The world didn't end when the chain broke.
The sun still rose. Birds still sang. The wind still carried the scent of pine.
But inside Rion, something had gone quiet.
Not peaceful—just silent.
A silence where her voice used to live.
Where guilt used to gnaw. Where fear used to reign.
It was gone.
And he was free.
---
He woke in a bed of moss, beneath the broken altar. The forest was still. No birds. No breeze. The aftermath of magic clung to the air like ash.
Lira was gone.
Whether she'd crawled away or vanished in the light, he didn't know. Part of him feared she was dead.
Another part hoped she was.
He lay there for hours, numb, staring at the shattered runes. His body ached, but his mind drifted like mist.
What now?
He hadn't thought that far.
He hadn't dared to.
He was alive. Free.
But also… alone.
---
Back at the manor, people asked questions. Why he was gone. Why the forest glowed red that night. Why Lira didn't return.
He gave no answers.
They searched for her. Days passed. Weeks.
No sign. No body.
Only her pendant, found beside the altar, soaked in dried blood.
Rion kept it.
Not out of sentiment, but remembrance.
A warning.
He spent his days in training, pushing his body to the brink. Spent his nights reading, learning, surviving.
There were whispers about him.
The quiet son. The haunted one.
He didn't care.
He would never be anyone's again.
---
But fate is cruel.
And peace never lasts.
One night, a merchant caravan arrived from the north. With it came news—tales of a witch in white who healed the dying, whispered to the wind, and vanished before dawn.
A girl with lavender eyes.
Rion froze when he heard it.
She was alive.
Of course she was.
And worse—she was still tethered.
The ritual had broken the chain—but not her will.
She would return.
He knew it.
Obsession like hers doesn't die.
It waits.
---
So he made his choice.
He left.
No note. No goodbye.
Just vanished into the road, sword on his back, the pendant around his neck.
He wandered from village to village, never lingering long. He hunted beasts for coin, studied ancient ruins, sought knowledge that might bury her for good.
And yet—
At night, in dreams, he saw her.
Not in rage.
Not in chains.
But standing in the snow, smiling. Always smiling.
"Why do you run?" she would ask.
He never answered.
---
A year passed.
Then two.
And Rion began to feel something he hadn't in a long time:
Hope.
He wasn't just surviving anymore. He was living.
He met people who didn't ask questions. Shared drinks with travelers, watched stars with hunters, even kissed a girl once—brief and innocent.
She had freckles. Brown hair.
When she smiled, he didn't flinch.
But when she touched his neck, he pulled away.
Some scars go deeper than skin.
Still, the cage inside him was rusting.
His heart—beating for himself now.
He was healing.
---
Until he found the letter.
Pinned to a tree in the middle of nowhere. No address. No signature.
Just his name.
Written in handwriting he knew too well.
> Rion,
I'm sorry.
I shouldn't have chased you across death.
I shouldn't have made you afraid.
I just didn't want to be alone anymore.
I'm letting go now.
Live well. Be happy.
Maybe next life, I'll be the one running.
—L
He stood there for hours, staring at it.
It wasn't a trap. He felt it—there was no magic, no curse woven into the ink.
It was real.
A goodbye.
He burned it.
Not out of hate.
But because he didn't need it anymore.
---
Weeks passed.
The sky turned to spring.
He found himself in a village on the edge of the kingdom—quiet, peaceful, untouched by war or politics.
He took a room at the inn. Helped mend fences for coin. Chopped wood. Laughed with the old woman who ran the place.
He didn't look over his shoulder as much.
Didn't jump at soft voices.
And then, one night, as he watched fireflies over the meadow, a girl sat beside him.
Brown skin. Sharp eyes. A cloak patched with colorful thread.
"Mind if I sit?" she asked.
He nodded.
They watched the stars.
"I've seen you before," she said eventually. "But you weren't really here."
He glanced at her. "What do you mean?"
"You were always somewhere else. In your eyes. Like you were still running."
He smiled, faint and tired. "Maybe I was."
She didn't ask more.
They sat in silence.
It was the most peace he'd ever known.
---
Later that night, she handed him a wildflower before bed.
"For your room," she said.
He stared at it, heart beating strangely.
A gift.
Not a chain. Not a test.
Just a flower.
Something shifted inside him.
A cage door, finally rusted through.
He placed the flower in a glass.
And when he slept that night, he dreamed of no one.