In the whirlwind of destruction, as glass rained from above and walls crumbled into dust, Vale's gaze found it.
The door.
The Door.
The one that had opened only once—the one Seraph had never dared approach again.
It stood there now, wide open in the middle of the chaos. A glowing crack of dawn pouring from its frame. A chance. A last breath.
He didn't think.
He gathered her in his arms—blood staining his shirt, her body limp but still warm—and ran.
Past the falling chandeliers. Past the portrait room where red paint bled like wounds on canvas. Past the hall of diamonds, now nothing but smoke and silence.
The house screamed one last time as the wind swallowed its breath.He crossed the threshold—
And the house collapsed behind him.
It didn't explode.It didn't burn.It simply… turned to dust.
No gold.No treasures.No immortality.
Just ashes scattered in the wind.
Vale didn't look back.
He ran. For what felt like miles. Hours.Carrying her. Whispering her name between sobs.
Until his legs gave out.
And he fell—onto the soft grass of the flower fields.
Only… they weren't like before.
They were no longer yellow. No longer blood-red or cursed.
Every flower in the field had turned white.
Pure.
Unburdened.
He held her in his lap, brushing strands of silver-blonde hair from her face. Her skin was pale, glowing faintly in the early light.
"Seraph…" he whispered. His voice cracked. "Stay."
His tears fell onto her cheeks, mixing with the ones already there.
"Please, Seraph," he begged. "Stay with me…"