Spring followed the child. He was quick—too quick for his size.
"Hey! Wait!" she called after him, stumbling through the crowds. Spirits brushed past her, flickering in and out of sight. She barely noticed them.
He darted through narrow alleys, vanishing around corners so fast she nearly crashed into the walls trying to keep up.
The buildings thinned.
The noise faded.
Spring blinked, chest rising and falling fast.
When had it gotten so quiet?
She slowed, glancing around.
The boy stopped.
So did she. Bent forward, hands braced on her knees. Her lungs burned.
She looked up—
And he was gone.
She spun in place, eyes wild. "Hey! Where did you—?"
That's when she saw it.
The guest house.
Standing there.
Untouched.
Waiting.
Its wooden boards sagged with memory. The windows—cracked, stained, unchanged. The door hung slightly. Just enough to let the dark spill through.
Her stomach dropped.
"No… no, no, no…" The words tumbled out, raw and shaking. She staggered back, reaching for something—anything.
"Please… don't do this. Please."
The town was gone. Vanished. It was just her—and the house.
The door creaked wider. Slowly. Torturously.
Darkness bled out.
She could almost hear it now—whispers slithering across the ground, curling around her ankles like chains.
This was where she died. Not physically, but in every way that mattered.
Spring couldn't move. Her feet were stone. The air was iron, pressing into her lungs.
Her eyes stayed locked on the door—unblinking—like even a glance away would bring it closer.
Her hands trembled.
She tried to move. Just one step. Just one.
Her legs refused. The invisible thread pulled tighter.
To what broke her.
"No…" The word fell from her lips, barely a whisper. Her eyes burned. She didn't even realise she was crying until she tasted salt on her tongue.
Her hands rose to her mouth, trembling so violently she could barely hold them still.
The door creaked wider. Inch by inch.
Spring sobbed. A sound torn from the deepest part of her chest—raw, helpless. Her shoulders shook. Her legs buckled. She tried to turn away, to run, to flee—
But she couldn't.
The weight of memory held her still.
It's not real. It's not real.
But the smell was there.
Damp wood. Crushed herbs. The scrape of wind against warped shutters.
The light turned on behind the cracked windows—like someone was inside.
But the darkness only thickened. It gathered around the doorframe. It was stubbornly waiting to get out.
It swung open—fully.
Blinding light burst from within.
Spring's heart slammed against her ribs. The air was ice. Her breath caught, fists clenched tight at her sides.
Run.
But her body didn't listen.
Her eyes stayed locked on the doorway. She didn't want to look.
But she did.
The light dimmed.
And in its place… a shadow moved.
Her heart nearly stopped.
And then—
A little boy.
Hair messy and dark, falling over mismatched eyes—gold and black. Barefoot. Clothes too big for his frame. He stood on the edge of the bed facing the door, staring right at her.
Unblinking. Unguarded.
Alone.
"What… what are you doing here?"
"Spring?" His voice was small. Uncertain. Frightened.
Spring froze. "You… you knew my name?"
He blinked up at her, like he was trying to place a dream.
"Spring… I…"
His hand rose to his left eye, pressing against it. "I feel so… strange."
She took a slow step forward. Her hand found his shoulder.
"Hey," she said, barely more than breath. "It's okay. You're alright. I'm here."
His gaze clung to hers—wide, lost, desperate. His tiny hands twisted in his shirt, like he didn't know what else to hold onto.
"Is it about your monocle again?" she asked gently.
"I… I don't know."
He looked up at her, searching for something—anything—in her face.
Then he said it.
"Stay here… please."
Spring's breath caught.
At first, it sounded innocent.
After that, it sounded sad.
But, then… it sounded familiar.
Too familiar.
Her pulse spiked. That phrase—those exact words.
The same words that shattered her. That night.
Her mind reeled. It didn't make sense. The Veil didn't lie. It didn't twist memories without reason. So why was she seeing this? Why not the actual betrayal?
Why not the other person?
Why not just showing her the truth?
She stared at the boy. He stared back, quiet and still.
Unless…
Unless this was the truth.
The child's expression softened. The confusion in his eyes faded—replaced by something older. Wiser.
"Not everything is what it seems, Spring."
Her breath hitched. "What…?"
His eyes shimmered.
"He saw you," the boy whispered. "He always saw you."
Spring staggered back. Like the floor had disappeared beneath her. Her hands flew to her mouth. Her eyes burned wide.
"No… no, that's not…" Her voice cracked. "That's not possible."
The boy didn't move. He only watched her with that soft, almost mournful smile.
"Your shadow," he said, "was always your light. You just couldn't see it… because of the light that was your shadow."
"No," she whispered, shaking her head hard. "No, no. You're wrong. That can't be…"
But her voice sounded far away.
Her limbs felt heavy. Stone in her bones. Her chest caved under the weight of memory. A thousand pieces surfaced all at once in fragments.
I won't hurt you…
Someone broke his monocle.
You stole everything from me.
Love.
You always knew. You just didn't want to hear it.
The whispers swirled around her. She swayed—like a puppet with cut strings. Her eyes stared forward, hollow and wide.
She didn't know how long she stood there.
A second. A century. Maybe both.
And then—
It came.
Not pain. Not despair.
Clarity.
At first, it was a flicker. Then a flood.
The fog lifted.
And for the first time in fifty years, she saw.
She had died in that house once.
But now—now she was finally alive.
