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Disbelief with the scene he just felt, his eyes fixed on the endless expanse of the Abyss, the dark chasm where the Heart of Anima has vanished. His breath is ragged, his mind still spinning from the battle and their close brush with death. His brother sits not too far away, silent, trying to hold back the pain from his wounds. It’s hard to tell which feels worse—the pain in his body or the sense of failure.
Nearby there his enemy sits next to him, staring out at the horizon. Natan's teammate, Belerick, had pulled them all back just in time, but the weight of their defeat hangs over him like a storm cloud. His goal—the Heart—gone, slipping through his fingers. He tightens his grip on the edge of his coat, frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior.
For a long time, neither of them speaks.
“We were so close,” Aamon mutters, breaking the silence. His voice is hoarse, filled with a quiet rage. “We had it and now it’s gone.”
Natan glances at him, his face hard, he’s angry too, not just at the loss of the Heart, but at everything that led them to this point. “We’ll get it back soon,” he says, though the confidence in his voice wavers. “We have to.”
Aamon scoffs. “Are you serious? After all of this? You people are truly insane.”
“But we don’t have anymore choice,” Natan replies, trying to stand up though that he’s still aching. “That thing matters for the both of us, you know that.”
Their eyes meet, and for a moment, the feeling of exhaustion, shared failure, and a strange sense of relief that they’re still alive. That they’re still here together.
“You almost fell,” Natan speaks, softer now. “Your brother too.”
A flicker of something crosses the Aamon’s face, a tension he can’t quite name. He should be thanking Natan, or at least acknowledging the debt. Instead, he steps closer, standing beside him, their shoulders almost touching as they look down at the Abyss.
“So? Why do you even care?” Aamon asks, his voice low with a anger slipped through while he speaks. “I’m your enemy. My brother has been cursed because of this Abyss. We’re fighting for a different things.”
Natan turns his head slightly, his gaze intense but unreadable. “Maybe I don’t want you to die before we figure this out, yet.”
Aamon’s breath catches at the subtle weight behind those words. It’s the closest either of them has come to admitting there’s something more between them, something beyond the fight for the Heart of Anima. He can feel the pull of it, like gravity dragging him closer, and he hates how much he wants to give in.
He swallows hard, trying to shake the feeling. “You think you can fix everything with that Heart,” he mutters, half to himself. “But what if it’s not enough? What if nothing can save us from this?”
Natan is quiet for a moment, his eyes still locked on the dark depths below. Natan’s heart skips a beat, his mind spinning at the implications. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t know how.
“We should go,” Lunox says it to Natan. He nodded but then he looked at Aamon, silent between them. None of them dare to moves yet, it’s as if they’re both waiting for something—for the other to say or do something.
Natan walked away from the scene, the tension between them heavier than ever, knowing that something has shifted, even if they’re not ready to face it.
Few days later, Natan trying to observe the village in Castle Aberleen, the place where the Paxley rules. His eyes scanning the tall building around him, hoping to find clue amongst them. His footsteps echoes softly againts the stone path. There he saws an odd building looking like a cathedral, he walks closely to it and trying to open the big door infront of him.
But before he did, someone tapped his shoulder. “You’re wasting your time here,” says someone. He turns slowly, with his hand stay on guard.
He saw Aamon behind him, crossing his arms with a serious look towards Natan. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion,” Natan replies evenly, his eyes narrowing slightly.
Aamon shrugs, rolling his eyes and stepping closer. “I’m just saying, your journey here is going to be useless.” Natan’s annoyed by this man’s attitude.
Aamon tilts his head, smirking slightly. “Well even so, I can show you something.” He starts walking past Natan, opening the door infront of them and enter it. After a few steps he paused, just briefly to glance over his shoulder. “Unless you’d rather keep chasing dead ends.”
Natan’s jaw tightens, he decided to follow Aamon. “Okay I’m coming.” He chases up Aamon who’s not too far away from him. “Just don’t get in my way.”
A small smile tugs from Aamon lips. “Oh? That’s suppose to be my line.
They finally walk side by side through the building, the silence between them heavy but not as hostile as it once was.
Natan keeps his guard up, not trusting the Aamon’s sudden willingness to cooperate, but he can’t help but notice that Aamon oddly quiet—focused, even. It’s different from their usual encounters, where every conversation feels like a battle of wits and ego.
