Chapter Text
Deon woke up with a gasp. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his heart pounding as if he had just run from the battlefield—except his body felt too light, too small.
He reached for himself with trembling hands. His skin was pale as always, but there were no fresh wounds. He was no longer standing among the corpses he had created. There was no scent of dried blood under his nails.
Instead, he was in his dark room—curtains still drawn tightly shut, save for a thin sliver of light creeping through the edges.
Deon knew this place.
He was back.
His body collapsed backward, his back sinking into the soft mattress he hadn’t felt in so long. His unfocused eyes stared up at the familiar ceiling—the same one that had once made him feel trapped.
His breath hitched as realization struck him like a cruel blade.
This wasn’t a nightmare.
This was worse.
He had returned to a time before everything happened.
Before he was dragged to the front lines.
Before his family died.
Before he became the monster that destroyed the world.
His fingers gripped the sheets tightly. This… this couldn’t be real, could it?
But then, a knock at the door made his body freeze.
"Deon."
That voice.
The voice that once greeted him so carefreely, the voice that still echoed in his mind when his body collapsed onto blood-soaked earth, the voice that called out to him one last time before disappearing forever.
Cruel’s voice.
Deon swallowed dryly, his lips parched. He could hear his brother’s footsteps approaching, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to do.
The door creaked open.
Cruel entered as he always did, dressed in his usual noble attire—refined yet comfortable. His Emerald eyes glowed faintly in the dim room, his expression as calm as Deon remembered.
"Why are you still in bed?" he asked lightly. "You know, even if you prefer to stay holed up in this room like a vampire, you should at least wake up early."
Deon didn’t answer.
He couldn’t.
He stared at Cruel—the person he once hated the most, someone who had it easier than him, someone who lived freely while he remained caged.
But Cruel was also the last person to stand by his side. The last person who died protecting him.
And now, he was alive.
“…Deon?”
Cruel’s voice softened, laced with concern.
Deon realized his hands were shaking. He clenched them into fists, trying to hide the tremors.
"Sorry," he croaked. "I just… feel a little dizzy."
Cruel frowned but didn’t press further.
"In that case, don’t push yourself. I’ll tell the maid to bring you some tea later."
Then, just like before, he walked over to the small table in the corner and picked up the chessboard.
"If you can’t leave your room, at least play with me."
Just like before.
Just like before everything fell apart.
Deon lowered his head, his eyes briefly closing.
How did this happen?
Why was he forced to go through this again?
Why, after everything he suffered, was he given a second chance that shouldn’t exist?
Or maybe…
Maybe this wasn’t a second chance for him.
Maybe it was a second chance for his family.
A chance to prevent tragedy.
A chance to save them.
But… how?
---
Days passed, and Deon began noticing things he had missed before.
His parents rarely visited him—not because they didn’t care, but because they feared seeing him grow weaker. They feared they were powerless to help him. Not only that, they're busy.
Cruel, whom he once believed only came to his room out of obligation, actually made time for him despite his own duties.
Every time he visited, he would talk endlessly, sharing stories of the outside world to keep Deon from feeling lonely.
He cared about Deon.
Mother..father..cruel..
They all did.
And yet, Deon had never realized it before.
But the pain and old hatred still simmered beneath his skin.
He still remembered how Imperial soldiers had dragged him away while his family stood frozen, powerless against the Emperor’s decree.
He still remembered how he fought alone for years, his fragile body barely surviving the horrors of war.
He still remembered how he had returned to the hardt mansion after that, only to kill those he loved with his own hands.
Deon bit his lip.
No.
He wouldn’t let it happen again.
But how could he stop it?
Duke Illustre was still out there. The Emperor still held absolute power.
Was he strong enough to protect his family this time? He had the knowledge and stuff, he will try his best.
---
"Deon."
Cruel’s voice snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts. His brother was watching him closely, his expression unreadable.
“…What?” Deon asked warily.
Cruel studied him for a long moment before speaking.
"You’re seems different."
Deon’s heart pounded.
"Before, you were always quiet. You accepted everything without question."
Deon stiffened.
"But lately, you’ve been looking at me differently. Like you’re searching for something."
Deon had no idea how to respond.
"If something is bothering you, just tell me."
Simple words.
Yet, they felt warm.
In the past, he had thought those words were meaningless. But now, he could hear the sincerity behind them.
“…I just…” Deon hesitated, looking away. "I don’t want bad things to happen."
Cruel was silent.
Then, without warning, he reached out and ruffled Deon’s hair.
"Idiot," he said, his voice softer than usual. "I won’t let anything bad happen to you."
Deon froze.
Those words…
He had heard them before.
But back then, he didn’t believe them.
Now…
Maybe this time, he wanted to try believing.
Even if the world still ended.
Even if he still had to bleed.
At least this time, he wouldn’t be alone
...
His eyes started to pouring tears