Spring stepped forward, her eyes locked with his.
"Take me back," she said. Calm. Commanding.
The boy smiled. Not like a child. But like someone who'd known her forever. Like he'd been waiting for her to say it.
And the world shifted.
The town was even more in chaos than before.
The cobbled square pulsed with the spirits presence, but they weren't the threat. Not for Fall.
Summer was.
Her blades carved through the haze, fast and furious. Every strike was aimed at him—his throat, his ribs, his pride. And Fall met her blow for blow, shadows curling like serpents around his arms, blocking, twisting, retaliating.
They moved like memory—years of training colliding with years of rage. It was deeply personal. Summer's fire licked at his coat, his darkness scorched the edges of her sleeves. Neither held back.
But then—
"Enough."
The word cut through the square like a whip.
Summer's blade stopped mid-swing.
Both turned—instinctively, urgently.
"Spring" said Fall almost a whisper.
She stood at the edge of the chaos, alone and unmoving. Spirits drifted around her, parting at her presence. Her voice hadn't been loud—but it hit the reality itself.
Summer lowered her dagger an inch. Her brows furrowed.
"Your Highness… What are you doing? Where were you?"
"I should be asking you that," Spring said softly, stepping closer. Her eyes were locked on Fall, unreadable. "This is what you two do now? Tear each other apart while I am away?"
Summer's blade remained raised, eyes flicking between them, breath still tight from the fight.
"Stand down," Spring said. "That's an order."
Summer stiffened.
Her jaw clenched like she might refuse—but then she exhaled through her nose and stepped back, the tip of her dagger lowering to the cobblestones.
"Tch. Please... Tell me you're going to kill him yourself."
Spring only smiled and stepped forward.
Toward him.
Eyes locked on his.
"Hi."
"Uh… hi."
Something in her stare unsettled him. The way she moved. The silence in her steps.
She circled him slowly, eyes dragging up and down like she was trying to remember him—not as he was, but as something lost.
Her fingers brushed his hand—too light to be an accident.
"Spring, what are you doing?"
A pause.
"You're not taking her advice, are you?"
Summer scoffed behind her.
"She better."
Spring took a few more steps and came face to face with him.
She leaned in. Touched the edge of his cape.
Too soft.
His face drained of color. His eyes went wide.
"You're not poisoned again, are you?"
Spring laughed under her breath.
"You know, Fall," she said, voice quieter now, "you were right."
He stiffened—like a struck chord.
Summer's breath caught. "What?" they both echoed.
But Spring's eyes didn't move.
She stepped in, slow and steady, until her breath ghosted his collarbone. Her gaze pinned him in place.
"I did think about you."
His fists clenched. Shadows coiled at his ankles—tense, barely restrained.
His eyes shifted. Black and gold flickering into violet.
The faltering restraint started to feed into him.
"When I was with him," she said, each word a blade, "I thought about you."
His throat worked. Shoulders trembled. He didn't move.
"When he touched me…" Her voice dropped—lower, crueler. "I imagined your hands instead."
Summer didn't speak. Couldn't. Her daggers hung forgotten.
Fall's voice cracked, low and tight. "Spring…"
"I closed my eyes," she went on, hands curling into his shirt, "and I wished it was you."
He shuddered. Every part of him stretched thin—tension crawling under his skin.
"I imagined how you would've kissed me," she whispered, lips close enough to touch his neck. "Slower. Deeper."
His knuckles went white. Shadows streaked along his arms like veins of fire. "Don't…" His voice was hoarse. "Don't do this to me."
But she leaned closer.
"I wondered," she said, voice edged like glass, "if it would've meant more."
His breath broke apart.
His hands gripped her waist—hard. Desperate. Barely holding back.
And still, she smiled.
That same quiet, wicked smile that always undid him.
Summer shifted forward, as if to stop it—but froze.
Fall looked tortured. Eyes wide. Wild. Searching her face for corruption. For a spell. For something.
There was nothing.
Just her.
And that was worse.
"Spring…" he breathed.
She didn't stop.
"Tell me," she said, dangerously soft.
He gritted his teeth. Shadows climbed to his hands.
"Tell me," she pressed, "and make it sound real."
His eyes fluttered shut—like something inside him was breaking.
Her fingers trembled at his collar.
Then—
A tear slipped down her cheek.
His eyes flew open.
She was crying.
"Spring…" His voice shattered. His hands loosened, barely. "What…?"
And then—
"Tell me... It was him, wasn't it?" she whispered.
"Tell me it was Winter."
The words cracked something wide open.
She blinked, but the tears kept coming. She tried to speak, failed.
Her hands fisted in his shirt like it was the only thing keeping her upright.
"I didn't want to believe it," she choked. "I—hated you. I hated you. With everything I had… I thought you meant it."
His mouth parted, but nothing came out.
His shadows receded, curling around her now like a shield.
Fall caught her before she hit the ground.
Arms wrapped around her, desperate, steady.
He sank with her. Held her to his chest.
"I'm here," he whispered, over and over. "I've got you. I'm here."
She sobbed against him, hands buried in his coat, shoulders shaking as years of grief, betrayal, and silence poured out all at once.
And then—
Another presence. A flicker of heat.
Summer knelt beside them. She didn't speak right away. Her hand hovered, then rested gently on Spring's trembling shoulder.
"Your Highness…" Her voice was low, protective. But her eyes burned. "Wh-What do you mean it was Winter?"