Aamon opened up his mouth to break the silence that they have. “My brother and I went here before, this place was made by my great anchestor. I suppose that you already met her few days ago, yes?”
Natan nodded and try to listen each words that coming from Aamon’s mouth. “My brother saw where the Heart is, which is from here. But I’m not really sure.”
There’s some curiosity in his gaze, he asked Aamon to continue the story more further. There he tells, they saw floating a pentagon-shaped stone hovering above a set of stone steps. When he touched it, suddenly they teleported into a world where the living dead lives. After they fought againts it they saw a weird red place, blood are all over the floor and the smell of stem making them sick.
They saw the exact same stone that they saw earlier. Gusion take a quick lock on it but not suddenly he saw the memory of Valentina, their great anchestor. They teleported back to the building they were in.
“That’s pretty concerning,” Natan commented. The words coming from his mouth took Aamon’s attention, he slowed down and turn around. “Oh nothing to be concerned, everything’s fine, was fine.”
They stop infront of the stone steps. Aamon glancing at Natan. “Why are you still here anyway?” he asks, Natan’s eyes flicker while questioning Aamon’s words “The Heart’s gone. You saw it fall into the Abyss. But why do you keep searching for it?”
Natan doesn’t answer it right away. He’s scanning the area, his eyes sharp and calculating, as if he’s piecing together a puzzle only he can see. “Because it’s not over,” he says finally. “The Heart might be in the Abyss, but that doesn’t mean it’s lost forever.”
Aamon scoffed. “And you think you can bring it back?”
“I think…. we have to try,” Natan replies, his voice steady, unwavering. He turns to look at Aamon, there’s no hint of mockery or arrogance in his expression. “You want it just as much as I do. For your brother.”
He looks away, staring down the stone steps in front of them. “And what happens when we find it? You think we’ll just split it down the middle? Hah, that’s impossible. ”
Natan chuckles softly, a sound that’s almost genuine. “No. I think we’ll have to fight for it. Again.”
Aamon doesn’t respond, but something in Natan’s words strikes a chord. Despite everything—despite their rivalry and their conflicting goals—there’s an odd sense of understanding between them now, a recognition that they’re both in this fight together, whether they like it or not.
“This was a waste of time,” Aamon mutters, frustration creeping into his voice.
Natan shrugs, his expression unreadable. “Maybe. But at least we know it’s not here.”
“We’ll find it,” Natan says, his voice quiet but firm. “We’re not done yet.”
Aamon doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he looks out at the windows up ahead, at the and then back Natan. For the first time, he feels something shift—not attraction, not yet, but something else. Respect, maybe. Understanding. It’s subtle, but it’s there. “Heh, we’ll see then.” Aamon says, his tone less sharp than before.
As they parts way for the night, Natan can’t help but wonder how long this will be going on. He can’t just enter the abyss alone, that’s reckless. All he can do now is search another way to get the Heart Of Anima back, safely.
***
It’s been months since the last time they saw each other. Months since their last encounter in that building, where Aamon tells him when he and his brother met the living dead.
In those months, he faced battles, dangers, and the looming threat of the Abyss. Yet, the memory of him persists, nagging at the edges of his thoughts in quiet moments like this. The man with the smirk, the one who mocked and teased him with every word but still somehow managed to worm his way under his skin. The one who wanted nothing more than to save his cursed brother—just as fiercely as he wanted to save the world.
He thought the feeling would fade with time, that their rivalry and separation would let the annoyance drift away. But it hasn’t. If anything, it’s only grown sharper, more insistent.
He frowns, rubbing a hand over his face. He’s not supposed to feel this way. They were enemies, rivals fighting for different causes. And yet, there had been something about that last meeting—a connection neither of them wanted to admit.
He tells himself it’s because of the fight ahead, because they need to stop the Abyss and recover the Heart of Anima. But deep down, he knows it’s more than that.
Natan feels like someone’s watching him from behind, he turned slowly as his eyes narrowing, looking for something in the darkness.
At first he saw nothing, but shadow. Then, out of the corner of his eye, a figure stepped out from the dark.
“You again,” Natan says, his voice flat. He keeps his distance. Aamon chuckles. “I thought you’d be smart enough to stop chasing ghosts.” Aamon steps forward, his posture calm but his eyes intense.
