Like a child who had been given candy, Ressas obediently followed behind Seiyad. Ever since they left the hut, they hadn’t encountered a single wild beast. The forest’s perimeter had been thoroughly cleared after the Ritual of Invocation, and in the meantime, the knights had tidied up the entrance paths as well. Because the path they walked was almost too safe, Seiyad hadn’t found a single chance to let go of Ressas’s hand.
Even as he continually scanned their surroundings, his awareness kept returning to their clasped hands. Contrary to its delicate appearance, Ressas’s hand was nearly the same size as Seiyad’s, and though its pale skin gave no hint of it, it was callused and firm. Still, it was warmer and softer than Seiyad’s own cold, rough hand.
Their interlocked fingers slowly warmed despite the biting wind. Every now and then, Ressas would gently squeeze his hand, or the tips of his fingers would brush across the back of Seiyad’s hand in a way that set his nerves on edge.
When Ressas’s fingertips eventually brushed across a scar on the back of his hand, Seiyad’s hypersensitive awareness reached its peak. The scar, long and narrow, looked like it had been there for years—yet its origin was trivial.
As those soft fingers grazed the shallow groove, Seiyad’s wrist twitched. The small yet acute sensation at the point of contact was unbearable, and he abruptly pulled his arm back.
“Your Highness…!”
He could easily endure pain that tore through his entire body, but this petty, ticklish sensation scraped at his sanity. He roughly wiped his hand against his cloak, trying to rid himself of the lingering tingling that spread from his palm.
“…That’s enough purification. You’ve given too much.”
His mind felt scattered. Half-turned toward Ressas, Seiyad spoke firmly. Regardless of the fact that his body was becoming absurdly well-restored with every passing second of contact, the continued intimacy in such a non-critical situation was unbearably awkward.
“So you still have that scar,” Ressas said, looking at the hand that had slipped from his own. It was such a trivial wound, so old that he thought it would’ve long vanished from memory. Yet Ressas had remembered it exactly—it was unexpected.
The scar had come from an incident too embarrassing to even speak of. In the forgotten palace where Ressas once lived, there was a large and beautiful apple tree. A boy who didn’t know how to climb could only gaze longingly at the bright red, glossy apples that ripened in autumn. Instead, he’d gather the bruised fruit that had fallen to the ground.
It must’ve been in September, the last visit before winter that year. Ressas was heartbroken at the thought of not seeing Seiyad for half a year, so Seiyad climbed the tree for him. He picked a perfectly ripened apple with no trace of green, then glanced down.
A small child with large, sparkling violet eyes was looking up at him so intently that he didn’t even notice the apple hanging above Seiyad’s head begin to fall.
Seiyad had quickly reached out and twisted a thick branch to redirect the apple’s fall. The sudden movement cost him his balance, and he fell from a considerable height. Having fallen from trees countless times, he didn’t consider it a big deal. But as he fell, his hand scraped harshly against the branch he’d grabbed. Still, he landed holding the apple tightly in his arms.
Ressas cried all day long.
He’d stop crying for a moment, but the moment his eyes landed on Seiyad’s hand, the tears would stream again. If he’d screamed or wailed like most children, Seiyad might’ve scolded him—but Ressas didn’t even let out a whimper, only sobbed quietly, swallowing even the smallest sounds.
From that day forward, Ressas never ate apples again. Not the sweet, sugar-boiled pies, not the apples coated in clear, shiny candy shells—nothing, in any form.
Seiyad had assumed it was a long-forgotten memory. Yet, just from Ressas touching that scar, the recollection that had been buried beneath the fallen leaves of time surfaced. The wind blew, scattering the piled-up leaves in the air.
It felt like staring into water that was far too deep. The kind of vertigo that made one fear taking even a single step forward, lest they fall into the bottomless depths. Ressas’s childhood heart had always made Seiyad feel that way.
The way he gently dried the meaningless apple blossoms in the sun and tucked them into Seiyad’s books, the time a simple wooden carving had ended up in Ressas’s jewelry box, the way he never looked away from Seiyad with those shining eyes—it had always felt like this. Dizzying.
