SLAP!
Cynthia and Rollo flinched, eyes wide.
"...This isn't real," Mirus muttered, his face flushed red.
SLAP!
Another strike—his own hand again. Rollo and Cynthia exchanged tense glances.
"This isn't... REAL!" he shouted, eyes wild and glassy.
"Cynthia! Go get his young master!" Rollo barked, already pulling a needle from her pocket.
"Okay!" Cynthia rushed out of the room.
"Mr. Mirus, please calm down..." Rollo said gently—but her voice fell on deaf ears.
"Do you know how much I suffered...?" Mirus whispered, trembling as he clutched his jet-black hair.
"I was finally at peace... but you—you pulled me back into this life..." Tears welled in his eyes.
"I would've been fine dying for young master..." His voice hardened. His eyes narrowed.
Then two realizations hit him at once.
'Where is young master...? What happened to him?'
And the other—coming fast.
A needle.
GRAB!
Rollo's eyes widened as Mirus's hand shot out and caught the needle mid-air with flawless precision.
The panic drained from his face.
All that remained were cold, predatory eyes—locked squarely on her.
GULP.
A bead of sweat rolled down Rollo's neck as he spoke, voice like frost:
"Where is young master?"
Her body froze.
Too late.
She barely registered the needle now piercing her chest.
THUD!
She dropped—paralyzed. Only her eyes still moved, watching as Mirus stepped over her.
"...So it was a paralytic," he murmured. "My bad. I'll find the young master myself."
Step.
He stopped at the door.
"And if I find out you've done anything to harm him... I'll paralyze you all permanently."
As he walked out, the last thought in Rollo's mind was:
Shit.
"Don't cry, Desmond..." a blurred voice whispered. Cold. Distant.
"Remember..." The figure leaned forward. The face remained indistinct, but the eyes were clear:
Brown. Red-rimmed. Crying.
"Whenever life throws you into hell..."
"If you're not strong enough to endure it..."
"...just smile at hell."
"And be happy."
"...Be happy, and wait. I'll come find you."
RING!BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!
Desmond jolted awake, clutching his head, gasping for air.
'What was that...?' he thought, dazed.
His eyes were wet.
'Did I... cry in my sleep?'
He looked down—his hands were fully healed. Smooth. Unmarked.
He touched his face. Still damp.
'Weird... Was that a dream?'
Across the cell, a voice broke the silence.
"Seems like it started."
Desmond froze.
Yellow.
He took a breath, steadying himself before responding—carefully.
"...What has started, sir?"
Yellow was lying near the glowing wall, voice soft and detached.
"Madness."
A chill crept down Desmond's spine.
"...Madness?"
Yellow didn't answer immediately. Then, slowly:
"The Deep."
"What—" Desmond began, but Yellow kept speaking.
"He said it came from the Deep. A monster. Looked like a whale—but no eyes, no mouth. Made entirely of black stone."
'Black stone...?'
Desmond blinked, then looked around.
The walls. The floor.
Everything was black stone.
'Didn't Paige say the prison was built from Deep material...?'
His stomach tightened.
"...Then this is—?"
"Yes." Yellow confirmed. "This prison was made from its body."
Desmond's thoughts spiraled.
'I already thought my life was spiraling into hell… but this? This is an upgrade.'
Yellow echoed his thoughts aloud.
"To live inside a monster..." He smiled faintly. "Seems cool, right?"
Desmond nodded far too quickly, trying not to show fear.
'Cool!? I'm this close to biting my own tongue—just to escape this conversation. It wouldn't kill me… but at least I'd get a break from being terrified of this guy.'
Yellow continued, unbothered.
"It messes with your mind… that's its power. And..." He glanced at the wall. "It drinks blood. Glows with it."
"...Glows?" Desmond echoed.
"The glow depends on your blood's color."
Desmond frowned.
"You should know this." Yellow's gaze fell to his own cracked, bloodstained hands."The life an immortal lives… depends on their blood. Its color. Its quality."
Desmond's expression darkened.
'He's not wrong.'
The words landed. Heavy. True.
Even among immortals, there were castes. Bloodlines. Value systems.
And it all came down to what flowed inside them.
Not that Desmond planned to argue.
Yellow turned to face him, blue eyes piercing.
"What's your name, boy?"
'Boy?' Desmond twitched.
'I'm probably older than him—wait… no. He's mortal, right? Actually… never mind.'
He straightened his posture.
"Desmond Se—just Desmond, sir."
Yellow's eyes narrowed slightly.
"No 'sir'. Just call me Yellow."
'Yellow… what a name,' Desmond thought, too afraid to voice it.
"...Yes. Mr. Yellow."
Yellow's fingers twitched slightly.
"Just Yellow."
"...Yes. Yellow," Desmond corrected, throat tight.
Silence settled once more.
But this time, it felt... strangely lighter.
He finally let himself breathe.
*****************************************************************
In the immortal city of Eden, on the west side of the royal palace—
Sunlight had already faded. Night was rising.
In a field of translucent flowers, a girl walked slowly along the stone path that split the garden in two.
There was no wind. But overhead, dark clouds began to gather.
Step.
By the time the girl stopped, the darkness had covered the field.
But only for a moment.
Then the flowers began to glow—deep red, pulsing softly, beating like hearts.
She stood still, surrounded by them. Her own blood-red hair shimmered in the glow, only heightening the surreal beauty of the place.
In her hand, she held a single flower—identical to the rest, but glowing faintly blue.
Before her stood a massive, ancient tree. Silent. Leafless.
She knelt, hands soft and slow, and dug a small hole at its base. Then she placed the blue flower gently into the earth… and buried it.
She rose again, saying nothing.
A long silence followed.
Then—"Why are you here?" she asked suddenly, eyes still on the tree.
"Heh."
A soft chuckle came from behind.
A small girl stepped out from the glowing field, no more than seven years old.
"How did you know I was here?" she asked, amused.
"I have eyes," the older girl replied, turning at last.
Her hazel gaze met the girl's brown eyes—measured, unreadable.
The little one glanced around curiously, tilting her head.
"These flowers… how do they work? Is there a bulb inside or something?"
"I doubt you snuck into the royal palace just to ask about flowers," the girl replied evenly.
"…Yeah. We found a lead." The little girl's tone shifted.
"…"
The older girl said nothing.
"A lead on the murder of Amelia?" she asked at last.
"…No. Nothing yet about that." The child looked down, voice quieter.
The girl frowned.
"Carla."
The younger girl looked up.
"I told you to come to me when you had the culprit," the girl said softly, her tone flat but heavy with disappointment."Don't return until you have something useful."
She turned and began walking toward a door at the edge of the garden.
"We have a lead on the world outside."
The girl's steps slowed.
Step.
She stopped.
"…What?" she asked, turning back.
"Today we found a dead man and a dog at the edge," Carla began.
"A dog?" the girl interrupted.
"Yeah—but not one of the usual maddened ones. This one talked. It was sane."
The girl's eyes narrowed.
"Hmm…what about the man? Will he remember anything when he reincarnates?"
Carla shook her head. "No. Most don't. Not after the first time. It's the price for staying sane."
"…I see." The girl nodded slowly. "I'll come see them myself."
Carla said nothing.
When the girl looked again—Carla was gone.
CREAK.
The garden door opened behind her.
A guard in full armor stepped through and bowed.
"The Eternal Sky greets the Great Immortal Queen," he said respectfully, still bowed low.
"Have they gathered?" The Queen asked.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
She nodded.
The guard rose.
"Let's go," she said.
They passed through the doorway together.
THUD.
And the leafless tree stood alone in the red garden—surrounded by a thousand glowing hearts.