“And I thought you’d be more persistent about getting what you want.” Natan replied. Aamon glances around the circular platform—the place where they fought before, his lips twitching in a small smirk. “But here you are, just like me.”
Natan clenches his jaw, resisting the urge to snap back. Instead, he turns his attention to Aamon, as if searching for clues—anything to distract him from the tension growing between them.
“It doesn’t matter,” he mutters. “There’s nothing left here. The Heart’s gone. We’re wasting time.”
Natan doesn’t respond immediately. He takes a slow, measured step toward Aamon, stopping just a few feet away. His presence is heavy, almost suffocating, and Natan feels his pulse quicken, though he’d never admit it.
Natan glares at him, frustration bubbling up in his chest. “Why are you here?” he snaps, unable to stop himself. “What are you hoping to find? The heart’s not going to show up by itself am I right?”
Aamon’s gaze softens, but there’s still an edge to his voice. “I’m not here for the Heart.”
Natan tries to catch his breath. He knows he should look away, pretend he doesn’t understand what that means, but he can’t. His eyes lock with Aamon’s.
The silence stretches, thick and heavy.
Finally, Natan breaks the tension with a sharp breath, turning away. “This is ridiculous,” he mutters, trying to push the feeling down. “We’re enemies. We should be fighting, not—”
“Not what?” Aamon interrupts, stepping closer. His voice is calm, almost too calm. His hand touching Natan’s slowly. “Not standing here, pretending like there’s nothing else between us?”
Natan freezes, his heart pounding in his chest. He hates how easily Aamon sees through him, how he always manages to get under his skin. But more than that, he hates how much he wants this—how much he wants to close the distance between them, to give in to whatever it is that’s been building for so long.
But he can’t. Not now. Not ever.
“We’re not on the same side,” Natan says, his voice cold, trying to regain control. “We never will be.”
Aamon’s expression hardens, his gaze flickering with frustration. “You think I don’t know that?” he snaps, his calm expression cracking for the first time. “I know exactly where we stand. But that doesn’t change what’s happening here.”
Natan turns to face him again, his eyes narrowing. “And what exactly is happening here?”
Aamon let go of their grip and steps even closer, close enough that Natan can feel their forehead touching with his. For a moment, neither of them moves. The air between them crackles with tension, so thick it’s almost unbearable.
But then Aamon takes a step back with a smirk on his face. “You’ll figure it out eventually.”
Natan’s breath hitches. His ears turned red and his vision blur. It feels like the ground has shifted beneath him, like Aamon has left him dangling on the edge of something he’s not ready to face. He wants to say something—anything—but the words stick in his throat.
Instead, he watches as Aamon turns and starts walking away, leaving him standing there, alone in the circular platform where he stands. But before he disappears completely, Aamon pauses, glancing back over his shoulder.
“I’ll see you again,” he says softly, his eyes lingering on Natan’s for just a second too long. Then he’s gone.
Natan exhales slowly, his mind racing. This is all too sudden for him, things changed. He doesn’t want to admit it, but something has changed between them. It’s subtle, like a fracture in the ice, but it’s there—growing, spreading, pulling them closer despite everything.
And for the first time, Natan wonders how much longer he can resist it.
***
It had been days since then—days since Natan was left with a confusing storm of emotions after their brief, loaded interaction. The glances, the words not said. He had tried to push the thoughts aside, but they kept coming back, like an itch beneath his skin.
Now, as the leaves fall over the forest, he wandered through the tall trees, the scent of pine and cold wind in the air. There Natan decided to sits beneath one of the trees, resting his feet while waiting for Belerick and Lunox
But suddenly there’s a sound of footsteps made him freeze. They were deliberate, soft but unmistakable, moving through the forest with purpose. Slowly, he turned, half-expecting a ghost from his past.
Instead, it was him—Aamon Paxley.
"What are you doing here?" The words came out harsher than he intended, as if he’d been caught off guard, vulnerable.
The other man raised an eyebrow, as if the answer were obvious. “Oh, I was just resting my foot here." His tone was light, but there was something underneath, something that made his heart beat faster.
"I thought you were smart enough to lie like that," Aamon said, as his voice quieter now, but still edged with bitterness. "Or are you here to lecture me again?"
A smirk tugged at Aamon’s lips as he stepped closer, he decided to sits next to him. "Me? Trying to lecture you?" Natan said, his tone almost playful. "You’re not that important."
