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What struck him first were the countless piles of bodies that covered the floor of the cathedral.
The heaps of bodies scattered along the path he had taken formed a motley, crude whole, and the dawn light streaming through the elaborate glass windows of the holy place cast the nightmarish shadows of the corpses on the still glistening bloodstained walls.
The only witness to the sight was the great chandelier that hung precariously over the massacre, which seemed to have lost its radiance, tarnished by the sins of the unwelcome visitors. The grandiose place seemed to close in on itself, in an attempt to conceal a violence that should never have taken place.
Plunged into a deafening silence, his heartbeat resounding in his ears, he took in the unreal and absurd scene that was unfolding before him.
It was far from being an unusual sight for a being such as himself; he who lived in the shadows, he who had played the role of the reaper so many times. And yet, something about this scene of horror seemed out of sync with reality. What was happening in that cathedral would have a decisive meaning for the future, for better or worse. And he would be its trigger component.
In an almost trance-like state, he looked down at the only source of noise other than his own body. Lying full length on the cold cathedral floor, standing out against the shades of red that covered the walls, a man struggled weakly against the hand that clutched his throat, wrapped in his black cloak that rose and fell with his panting breath.
His eyes were hidden from him, but the murderous look in his irises was unmistakable.
"You think that you're gonna get something from killing me?" the man shouted at the top of his lungs, resigned to the idea of escaping his grasp. His scream echoed throughout the room, tearing the silence.
His body froze at the man's words when he could not even comprehend the scene before him, only to realise with confusion that his other hand was clutching a dagger. In front of the man, he felt like he was more of a spectator than an actor in the scene, unable to determine what was going to happen next, even though the scene looked familiar.
"You chose this path on your own from the moment... you decided to grab the knife that was thrown at you..." he uttered as the oxygen began to run out. No words could come out Kieran's mouth, his blood suddenly freezing in his veins at the accusations. "You will... never... be absolved of your crimes..."
" You're a... monster ."
As he spoke these last words, a blade - his blade - plunged violently into the Leader's chest.
Kieran woke up in a jolt, sweat breaking out on his forehead and nearly falling off his chair.
"...Just a nightmare," he whispered to himself, his hands pressed to his face as he tried to come to his senses. "It's just a nightmare." A nightmare that had been repeating itself ever since that event, becoming more and more dismal with time, as if the memory was getting more distorted and degraded as time passed.
Still gasping for breath, he looked around frantically in an attempt to return to reality. He was in his apartment, in his drawing room; the bright moon outside illuminating the room through his only window made him realise that it was probably quite late at night. A light rain brushed against the glass from time to time, carried by the icy wind outside.
Taking advantage of his distraction, the pencil he had been holding before falling asleep rolled across the desk before falling sharply to the floor, its fall dampened by the dozens of papers that scattered the wooden floor. He made no effort to pick it up, looking absently at the piles of sketches around him.
While drawing allowed him to escape his intrusive thoughts just long enough to lead some semblance of a normal life, he was quickly realizing that it was no longer enough. The bloody marks left by his hands on the sketches he picked up seemed more and more real to him; and every time he came across the gaze of one of his many unknown posers, they seemed to stretch and distort until he could discern in them one of his victims of the cathedral slaughter - with disturbing accuracy.
Monster, they all seemed to whisper in unison.
He was so consumed by his thoughts that he almost missed the quiet knock at his front door. Almost. His years of training as an assassin had made him far too aware of his surroundings for that.
Wiping non-existent bloodstains from his palms on his pants, Kieran slowly rose from his seat, still a bit affected by his tormented sleep.
He had the reflex to look at the doorway to check if a letter with the Phantom Scythe's seal had been slipped in, before remembering that, one, the PS was no more, and two, a messenger would not have had the courtesy to knock so politely.
But then, who would come to see him at such an hour? Kieran slipped a dagger into his sleeve before cautiously opening the door, hiding behind it to avoid exposing himself to a potential assailant.