His affection had been so deep, so pure, that Seiyad hadn’t known how to handle it. That was how much Ressas had once followed him.
But he believed it had all vanished with time. Never did he expect Ressas to remember, let alone speak of the past. It would’ve been easier if Ressas had just hated him—if he’d despised him and spat curses. Because recalling those innocent days only dragged behind it a fierce wave of bitterness.
‘If you treasured me so much… you should never have stood with those who destroyed my life.’
An ugly, selfish thought—his most honest and disgraceful truth—rose to the surface. That selfish resentment, which he thought had faded with death, surged up again. Even knowing his feelings didn’t matter, for a brief moment, his heart seethed.
“They said His Highness came this way, didn’t they?”
“Yes, that’s correct. He insisted on sending search teams even into the untrodden paths… then set out alone…”
Voices carried from afar. Seiyad turned his gaze toward the sound of approaching people. In the distance, faint shapes came into view. Though the murmurs were quiet, Seiyad’s sharp senses picked them up clearly. Riders on horseback were scouring the forest—they appeared to be part of a search party.
Seiyad calmed the flare of emotion in his chest. He swallowed the lump of cold bitterness and spoke indifferently to Ressas.
“Looks like the search party. Let’s join them.”
Honestly, he hadn’t expected them to still be searching. His original plan to head to the village and secure a mount had assumed they’d stop by now. It was already the fourth day—he found it strange they still believed he was alive.
Then again, given the situation with Vetria, losing even a single Tither would be a major issue. Since Tithers couldn’t simply be created at will, even someone like Seiyad was indispensable.
“Do you still like apples?”
Just as he was about to turn and head toward the others, Ressas asked.
“I don’t feel the cold anymore… but I wondered if you still do.”
Seiyad pictured the tree in the secluded palace, the one that bore brilliant, ruby-red apples. The fruit that had fallen to the ground was blemished and misshapen, but to him, it had been the sweetest he’d ever tasted.
Ressas had once gathered every apple he could reach into a basket and waited for Seiyad to arrive before eating them. The memory of that small head tilted to the side, silently watching as Seiyad took bite after bite, was almost comical now.
The question had been misguided. Wasn’t it Ressas who had loved apples?
“I’m not sure.”
It didn’t matter who was right or wrong. The past wouldn’t change no matter how much one dwelled on it. They could never go back to what they once were. Now, they were simply bound by a new kind of necessity.
“I don’t remember.”
Seiyad pretended as if there was nothing left. At his indifferent answer, the subtle light that had brightened Ressas’s face faded.
A wave of weariness hit him. Physically, he felt better than ever, but it was Ressas who kept dredging up memories best left buried. Into a life once bleak and colorless, an awkward hue had been smeared, and it only felt like a stain. Order had unraveled, and his rules had collapsed.
“People never forget what they once loved. They either let it go… or they hold on.”
Ressas spoke briefly. It was the truth—but Seiyad chose to act as if he hadn’t heard it. Fortunately, the uncomfortable conversation didn’t last any longer. A voice called out from afar.
“Hey! There’s someone over there!”
“Everyone this way! We’ve found them!”
“They look unharmed!”
Somehow, they had managed to track Ressas’s trail, and the search party that had once seemed so far away was now rapidly approaching. Both of them turned toward the incoming voices. As Seiyad scanned the crowd galloping in on horseback, his expression turned cold. Among them was someone who had no business being there.
‘This… None of this happened in the past.’
A young man with golden-brown hair rode at the head of the group on a black horse. He was charging ahead of the others with urgency. Ressas, too, seemed startled when he noticed him and murmured softly in disbelief.
“No way…?”
The galloping horse quickly reached them. The young man, who looked to be around the same age as Ressas, barely reined in his mount before leaping to the ground.
“Ressas!”
The moment he heard his name called so tenderly, a smile spread across Ressas’s face—a smile Seiyad hadn’t seen the entire time they’d been together.
“Zion?”
At the sound of his name, the master of Shildras embraced Ressas tightly.