It was a lie. They both knew it.
Aamon felt his chest tighten, torn between wanting to push him away and wanting him closer. "Oh? How interesting. But, sitting here… resting your foot, that’s such a lame excuses don’t you think, Natan?”
Natan stayed silence, what he just said was half right. Aamon’s expression softened, the teasing smile fading as he let out a long, quiet breath.
"I knew that you’re going to come here, you always do. So that’s why... I just, I couldn't stop thinking about you."
The silence between them was thick, the forest around them eerily still as if the world was holding its breath, waiting for what would come next.
"You’ve been haunting my thoughts since then," Natan admitted, his voice lower now, more sincere. "I thought… maybe it was nothing. But the more I tried to forget, the more I realized—I don’t want to forget."
Aamon the words sink into him, stirring up emotions he hadn’t wanted to face. His fingers clenched at his side, trying to hold Natan’s finger slowly. "Don’t say things like that," he muttered, though his voice wavered.
"Why not?" Natan asked, his gaze never leaving his. Aamon’s eyes bore his, the question left him speechless. "Why are you fighting this so hard?"
"I’m not—"
"Yes, you are." Aamon’s voice was firm but not angry. He took one final step, so close now that their breath mingled in the cool evening air. "You don’t have to pretend. Not here."
Natan looked away, the battle raging inside him threatening to tear him apart. "This... It can’t happen," he whispered. "You have your own goal, saving your brother and so do I."
"And yet, here we are." Aamon’s voice was impossibly soft now, as if he were afraid that speaking any louder would shatter whatever fragile thing had formed between them. He lifted his hand, hesitating for a moment before gently placing it on Natan’s arm. "You don’t have to carry it all alone."
The touch sent a shock through him, and he swallowed hard, his gaze finally meeting Aamon’s again. There was something raw, almost desperate in those eyes, something that made the ground beneath him feel unsteady.
"This is impossible you know it well," he admitted, his voice breaking.
"It’s not, Natan."
And then, with a cautious tenderness that belied all the tension and history between them, Aamon leaned in, brushing his lips against Natan’s in the softest of kisses, barely a touch. It was hesitant, almost as if asking permission, but the moment their lips met, everything else fell away.
For a moment, everything stood still. It was just the two of them, breathing the same air, it feels soft and light, yet it felt like the ground was slipping out from under them.
Natan pulled back first, his breath coming quicker now. He stared Aamon, as if waiting for the reality of what just happened to come crashing down. His pulse was racing, and he couldn't decide if it was from fear, excitement, or something in between. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come.
Aamon watching him, his eyes widened, as if he couldn’t quite believe what just happened either. Then, slowly, a small, knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
He inches closer, almost unconsiously, the gap between them shrinking with every subtle movement. His hand still resting lightly on Natan’s arm, fingers brushing against his skin as if testing the boundaries of what was allowed now.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he said quietly, his voice a gentle murmur between them. “I know... this is complicated.”
The word "complicated" didn’t even begin to cover it. Natan looked down, emotions he had tried to bury rushing to the surface. "We can’t," he whispered.
Aamon’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t look away. "Why not?"
"Because…" His voice faltered. The reasons were there, weren’t they? His brother. His family. The future. Everything they both he going to fighting for. "This isn’t how things are supposed to be, you and your plans—"
"I can find another way," Aamon admitted. His hand slid down to gently take hold of Natan’s wrist, pulling him closer. "I’m willing to sacrifice my own life for him, even if it makes me joining the abyss itself. But you see, if there’s one thing we’ve learned, it’s that we don’t always get to choose how things are supposed to be.”.
And yet, here they were. On the edge of something, something that scared him more than any battle he had fought.
Aamon didn’t let go of Natan’s wrist. Instead, he tightened his grip ever so slightly, his thumb brushing over the other man’s skin.
"I’m not asking you to have all the answers," he said softly. "I’m not even sure I do. But... we don’t have to figure it all out right now. We just—" He paused, his gaze searching Natan’s face, his voice lowering to a near-whisper. "We just have this moment."
And with that, he leaned in again, this time with more certainty. Their lips met once more, and this time, Natan didn’t pull away. He let himself fall into it—into the warmth, the softness, the way their breaths synced together. The world could wait. His duties could wait.
