Klaus opened his eyes to silence.
He was in his mansion—his real home. The walls were old stone, covered in ivy-veined tapestries. Shadows clung to the high arches. A scent of dry paint and old parchment lingered in the air.
His room was regal, decadent in its stillness. Large bed, unmade. Canvases leaned against the walls like tired witnesses. Clothes smeared with paint and ash were scattered on the floor, left untouched for who knows how long.
But all that faded before her.
A portrait dominated the room. A girl no older than seventeen, petite and delicate, smiled from the canvas. Her sky-blue eyes shimmered with kindness—so alive they almost breathed. Her black hair cascaded like midnight rivers down her shoulders, framing a soft, innocent face.
Klaus's fingers trembled.
Grief surged like a tidal wave before vanishing just as fast. His face hardened, composed itself into that old, practiced calm. But the eyes gave him away—eyes too ancient and hollow for someone his age.
He stood, hands brushing over wrinkled fabrics. He dressed without thought, his gaze lingering on the walls. There were six portraits in total. Each painting captured her in a different moment: laughing, dancing, dreaming. With each canvas, she became more ethereal—as if his love for her had only deepened with time, turning memory into mythology.
He was about to begin the seventh.
Then the door creaked open.
Klaus turned, a soft smile rising unbidden. It was... loving. Mischievous. Human. So unlike the man the world called The Great Evil and The Smiling Man. Right now, he just looked like a fool in love.
"Hey, Aurora... how are you, little wolf?"
Aurora smiled gently and wrapped her arms around him from behind, her touch like spring sunlight—warm and impossible to forget.
"Well, I'm fine," she whispered, "but what is my wicked pup up to?"
Klaus chuckled, the sound boyish. He turned, lifted her easily into his arms—like she weighed nothing. His gaze fell to her lips and he kissed her without hesitation. She giggled, ruffling his messy hair. In his arms, she looked weightless, timeless.
She was his peace.
His redemption.
The one who reminded him he could still be more than beast.
---
Then the scene shifted.
Now, Klaus stood before a lake. Fog drifted lazily over the water's surface like fingers of regret. A young woman floated in its heart, hair fanning around her like a drowned halo. Pale. Still. Beautiful.
Aurora.
Klaus staggered forward, his legs like broken glass. He stepped into the freezing water, lifted her with trembling arms, and held her close as if he could bring warmth back to her limbs through sheer force of will.
His expression cracked. Hollow. Lost.
This pain—this was new. This was deeper than any wound he'd suffered in war or from betrayal. This... this was beyond even the agony of losing Nadia.
He was eighteen. A King in the eyes of men. But in Aurora's presence, he was just a boy again. A boy who painted the world with color because she was his muse. His light. The only reason he hadn't let himself drown in the abyss.
Now, he held that light extinguished.
Something inside him snapped. Quietly. Irrevocably.
Was this how his father had felt?
Love is the most beautiful thing in the world, he remembered someone saying.
But to lose it... is hell itself.
He knelt in the water, her body clutched to his chest, hoping—praying—it was a dream.
But it wasn't.
It was real.
Cold, merciless, soul-shattering reality.
Then she moved.
Her eyes opened—not soft, but burning.
Her hands closed around his throat with unnatural strength, and she slammed him into the lake. Water surged over them as she forced his head beneath the surface.
"WHY DIDN'T YOU SAVE ME!?"
Her voice was agony and fury all at once. Her beautiful face now twisted by heartbreak and rage.
"You could have saved me, Klaus! You have power! So why!? WHY!?"
Beneath the water, Klaus didn't fight back.
He just stared at her, eyes wide with sorrow.
If she was alive—even if she hated him—it was enough.
He reached for her, hand trembling. Cold-Blooded, his attribute, faltered. It didn't protect him. Not now. Not against her.
Tears streamed from his eyes like a broken dam.
"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..." His voice cracked. "And I love you."
He reached for her cheek.
His fingers almost touched—
---
—and he was somewhere else.
A graveyard.
Gray skies. Wilted flowers. The earth still freshly turned.
He stood alone before a grave, the name carved in stone like a final wound.
Everyone else had left long ago.
But Klaus remained, seated before her grave like a faithful ghost. A man who no longer belonged among the living.
One week had passed since Aurora's burial.
And still, he couldn't leave.
Why should he? She shouldn't be alone. Not her. She didn't deserved that.
She had been the kindest person he had ever known. A girl who saw light even in monsters. She never judged—only hoped. Hoped they would find the strength to change. To become something better.
But Klaus...
Klaus saw only rot.