What a surprise it was, then, when he came face to face with an all too familiar nervous looking redhead, who was rubbing her hands frantically in an attempt to warm herself. In the freezing cold, white smoke billowed steadily from her mouth, standing out from the rest of the scene, plunged in the darkness of the night.
"Lauren?" he exclaimed, a little surprised - when, really, he had no reason to be. Who else would come to him unannounced at such an hour? Who else would come to see him at all, for that matter?
"Have I awakened you from your sleep?" she asked, watching him. Suddenly feeling self conscious, he touched his face to check for any marks.
"Is it really so ostensible?" He asked, confused.
"You look like you've been fighting someone in your sleep," she noted with a smirk, and he noted that she was technically not far from the truth. He quickly dismissed the memories of his dream, still vivid in his mind. "And you still have puffy eyes and messy hair," she added, prompting Kieran to rearrange his hair a little.
"Can I...?" she asked at last, leaving the question hanging, her finger filling in the blank by pointing towards the entrance hall.
"Of course, darling," he replied with an exaggerated bow, stepping to the side so that she could enter. "Make yourself at home. You know, the usual."
Locking the door behind her and quietly putting down the dagger he had grabbed earlier, he watched her as she entered his apartment, still stunned by the unexpected course of events. In the middle of the night and in the dim light of the moon, he hadn't been able to discern her perfectly, but now he could see how well dressed she was.
Her hair, though messy and with small droplets of water hanging from the ends, was arranged in an elaborate bun with small beads tucked into it. Under her rain-dampened coat was a dark green, knee-length dress with a plunging V-neck.
She was breathtakingly beautiful, and he found it hard to look away.
"I know spending time with me is an honor in itself, but I've never had someone dress up so much just to see me. And I'm friends with Bella," he adds with a smirk, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. His pink-haired ex-assassin peer had a thing for shiny, flashy, fancy clothes, though those clothes often got thrown away not long after getting them because of the blood that would inevitably cover them.
Lauren merely rolled her eyes, well used to his malicious comments. That didn't stop him from enjoying her reactions to each of his taunts, like a little boy teasing girls to get their attention.
"Is your ego so inflated that you fail to see that I'm clearly not dressed up for you, but rather for the party that everyone in this town is aware of? Apart from you, seemingly," she added with a falsely exasperated look.
"Yes, yes, make up all the excuses you want, I know who you're really making yourself pretty for," he answers with a wink.
"Oh my god, you're insufferable," she complained without managing to hide from his view the small smirk that appeared on her face.
He let out a small laugh, enjoying the situation. Of course he knew. Such a major party celebrating the end of the Phantom Scythe, and in the Sinclair mansion at that, certainly couldn't go unnoticed.
"Still, you look stunning," he said without thinking, a warm smile spreading across his lips before he knew it.
"...Thank you," she replied hesitantly, as if his honesty had taken her by surprise. She began to busily remove her shoes, doing her best not to meet his eyes - or so it seemed to him.
She set her elegant black heels down in the hall and turned in his direction, staring at him with her ever-present pensive eyes and snapping him out of his thoughts.
"...I'm sorry for coming without notice," she began hesitantly, as if searching for her words. Even for him, it was rare to see Lauren flustered.
"It's quite alright, as long as you're not here to drag me out on another life risking mission," he joked, which seemed to relax her instantly; he inwardly congratulated himself on this accomplishment. "I've frankly had enough of these for a lifetime."
She chuckled, grabbing her coat to let it dry by the fireplace before settling comfortably into the couch in his living room. Following her departing figure as if he had doubts about the plausibility of her presence, he absentmindedly realised that only her footsteps were perceptible, his own now inaudible with time. The presence of simple noises in his home, such as the creaking of the floor, was actually quite reassuring, given that he was used to solitude and silence. He never felt like he had to keep his guard up when he was with Lauren. She somehow gave him a sense of security and familiarity, something he struggled to find in others.
Lauren yawned on the couch, and he took notice of that.
"Hmm, the warmth is making me sleepy," she said while stretching her arms.
"A yawn is a silent scream for coffee, love," he said enthusiastically, already on his way to the counter. "Hopefully, I always keep some stocked beans for you," he added with a smirk.