For now, it was just the two of them, hidden under the tree, shielded from everything else. The kiss deepened, messy at first but slowly growing in intensity, as if years of unspoken feelings had finally broken free.
When they parted again, the air between them felt charged, like something had shifted suddenly. Natan exhaled shakily, trying to steady himself. He Aamon’s gaze, and for the first time, he saw something there that he hadn’t allowed himself to see before.
That kiss felt like a dream come true—a moment neither of them thought it’s possible. And now, they lived in a reality even more surreal: a secret relationship hidden from the world, born from that impossible night.
It had been weeks since they started meeting in secret, slipping away from prying eyes whenever they could.
Tonight, they meet in a not-so-famous-bar in the village. Tucked away in a quiet corner of the village, it was dimly lit, with the soothing music filling the air. The kind of place where no one asked questions and no one cared about who sat at the next table.
He spotted Natan almost immediately—sitting at the far end, drink in hand, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “You’re late,” he teased.
“I had a meeting with my family," Aamon replied, his smirk softening as he stepped closer, and sits next to Natan.
“I still can’t believe we’re doing this,” Natan murmured, glancing around as though expecting someone to leap out from the shadows and expose them. “If anyone knew…”
“They don’t have to know,” Aamon said, a reassuring squeeze of his hand. “Let them think that we hate each other. It's better that way.”
A pause hung between them, the unspoken weight of their secret heavy in the air. The world might see them as enemies, but here, in the silence of the bar, they were something else—something fragile and real.
“We should head back before anyone notices,” Natan whispered reluctantly, smilling softly to Aamon.
“Going back so soon?” Aamon replied, a teasing smirk playing at his lips. “Why not stay for a chat or... I don’t know, something more interesting?”
His voice was casual, but the glint in his eyes hinted at something mischievous, something that made Natan’s heart skip a beat. He raised an eyebrow, pretending to be annoyed, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him with a slight twitch of amusement.
“Really?” he muttered, shaking his head but not stepping away. “You always have to push your luck.”
“Why not?” came the smooth reply, Aamon now leaning casually leaning closer to him, his thumb brusing over Natan’s thigh slightly. “We never really get to talk, you know. I’m curious what’s going on in that head of yours when you’re not trying to kill me.”
Natan rolled his eyes, but despite himself, he found a smile creeping onto his face. “Well,” he said, leaning just a bit closer, closing the gap between them once again. “Maybe if you weren’t so insufferable all the time, I’d have something nice to say.”
Aamon laughed. “You say that now, but I think you like me just the way I am.”
“Don’t push your luck,” he muttered again, but this time, he couldn’t stop the grin.
They sit there, the tension easing into something lighter, something comfortable. Neither of them moved to leave, not yet. Maybe they would stay for a chat after all. Or something more.
***
Weeks had passed since Natan last saw Aamon. They hadn't crossed paths since that brief encounter in the bar and as time stretched on, Natan began to wonder if the entire thing had been a mistake. He'd been telling himself it didn’t matter—he had bigger things to worry about, like finding clues about the Abyss—but still, everytime he tried to forget it his words always slipped through his mind.
That’s when Natan spotted a familiar figure darting through the village: Gusion, Aamon’s younger brother. Natan’s eyes narrowed in curiosity. He hadn’t expected to see him here. Without a second thought, Natan quickened his pace, following the boy through narrow streets and winding alleys.
“Hey!” Natan called out, hoping to catch the kid’s attention. But Gusion didn’t seem to hear him, or maybe he didn’t want to. Natan speed up, weaving through the crowds, but by the time he reached the end of the street, the boy had vanished.
“Ah, I lost him.” he muttered under his breath, standing at a dead-end alley. His frustration simmered as he scanned his surroundings, wondering where the boy had gone.
“You look lost.”
Natan tensed at the sound of the familiar voice behind him. He turned around, heart skipping a beat when he saw Aamon standing there, a black cloak and hood covering him, his expression’s unreadable.
“What are you doing here?” Aamon asked, his voice calm but laced with curiosity.
Natan’s mind raced, but he forced a casual shrug. “Nevermind that.” He hesitated, then let his frustration slip into his voice. “Where have you been? It’s been weeks since I last saw you.”
