"...Iria?"
Seven said, waking up from Iria's lap..
His vision was still a blur as he looked at Iria from above, her head was tilted to one side as if sleeping.
Growl.
His stomach groaned.
After all, he spent an entire week inside that void and thus it was natural for him to be hungry after returning to the mortal world.
"Iria."
He repeated.
"I'm hungry."
However, Iria did not reply and just continued to keep her eyes closed.
'Is she asleep?'
Slowly, his blur vision began to clear. But as it did, he could not help but squint his eyes because of the sun's light.
After spending seven days in that complete darkness, the sudden brightness stung and overwhelmed his senses.
Aside from it, he immediately checked his chest as he could still remember having his heart carved out. To his surprise, his chest was already healed.
Thump!
His heart still beat normally as if it never left that place.
"Iria, bring me something to eat."
He repeated once again as he tried to push himself up.
Then again, Iria did not respond as she still seemed to be fast asleep.
With now a clear vision, he looked at her.
"I… Iria…?"
The sight of her froze him.
Iria's complexion was pale, her cheeks were gaunt, her eyes were sunken, and her lips were parted but held no breath.
He reached for her hand, and gripped her shoulder. He was surprised by her sudden change in complexion as she looked far from this a week ago.
But as he did, Iria's body slumped to the ground.
Tears started to fall from his eyes.
It was not him but more like his body itself, the original Seven Hart, was the one who let out those tears.
He just let them fall.
After all, the body knew that she was the one who cared for him.
Some of the tears were from him though. Despite his vow to avoid getting too close to anyone, he felt guilty that Iria died without knowing that she was serving a whole new different person.
He looked down.
Beside Iria was a tray and a porcelain cup of tea.
"Iria, you…"
He did not need to ponder as for what reason she held that led to her demise.
The answer was all around him: Iria stayed here, trying to be with him, and perhaps hoping for a miracle to save him. She had poured everything into him, even as her own body gave out.
"...You fool."
She followed him even in death, but in the end, she ended up going alone.
Slowly, he brushed a strand of Iria's hair on her face and pressed his forehead against hers.
"You should've saved yourself."
Then, after a moment of silence, Seven stared at the cold tea, picked it up, and gulped it in one go.
Gulp.
He smiled.
After all, the herbal tea was way different compared to the past teas she served him. He felt no pain in his throat or any sign of poison present in it.
This time, it was just herbal tea and nothing more.
He set the empty cup down beside her.
"I should've said thank you... just once."
For minutes, he only stayed right there and did nothing but stare at the air with a calculating gaze as if trying to make a very important decision.
Then, one of the leaves from the four-leafed clover tattooed on his wrist glowed.
|| Exclusive Trait: Imperial Bower ||
A system interface appeared before him.
|| First Leaf ||
|| ▸ Upon death, Seven Hart is transported into a fully-formed illusion—a reality where he faces a trial set by none other than himself. Time in this illusion flows normally as it does in the outside world. ||
|| Passive Effect: Immune to all forces of binding (contracts, compulsions, oath) at all times ||
He smiled.
After all, what he needed arrived right when it mattered most. It was not often that things unfolded exactly as he needed, but when they did, it was almost poetic.
***
In the Basement Prison
Everything was still the same as back then.
In the far-end prison cell, Lythian was still locked in a chair with the enchanted Eternum Cuffs with a filthy gag tied around his mouth.
'The fuck is wrong with him?'
He cursed internally.
He was referring to the person who entered before, and the one who made him recall his body's trauma that even he did not know.
And he was left unfed for a week.
The gag was starting to hurt his mouth, though he was fed by a guard once a day back then, no one did now and he hated it given that his organs are eating themselves to relieve his hunger as they regenerate anyway.
Still, it did hurt more than any physical torture.
He nodded.
Perhaps it was just a part of torture too: hunger. It was known to be more painful and could even cripple and kill him now if he was not an immortal.
'I'll kill that bastard."
Creak.
As if in response, the creak of the door leading towards the basement echoed throughout the silent space.
Step.
Soft sound of footsteps followed, as if someone was dragging their feet rather than taking a proper step.
"Freedom."
Seven spoke as he staggered down the final step staircase of the basement.
His voice immediately sent shivers down Lythian's spine.
Step.
"It is what keeps men from becoming monsters."
After his words, the sound of his body hitting the iron cell bars echoed. He barely had enough strength to walk as he was basically 'dead' for seven days.
Still, he moved forward.
Step.
Now, Seven stood before Lythian's cell.
Their clothes were soaked in blood and were both ripped, stained, and nearly indistinguishable in filth and pain. If one were to see this, they would be hard-pressed to tell which one was tortured and which one just returned from death.
He grasped the rusting bars, leaning his weight on them, and forced his eyes to meet Lythian's.
"Even a beast caged long enough forgets the taste of freedom."
Step.
He entered the cell.
He grabbed Lythian's hair right after and pulled him closer.
Unlike his previous visit, he did not pick up the dagger on the table to re-live his trauma or hurt him physically.
"How much?"
Instead, he simply asked as he tore the filthy gag from Lythian's mouth.
He was referring to the price of freedom— about whether Lythian wants it or not but only if he served him.
After all, a deal is always beneficial to the one who has nothing to lose.
They were both readers of the novel, but Lythian did not know that Seven is. So even if he hated to serve a Young Lord he was meant to assassinate, it would be a waste to just rot inside the basement prison.
Thus Lythian was bound to agree.
"...Fuck you."
Lythian coughed, spat a thick wad of blood and bile at Seven's boots, then grinned with teeth stained red.
Or at least, it was what Seven thought.
He did not expect Lythian to reject the idea outright in such a manner.
"You think I give a single rotting fuck about you dragging your half-rotted corpse down here like some righteous savior?"
Lythian looked up at Seven, the strands of his hair still tangled in his grip. And then, he laughed.
"You think you can leash me with pretty words and a price tag?
"Free me or don't.
"Don't fucking stand there jerking yourself off with this noble act."
Lythian leaned forward and jerked his head back to yank his hair free of Seven's grip.
"Just crawl back to the exiled mansion where failures like you go to die."
The moment the words "crawl back to wherever failures like you go to die" left Lythian's mouth, Seven's fist immediately crashed into his face.
He did not say anything.
Slowly, he just grabbed the side of Lythian's face and slammed his head back against the chair post.
Again.
And again.
Until his nose bent and blood flowed freely.
"Fuck your pride, fudger. I don't need your word."
He gripped Lythian's jaw tight and forced eye contact.
Slam!
He pulled his head and slammed it one more time against the back of the chair. Lythian's body slumped slightly and blood now poured freely from a gash at the top of his brow.
Right after, he dragged two fingers through the fresh stream of blood running down Lythian's face and smeared it across Lythian's forehead.
"There."
He said.
It was a mark of a slave in this world, and it was primarily used on the sixth continent where the slavery was still legal.
He only knew it because, again, he was a reader.
Slowly, he fumbled his pocket, took out a single Zevi coin, and placed it on Lythian's forehead where the mark immediately swallowed the coin.
"1 Zevi."
He said.
"That's your worth."