"Then dark coffee, please," she said without any hesitation, as she slumped completely onto the sofa, her neck resting on the backrest. He found it quite endearing for her to be so obsessed with coffee, even if it sometimes turned out to be concerning.
"At this point, you use my coffee beans more than myself," he pointed out. "Is that what I am to you? Your local coffee provider?" he continued dramatically, holding his hand over his heart and wiping a fake tear from his eye.
"I'm only putting them to good use. You don't want to face an uncaffeinated Lauren, trust me," she replied cynically.
After the coffee request, she just quietly closed her eyes, seeming to reflect on something. He assumed that the party must've been very noisy and eventful for her to look so drained.
At one point, she opened her eyes and watched him as he worked on heating the water. He felt it was an opportune moment to ask her about her visit.
"So, may I ask about why you came here in this cold?" he asked simply, closing the kettle to let the water boil on the stove. "It's freezing."
She sat back in the couch, clearly uncomfortable as he left the work surface to join her. She moved to give him room as he sat down, and he shifted so that he could meet her gaze, intending reassurance.
"Um, I'm sorry. I just..." She looked away briefly, seeming to hesitate on what to say as she stared at a point behind him, then back at him. "You said I could stay a bit at your place, if I… if I didn't feel like it's safe, or if I didn't feel like returning to the real world yet." Despite the fact that she seemed embarrassed to say this, he fondly noted that she maintained eye contact, fully recognising her typical bravery.
He perfectly recalled that time when he had made this offer to her, in the room of the manor where a celebration was in full swing at this very moment, and it seemed so far away and so close at the same time. Everything had speeded up so quickly after that moment of respite in which they had been able to patch up their wounds.
The warehouse explosion and Lune's first death had been a point of no return, and this freedom from the oppressive PS system on the one hand, and the ex-royal family on the other, had not been gained without losses and consequences.
She seemed about to stand up and apologize for bothering him in the middle of the night when he put his hand on hers, without actually grabbing it, giving her the option of retracting it if it bothered her.
"Of course, I'm glad you did," he said, accentuating his gesture with that statement. He'd made this motion without really thinking, but the way her stature seemed to relax at the touch dissuaded him from releasing her. "Did something happen at the party, love?"
Her eyes seemed to cloud over for a few seconds before she decided to answer.
"Now that the PS has fallen, I should be happy, right? Hell, I've pursued them all my life. I thought ending it all would finally bring me peace." She looked down at their overlapping hands for a moment, as if to give herself the strength to continue.
"But I just feel... empty. Like I've lost my only purpose. And I guess I just felt upset when I saw people who only watched from the sidelines celebrating the end of the PS, because… they never had to get involved. They will never have to know the whole truth." Her voice broke a little at the end, and she stopped looking at him.
The last sentence hit him hard, and his heart sank for her. That victory over the PS still had a bitter taste in their mouths, but for drastically different reasons; and Kieran knew for a fact that the betrayals and unspoken secrets of those closest to her were what had affected her the most. When you keep getting stabbed in the back over and over again, it becomes tough to get back up.
Now that the PS had fallen, those who were being posthumously acclaimed everywhere tonight had only each other to console themselves for the acquisition of lifelong wounds.
His other hand reached out in spite of himself and he placed it gently on her shoulder, prompting her to look him in the eye.
"Lauren, you've had to sacrifice a lot in our mission to bring down the PS," he said, mirroring his own thoughts, for he knew that the honesty of his words was what would touch his partner the most. "You had to discover the darkest secrets of people you loved dearly. Your opinion on people you trusted has changed, and it's only natural to be frustrated. It's a lot to take in for a single person."
"But you have to move forward now. For yourself. You've been chasing after your past for too long. Take the time to grieve your lost years to the PS and start living for yourself. You have so much to live for, Lauren."
As he said this, the hand on her shoulder absentmindedly tucked a lock of hair that had left the back of her ear, not realising what he had just done until he saw her wide golden eyes.
Surprised at his own initiative, he hastily removed his hand, placing it awkwardly on the back of his neck under Lauren's unreadable gaze.