Aamon’s gaze flickered, and for a moment, he looked as if he was about to avoid the question. But then he sighed, his tone turning serious. “I’ve had meetings with my family lately. Sorry.”
Natan frowned. Aamon’s answer feel... off, like there was more he wasn’t saying. And there was something in the way Aamon’s face hardened, like he was hiding something.
Natan thought about pushing further, but the look on Aamon’s face told him he wouldn’t get anything else out of him, it’s like telling him “shut up, don’t ask about it.” and so he let it go—for now.
“I see,” Natan said, brushing it off. He could tell something was up, but he didn’t care enough to pry right now. “Well uh, I’ll catch you around then.”
Aamon nodded, though his expression remained distant. “Yeah. See you.”
They parted ways, Aamon disappearing into the woods. Natan watched him leave, an unsettling feeling creeping into his chest, but he turned and walked away, pushing it aside.
Later, deep in the woods, Aamon found Gusion leaning against a tree, tossing a small rock into the air and catching it with a smirk on his face. He didn’t look as scared as Aamon expected—more like he was enjoying this little runaway adventure.
Aamon approached him, his arms crossed. “You’re running away again?”
Gusion grinned up at him, clearly not taking the situation too seriously. “They’re talking about the Abyss again. About, you know...” He wiggled his fingers dramatically, “me becoming the great reborn evil. Sacrifice and all that, blablabla so boring.”
Aamon’s jaw tightened, the humor not landing the way Gusion intended. “You know they won’t do anything. I’m not letting them touch you.” Aamon said, seriously.
“I know, I know,” Gusion said, tossing the rock higher. “But it’s fun to keep them guessing, right? Plus, I like to see you get all serious and protective.”
Aamon rolled his eyes and sighed but didn’t respond. Gusion was always like this—always teasing, always downplaying things, even when it was serious.
Then Gusion’s grin grew wider. “Oh, and by the way... I saw you.”
Aamon raised an eyebrow. “Saw me?”
“With the spacewalker,” Gusion said, his voice full of playful accusation. “I saw you two, together. Sneaky, sneaky.”
Aamon’s eyes darkened as he looked away, his expression hardening, but he quickly composed himself, shooting Gusion a warning look. “That’s none of your business.”
Gusion snickered, playing with his dear brother more. “Oh, come on, Aamon! You, sneaking around with your ‘enemy.’ If only the family knew... They’d be so shocked!”
Aamon’s gaze hardened, but Gusion wasn’t fazed. He was too busy laughing, tossing his rock back and forth. “So, when’s the wedding? Or, wait, they’ve got a nice bride picked out for you, don’t they?” Gusion wiggled his eyebrows, teasing.
“Gusion, enough.” Aamon’s voice was cold now, enough to make Gusion pause. “Forget about it. It’s not your concern.”
Gusion pouted, but there was still a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Alright, alright... But you can’t stop me from being curious! It’s not every day my brother starts dating his rival.”
Aamon shot him another look, clearly done with the conversation. “Let’s go home. Enough of this.”
Gusion chuckled, pushing himself off the tree. “You’re no fun!” The boy hesitated, still searching Aamon’s face for some hint of an answer, but Aamon had already started walking, his posture stiff and unyielding. After a long pause, Gusion followed him quietly.
A few days after, Aamon and Natan meet in secret as usual. But something is off. Aamon’s quieter than usual, distant, like his thoughts are elsewhere.
Natan notices it immediately but tries to brush it off at first. As they walk through the forest together, Natan finally speaks up. “You’ve been quiet lately. Something wrong?”
Aamon glances at him, but his response is delayed. “I’ve had... things on my mind.”
Natan frowns, sensing more to the story, but Aamon offers nothing further.
Over the next few days, Aamon becomes harder to reach. He’s always ‘busy’ with this family matters or off on his own, avoiding Natan. When they do see each other, Aamon seems distracted. Natan starts to feel the distance between them, but Aamon never brings up why.
One evening, after another short meeting where Aamon barely speaks, Natan finally confronts him. “You keep avoiding me,” Natan says, trying to keep his voice steady, though frustration slips in.
“I’m not,” Aamon replies, his tone defensive.
“Then why won’t you talk to me?” Natan presses. “You’ve never been this... distant before.”
Aamon opens his mouth to respond, but then closes it, unable to find the words. Instead, he just looks away, avoiding Natan’s gaze. They keep being silent for some minute and decided to part ways later on.
