"She is safe now… then why does it feel like there's a weight pressing down on my chest?"
He sat on top of the massive gate of Selvaran, his eyes locked on the lone figure limping slowly toward the castle.
The wind brushed against him—cold, quiet.
He didn't move.
Just sat there on the edge of the wall, staring down at the sleeping kingdom.
The lights were out.
Not a single torch burned.
The streets were still.
The people were asleep—peaceful, untouched.
Safe.
As if nothing had happened.
He took a slow breath, but it didn't help.
The weight in his chest only grew heavier.
"Why won't this feeling disappear?"
His hand clenched against his chest, as if he could rip it out—tear the weight away.
He didn't understand.
No… he did.
He remembered this pain. This familiar pain.
It was the pain of failure. Of not being enough.
The same ache he felt as Arthur, but now it's sharper. Deeper.
He turned his head.
Not fast. Not slow.
Like he already knew.