"A-anyway, go on your own rhythm. And... Please know that my door is always open for you, no matter what," he finished, now too aware of what he had just done to look her in the eye. Even so, his hand still held hers.
When had they become so intimate? When did touching her become such a natural gesture? And why was he retracting his hand? Being a dangerous member of the PS had always prevented him from getting involved in relationships of any kind with other people. But now that the PS was gone, what was stopping him from doing it?
Because you don't deserve her , a voice in his head whispered.
Because you shouldn't touch her with such filthy, filthy hands.
Because you're a monster.
Monster, monster, monster...
"Kieran?"
He suddenly came to his senses, refocusing on the face that was staring at him with concern, her eyebrows furrowed. She looked like she was about to say something when the whistle of the kettle resounded in the kitchen, providing a perfect excuse for him to escape her inquisitive eyes.
"Oh, I forgot about the coffee," he claimed, getting up without looking at her. But as he left his seat, ready to ignore his confusing gesture, he felt something tug at his sleeve.
"Oh, I'm coming too," she said as a fact rather than a request, and she stood up almost immediately afterwards. "I'm not gonna sit here and do nothing, I got depressed enough at the party," she continued before he even had time to protest. He certainly didn't need a second pair of hands to make a simple coffee, but he couldn't turn her down; and it was obvious that she wasn't getting up to help him with his task.
He began to work by the counter without speaking, the two of them inches apart but never meeting each other's eyes, Lauren simply standing next to him as he mixed the steaming water with the coffee powder in a mug, the smell of coffee hitting him full force. It was Lauren who broke the silence, putting her hand on his arm to get his attention despite himself.
"How have you been holding on these days?" she asked.
He was taken aback by the simple question. He thought for a moment of giving a generic answer, but her piercing eyes told him that this was not what she wanted from him.
"I'm surviving," he said, staring intently into the coffee cup that reflected his tired face and disheveled hair. It was the truth. Since the event, he had been trying to keep his head above water and lead some semblance of a normal life, while the guilt along with the dozens of corpses he had accumulated over the years tried to sink him at all times, in reality as well as in his dreams.
While his victims had long since returned to the dirt, their blood still remained brightly on his hands, dripping and staining everything he touched. Their screams still echoed in his head as loudly as the day he first caused them. In his quest to annihilate the organisation, he had at some point reached a point of no return, where he knew his crimes could never leave his mind.
Even after ceasing to exist, the PS still managed to torment him in his thoughts. The idea almost made him laugh.
While he had just gained the freedom he so desperately missed for years, he felt more trapped than ever. Like Lauren, the end of the Phantom Scythe had affected him deeply, robbing him of his will for revenge that had guided him up to that point. He was, as he had said before, a paradox : fighting the darkness but afraid of the light ; and finding his place in this new post-PS world he no longer recognized seemed an insurmountable task.
Living in a world he had thought, too many times, of leaving by his hand was an insurmountable task.
It seemed that he had stayed in his thoughts for too long, for a hand came to rest on his cheek without him realizing it, the coldness of its fingers contrasting with the heat of his face. She prompted him to look into her eyes, softer than usual.
"But what else?" she asked, her tone nothing but encouraging.
Before Lauren, he would have kept all those torments circling in his head, let them continue to rot and infect his mind. He would have ignored what was tugging at him from within, burying as always his humanity that suffered from his actions by drawing others'.
But since they had made a pact on that bridge many months ago, so much had changed. Faced with the most human person he had ever met, his facades had crumbled one by one, leaving Kieran exposed, vulnerable, but able, thanks to her, to reclaim his humanity.
He covered Lauren's hand with his own, the coldness of her fingers strangely warm.
"I'm finding it hard to go back to a normal life. I- The end of the PS doesn't mean I can forget everything that has been done to me. And... everything that I've done." He closed his eyes briefly at the last sentence, images of bloody corpses flashing before his eyes once more.
"I don't even get why you're still here, Lauren," he said, his voice sounding more desperate than before and beyond his control. "I've done irredeemable things to everyone, including you."