As the wedding day looms closer, the pressure from the Paxley becomes unbearable. He knows he has to marry the woman his family already chosen, and the weight of his responsibilities is crushing him.
Natan, of course, doesn’t know the full extent of what’s happening. All he knows is that Aamon has been pulling away, and it’s tearing him apart.
One night, Aamon comes to see Natan—in secret as usual—but his expression is grim. Natan notices it immediately, his stomach twisting with a sense of dread. Aamon doesn’t look at him as they walk side by side, the tension between them thick in the air.
Aamon was distant, his usual sharpness replaced by a strange quiet. They walked side by side, but there was no easy conversation, no teasing or subtle glances. Just silence, and the weight of something unspoken.
Aamon had always been guarded, difficult to read, but this was different. Natan didn’t know what had changed, but he could sense it—a tension in Aamon’s movements, like he was on the verge of saying something to him but he just couldn’t.
They reached a quiet spot near the edge of the village, the trees casting long shadows in the fading light. Aamon hadn’t spoken more than a few words all evening, and Natan’s patience was wearing thin.
“You’ve been acting strange for days now,” Natan finally said, his voice low. “What’s going on with you?”
Aamon’s gaze remained fixed on the ground, his shoulders tense. He didn’t respond right away.
“Are you going to tell me, or keep pretending nothing’s wrong?”
Aamon’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tightening. Natan waited, the silence between them growing heavier with each passing second.
“I have to marry someone.. a woman that my family already choose for me.” Aamon said at last, his voice flat, almost mechanical, like he had rehearsed the words a hundred times but still couldn’t quite believe them himself.
Natan froze, his heart dropping into his stomach. “You can’t be serious.” Natan said, though his voice wavered, the disbelief seeping through.
Aamon finally looked up, but there was no warmth in his eyes. Just a cold resignation, as if he had already resigned himself to the fate his family had chosen for him. “No, I am. They’ve been mentioning this for so long I can’t say no.”
Natan’s mind raced, struggling to make sense of it. “And what about us? What about everything we’ve been through?” He stepped closer. “You’re just going to walk away and and end this?”
For a moment, Aamon’s composure cracked. His lips parted, as if he wanted to say something—anything—but then the hardness returned, and he forced himself to look away.
“There is no ‘us' here” Aamon said, his voice cold and clipped, like a blade cutting through Natan’s chest.
Natan staggered back, the words hitting him harder than any physical blow. “You don’t mean that, right?” he whispered, though doubt began to creep into his voice.
“Natan, it would’ve been easier...” Aamon’s voice faltered for a moment, but he forced himself to continue. “If you were a girl.”
Natan stared at him, his heart shattering. Of all the things he had expected Aamon to say, that hadn’t been one of them. “I would marry you and leave her behind.”
He couldn’t look at Natan. He couldn’t face the devastation he knew he had caused. But there was no taking it back now. The words hung between them like a death sentence.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched on, unbearable, suffocating. Natan’s chest felt tight, like he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t process what Aamon just said.
When he finally found his voice, it was shaky, almost broken. “That’s it, then? Okay.”
Aamon didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His throat burned with the words he couldn’t say, the truth he couldn’t admit.
“Fine,” Natan said, his voice barely above a whisper. “If that’s how you want it I’ll leave, to make it easier for you.”
He turned and walked away, every step feeling heavier than the last, the weight of their broken relationship pressing down on him like a physical burden.
Aamon stood there, staring after him. He wanted to call out, wanted to stop him, wanted to take back everything he had said. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He had already made his choice, and now there was no turning back.
He had done what he had to do. But why did it feel like he had just lost everything?
***
As Aamon stood before the altar, reciting his vows, his voice wavered. The words tasted bitter in his mouth, and the weight of what he was about to do pressed down on him like a suffocating fog. His chest tightened, his thoughts drifting to Natan.
He hesitated.
His heart raced, the words stuck in his throat. He couldn’t say it, too difficult for him to continue. He couldn’t go through with this. Before anyone could notice, Aamon’s body shimmered for a moment, and then he vanished, using his power to disappear from sight.
He needed to find Natan.
The search was desperate, but he finally found him—Natan and his teammate standing at the edge of the abyss, holding the broken remains of the Heart of Anima. The sight was almost surreal. Aamon’s breath caught in his throat as he approached, his hands trembling.