Only sin and sickness in the hearts of men.
He rested his hand on the cold stone, his shoulders trembling. The world blurred as tears welled in his eyes, unspoken pain leaking from wounds too old and deep to close.
Shame. Guilt. Anger. Despair.
Self-loathing, like rot in his soul.
He stared down at the grave and smiled bitterly.
"I really wish you were here... to tell me what I'm supposed to do...
...Little wolf."
---
Klaus wandered through the graveyard, the silence around him broken only by the soft crunch of gravel beneath his boots. He was nineteen now. A whole year had passed since Aurora's death, yet the wound she left behind felt as raw as the day she was taken from him. Some pain, he had learned, didn't dull with time—it only burrowed deeper.
He looked around and smiled bitterly. He appeared as an old man—hunched, weathered, and carrying a shovel with a slow, deliberate gait.
He knelt down before three graves. First, he placed bright sunflowers on the resting place of a woman. Then, he laid red roses on a man's. Finally, he placed a bouquet of amethyst roses on a small, solitary grave—the grave of a boy. His expression remained calm, but beneath it lingered melancholy like a quiet storm behind the clouds.
He was about to whisper something when a voice rang out from behind him—cold, quiet, and familiar.
"Who are you?"
Klaus froze for a heartbeat, then smiled softly to himself. He would recognize that voice anywhere—it was his little sister's. Though to her, Klaus no longer existed. For Nephis, he had been Icarus once... a name he had long abandoned. Now, he was Klaus—named by Nadia.
Turning slowly, he leaned on the shovel like a weary old man and replied, voice calm and smooth.
"Eric, dear. And you?"
Nephis eyed him warily. Understandable. The Great Clans sent assassins after her like clockwork. Most never even saw her shadow—Klaus had ensured that with brutal efficiency. But the time she came closest to death had been when her own clan's trusted servants betrayed her. The loyal ones had protected her, thankfully, though even they had paid a price.
She narrowed her eyes but let her guard down slightly. Just slightly.
"Did you place those flowers there?"
Klaus nodded, still smiling with grandfatherly warmth.
"I did. I hope I haven't disturbed you."
"No. It's fine." Her expression didn't shift.
Klaus's chest ached. There was no warmth in her eyes. No spark of innocence. She was hardened now, cold in a way he hadn't expected. It pained him deeply. He loved her. He was helping her and clan for years. In a ways to not raise suspicions but still, he did his best. But... now he was doing things he hated. he'd begun crafting contingencies... even for her. Just in case. The thought alone made him sick.
No wonder... He was cold-blooded bastard, after all.
She was his sister. An older brother's duty was to protect, not prepare for war against family.
He hated that part of himself.
With a sigh, he sat on a nearby stone, resting his arms on the shovel.
"A young woman like you should be smiling. What makes you so sad, little one?"
Nephis raised a brow at the question, hesitating before sitting beside him, still guarded.
"Nothing," she said after a beat. "Did you know them?"
Klaus stared at the graves, his gaze distant.
"Yes," he said quietly. "I knew them well. You're Nephis of the Immortal Flame, aren't you?"
She nodded, her suspicion returning.
"I thought so," he continued. "I've buried more people than I care to count. I'm from the first generation of Awakened. I knew your grandparents... and your parents."
Nephis blinked, surprised, though she kept her face still.
"Did you know my brother too?"
Klaus glanced at his own grave. The stone read:
Icarus of the Immortal Flame.
Heir of the Immortal Flame Clan.
The Morning Star.
A bitter smile crept onto his lips.
"I've heard of him," he said.
Nephis softened for the first time. A tiny smile touched her lips.
"My grandmother told me stories about him. Said he loved me a lot. Carried me everywhere when I was little. Fed me, played with me... changed my diapers, even."
She chuckled faintly, brushing hair from her eyes, almost embarrassed.
"They say he died for me. That he gave up everything to keep me safe. It's strange. I don't remember him at all. Not even a single memory... I wish I did."
She stared at the grave.
"They say I'm more talented than he was—better in combat, even. But... he was determined. Diligent. Unshakable. People respected him, even if they also feared him. Some said he was eerie. Disturbing. But... still respected."
Klaus's hands trembled, though his expression stayed calm.
Something warm swelled in his chest. Despite everything, despite the way his mind—his very attribute—whispered betrayal and preparation, he couldn't view her as a threat. She was still his sister. His baby sister.
He'd broken the rules of his nature for love before. He'd do it again.
Her words wrapped around his heart like a balm.
It felt good... Not to be forgotten, huh?
For now, that was enough.