"And yet... I can't bring myself to tell you to leave, because I feel so miserable right now."
His last sentence was unintended, and he regretted it almost immediately. He had said too much to her once again, and had been selfish in asking her to keep him company, even though she had come solely to seek comfort. She shouldn't have to deal with a broken person like him.
But you still want her to .
He expressly withdrew his hand from Lauren's, preferring to avoid her gaze as he turned back to his worktable. Maybe he hoped deep down to find an escape in the black liquid of the cup that was steadily emitting smoke.
When he felt the coldness of her hands leave his face, he understood. She was going to leave, as she should have done all along. He prepared himself to hear her say the words that would mark the end of their late meeting.
But what he felt instead were two arms wrapped around his waist as a body nestled against him.
Lauren didn't tighten her embrace, but still held him tightly against her, her hands folded at his back.
"I'm not leaving, Kieran. I swear."
"Why aren't you?" He said, though he couldn't help but hug her back, resting his chin on the top of her head.
"Because you've always been there for me when I was at my lowest, Kieran. I haven't only found a partner in crime in you, but also a friend and a confidant. After spending so much time chasing after ghosts, spiralling endlessly into a loop of hatred and guilt, the only person who always understood and eased my sorrow was you."
"I... can't imagine what you've been through, and which demons haunt you. But I want to be there for you just as much as you've been there for me. Even when you feel like you're at your lowest, I want you to rely on me, Kieran. So, I'm not leaving until you feel better."
"That would trap you here for years," he said with a bitter laugh.
"Still, I would wait," she retorted seriously.
"You'd be foolish to do so," he replied. "You shouldn't stay because of a supposed empathy debt against me. I deserve what's coming at me."
She suddenly lifted her head from his chest, staring at him.
"You think the only reason I want to stay beside you is because of empathy?" she exclaimed in a slightly irritated tone. Kieran stared at her in silence for a few moments, surprised by her answer.
"But why would-"
"You said it before, Kieran. I am selfish. Shht, don't interrupt me," she said when he was about to retort.
"You asked me before to move forward, because I have things to live for. You are one of those things I want to live for, Kieran. You've become special to me, and I need you just as much as I need my friends or my godfathers."
"What more, we may have brought down the PS, but it doesn't mean that Ardhalis is doing okay. We still have so much to fight for to build a lasting peace. And I can't do that alone, partner," she finished, maintaining eye contact the whole time.
He dropped his head on her shoulder, hiding the tears that threatened to fall. "You're so stupid, Lauren. Thank you so much. You're the best thing to ever happen to me in a long time."
"And you're the most caring person I've ever had the chance to meet in my life," she retorted, drawing circles on his back in return, allowing herself to be engulfed once more in the embrace as he put his hand in her now disordered hair.
"Wasn't I supposed to be the one comforting you tonight?" He said with a sigh.
"Right. Consider this as a compensation for all the coffee I'm taking from you," she said, laughing happily against his chest, which gave him a strange but pleasant feeling that he decided to set aside for the moment.
He turned serious again, gently stroking her red hair as he spoke.
"Lauren. I'm still the Purple Hyacinth despite it all. Are you sure you still want to stay?"
She sighed and rested her chin on his shoulder.
"You've always been honest with me, so I'm gonna do the same. I know... you can't forget what you've done. And you shouldn't, by the way," she added.
"But... with some time, you can try forgiving yourself. True, you have to admit to yourself your responsibility in the matter as a member of the PS, but also your status as a victim of the same organization."
"I know it's hard to go back to how things were for you way before the PS, and to find a new purpose in life. But you're not alone in this anymore. Let's always be here for each other, until we eventually get to be okay."
He couldn't imagine ever forgiving himself for his actions, and as he hugged Lauren tighter, burying his face in her pearl-studded hair, the little voice in his head kept telling him how arrogant and selfish he was to think he'd get a second chance in life, alongside the person who meant the most to him.
But for now, he wanted to firmly believe in Lauren's voice promising him that eventually they would be okay.
For now, he wanted to immerse himself in the illusion of a happy ending to his tale.
For now, he wanted to hope.