Natan turned around, his gaze cold but curious. “What are you doing here, Aamon?”
Aamon tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn’t stay shut. His heart pounded, and his throat was dry. He wanted to apologize, to explain everything, but his voice refused to cooperate. His hands trembled.
“I—” Aamon stammered, but the words died on his lips.
Natan raised an eyebrow, watching him struggle. “If you’ve come to fight, I’m not in the mood.”
Aamon shook his head, biting his lip to stop the trembling. “I… I wanted to say sorry,” he said almost like a whisper, the words barely audible.
Natan looked at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “I knew you’d come back,” he said quietly. “You always do.”
Aamon’s heart ached at the softness in Natan’s voice, but he still couldn’t find the courage to say more.
Natan sighed, looked at the broken Heart of Anima in his hand, then back at Aamon. “You see, I’ve always wanted to save the world from the darkness of the Abyss.” He stepped forward and placed half of the Heart into Aamon’s hand. “But, I’ve wanted to help you too, Aamon.”
As Aamon held the half of the Heart of Anima in his hand, he couldn’t help but feel conflicted. His brother, Gusion, would be saved, but the world still stood on the brink of the Abyss.
Aamon swallowed hard, finally asking, “No. Why would you give it to me? You know that I hurted you, deeply. I–” Aamon paused and look at Natan. “What about you?”
Natan met his eyes, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “It’s enough. Maybe not as much as I hoped, but it can still be done. And don’t worry, Aamon. Let’s just forget everything in past.”
Lunox asked Natan to leave now. Natan nodded and approach his teammates again. The air shimmered, and a portal began to form behind him. His teammates stepped through first, disappearing into the swirling light.
Natan lingered for a moment, his gaze softening as he looked back at Aamon. There were no words exchanged—just the unspoken understanding that this might be the last time they saw each other.
The Heart of Anima felt heavier in his hand now. The weight of what had just happened, of what had been lost, settled over him. He had half of what he needed to save his brother, but the cost had been far greater than he ever imagined.
Aamon could feel the words building up in his throat—the goodbye he needed to say, the apology for not being able to give more—but they remained stuck, suffocating him. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His chest tightened as he stared at Natan, knowing this might be the last time he’d see him.
Natan’s gaze met his, calm and unflinching. “The world can still be saved.” he said, as if it were a promise. But Aamon wasn’t sure if the words were meant for him or for himself.
The moment stretched between them, longer than it should have, and Aamon stood there, fists clenched at his sides, willing himself to say something—anything. But his mouth remained dry, his voice trapped. Then, without another word, Natan stepped through the portal, leaving Aamon standing alone in the silence.
His grip tightened on the Heart of Anima, its sharp edges cutting into his skin, but it was nothing compared to the emptiness growing inside him. The blood dripping down to his white suit, making it stained with blood. The portal shimmered one last time before disappearing completely, leaving Aamon standing alone on the cliff.
For a long time, he didn’t move. The world seemed distant now. He had half of the Heart, but that meant nothing anymore. All he could do was stare at the empty space where Natan had been, the regret sinking deeper as the wind carried the last trace of the portal away.
And still, he said nothing.
***
Gusion had been cured from the curse. He begin to continue his life normally, and the once overwhelming threat of the Abyss had faded into the past. Gusion was lively, playing and showing off like he always did, a testament to his freedom from the Abyss’s grasp.
But Aamon couldn’t shake the emptiness that gnawed at him. His family, though relieved that Gusion was safe, felt distant—his connection with them fractured. Every time they spoke, it was as if a part of him was missing, and he knew exactly what that part was.
Natan.
The days had turned to weeks, and the weeks to months, it had passed that long since they last saw each other, and the absence weighed heavily on Aamon. He wondered if Natan felt the same way, or if Natan had moved on, leaving the remnants of their connection in the past with the broken Heart of Anima.
Aamon had made his choice—family over love. And the weight of that choice stayed with him for the rest of his life, a quiet, unspoken regret that haunted him in every silent moment. Every time he looked at his family, every time he fulfilled his obligations, he could feel the lingering presence of Natan—his laughter, his touch, the warmth that Aamon had turned away from. It wasn’t a decision he could undo, nor one he could forget. And now Aamon sleep in the sea of regret and tears of his own.