Finally, after what felt like the longest day of his life, Shian was in bed. A real bed, with sheets softer than anything he'd ever felt, a ceiling above him that didn't drip rainwater, and walls that didn't crumble with every passing wind.
And yet, he couldn't sleep.
He stared at the ceiling, eyes wide open. Sleep refused to come anywhere near him, and he couldn't blame it. After all, until now, he had lived in basements, ruins, and slums. A solid roof and a warm bed felt... unfamiliar.
Survival, he thought. That's all he'd ever done, survive while searching for a past he couldn't remember. Two years. That's how long it had been since he woke up without any memory of him. Which meant, until two years ago in the past timeline, he must have had a proper life... and an identity. So, who had stolen it?
Then a thought struck him like lightning.
He had traveled six years into the past, hadn't he? He didn't know why it was exactly six, but if he lost his identity two years ago…means that will be four years from now on, and that would mean he was still alive somewhere in this timeline. Maybe. But even if his past self existed, how would he ever find him? Shian didn't even know his own name or face. Moreover, could two versions of the same soul exist in one world?
Unlikely. But not impossible.
"I wonder where the hero is," he muttered, glaring at the ceiling. His voice was flat, but his eyes held weight. He quickly shook his head, trying to cast off the spiraling thoughts. Focus. Forget the hero. Forget the villain. You just need to survive as Shian for now.
Still, something about this so-called "Executioner" was bothering him. There was a nagging sensation in the back of his mind, like instinct pushing him to interfere. It wasn't normal. The Faceless never felt that way, he never cared.
"Holy shit!" he blurted, sitting upright in bed. "What a drag!"
The bed was too soft. His thoughts were too loud. Sleep was a lost cause.
"My prince, is something wrong?!" a voice called as the door burst open.
Shian nearly jumped again. "Klein?! Weren't you in your room?"
Klein, looking a little sheepish, stepped in. "I… didn't feel sleepy. So I thought I'd guard you for the night."
Shian blinked, baffled. "Are you an idiot?"
Klein looked down, mumbling under his breath, "He called me an idiot. I deserve to die."
A vein popped in Shian's forehead. There he goes again with his melodrama.
"The night guards are already patrolling the estate. I don't need extra guarding. And even if someone did get in, could you actually stop an assassin?"
Shian thought Klein was going to slump again,
But instead of shrinking back, Klein raised his head and tilted it ever so slightly, with a sharp glaze.
"I can," he said.
Shian froze. The usual softness was gone. Klein's eyes, illuminated faintly by the dim lamp, had a steely, predator-like glint. They weren't bluffing. There was no fear, no hesitation. Just calm, dangerous confidence.
It sent a chill down Shian's spine.
He stared into those light brown eyes for a moment longer before sighing and getting out of bed, ruffling his own hair.
"Let's go to the library, Klein. I can't sleep tonight."
Without a word, Klein nodded. Shian grabbed the night coat draped behind the bed and threw it on before stepping out of his room. Then he paused, realizing something important. He had no idea where the library was. "Lead the way, Klein," he said, eyeing the lamp in the young man's hand. "You have the light."
With Klein leading the way, Shian followed quietly. The hallway was calm, lit only by moonlight pouring in through the tall arched windows. As they passed by one of them, Shian slowed down and looked outside. The night was unusually clear.
The moonlight painted the palace garden in silver hues, where the guards patrolled in calm silence. But something caught his eye, soft glowing specks scattered in the garden, almost like stardust.
He stopped walking and squinted through the window. Klein noticed and slowed beside him, lifting the lamp slightly to get a better view. "Diana," he said softly.
Shian raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"They've bloomed," Klein murmured, almost to himself. "The Diana flowers… they actually bloomed, my prince. Do you remember? You used to wait every month, hoping to see them open under the moonlight." His voice was low, almost nostalgic.
Diana. A rare flower that only bloomed under moonlight, and even then, its timing was erratic. No one knew the exact day or hour they'd blossom. Some people waited years without ever witnessing it.
Shian kept his eyes on the glowing flowers, unmoving.
Then Klein spoke again, softer than before, his voice no longer carrying that usual cheerful awkwardness.
"So, I have a question, Your Highness."
"…What is it?" Shian asked, not turning away from the glass.
Klein slowly placed his palm against the window, fingers spread, as if reaching for the flowers.
"Who are you, my prince?"
Shian's eyes widened slightly. The question froze Shian in place.
He had expected this conversation eventually, perhaps from Hans, but not from Klein. And he had always believed Klein was just convinced Shian had gone mad, or that maybe he was under some memory loss. But this…
"What are you talking about?" Shian said carefully.
"You're not Prince Shian, are you?" Klein said. He didn't look away from the window. "So I'm asking… who are you, Your Highness?"
Shian didn't respond.
"Think before you answer me," Klein added, finally turning to look at him. The soft light of the lamp barely masked the dangerous glint in his eyes. "Because depending on your answer, I'll decide whether to kill you or not."