthfully, Ysaris couldn’t clearly define what she was feeling. Kazhan’s ruin didn’t bring her satisfaction. But neither did it tear her apart with grief.
Guilt, sorrow, a dull melancholy—all of it tangled together into…
Pity.
Ysaris dared to pity Kazhan.
“This—”
Finally, Kazhan spoke. Leaning slightly into her touch, he stared at her intently before arriving at some conclusion.
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