Chapter 298
“Precious? Of course. If not through you, when else would I ever get to touch you?”
Unlike an illusion, the sensation of you is this vivid.
Kazhan pulled Ysaris’s hand—the one he’d been gripping—behind him. Instead of the phantom that had vanished from his embrace earlier, the real Ysaris stumbled and collapsed against him.
Holding her warmth, alive and trembling, Kazhan whispered into the platinum hair brushing his ear.
“If I consider your wish to be the unspoken truth you couldn’t voice… then there’s no reason for me to refuse.”
He wasn’t speaking of the present, but of all the nightmares until now. The resentful words and actions of the dream-Ysaris had always been rooted in reality, making surrender easy.
Was this atonement? Self-flagellation? Or the voice of a man who’d longed for death for years?
Kazhan didn’t bother distinguishing. He simply entrusted his fate to her—as he always had. One more request was nothing.
“…If you truly grant any wish of mine—”
Ysaris, who’d been pulled into his arms, braced her hands on his shoulders and lifted her head to face him. Her gaze, now closer than before, was deliberate.
“Then believe me. That’s what I want.”
“Ysaa.”
Kazhan sighed her name like an apology.
“I’m sorry, but that’s impossible. Faith isn’t something you can command.”
“And is it not because you fear betrayal? Because you don’t want to hope, only to shatter again?”
A flinch.
Ysaris, studying him from inches away, saw it—and understood.
“You said it yourself earlier: the most effective way to break you would be to lull you into complacency. To give you hope before destroying you.”
She continued slowly, watching his silence.
“So you refuse to hope. Because collapsing again here would hurt too much.”
Strangely, it was Ysaris’s face that twisted in pain as she spoke his. Guilt and pity for the man she’d wounded over and over.
“…So.”
Kazhan said after a pause. Instead of denying her words, he stared blankly before asking:
“How do you plan to prove you’re real? To me, you being a dream is far more plausible.”
Back to the start. Trapped in this loop, Ysaris fell silent—then countered with a question of her own.
“Are your nightmares always this vivid?”
“Well, certainly more tangible than untouchable illusions.”
“Based on the past?”
“I don’t have the talent to dream of the future.”
“Then that’s how you could depict my childhood so clearly. Because you didn’t need to rely solely on memory.”
“……!”
His crimson eyes flickered wide. Ysaris studied his startled expression before resting her chin on his shoulder.
Her voice was soft, murmuring into the man who’d stiffened at her voluntary embrace:
“When we leave here, let’s commission a new family portrait. Not just Mikael and me—but all four of us. You, Casilia, and us.”
“……”
“Even if it’s something undignified, like us huddled together. Wouldn’t it be nice to have one warm, affectionate portrait? Since you’ll be in it, I won’t tell you to paint it yourself—not because your skills are lacking, you know that, right?”
“……”
“If you want, I’ll sit for you anytime. So stop clinging to the past and look at me as I am now. I know this might sound irresponsible, but I’d rather talk about the future we’ll share than be chained to a past we can’t fix.”
Kazhan stayed silent for a long time. Unable to see his face, Ysaris didn’t press—instead voicing what she should’ve said from the start:
“…And Casilia recovered because of you. Thank you. I’m sorry. Had I known the price you’d pay, I wouldn’t have been so harsh.”
A pause. Then she slid her arms around his back, pressing her palm over the pulse at his shoulder. Her whisper was low, soothing.
“It hurt, didn’t it? Because of me.”
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