I jolted awake.
My head felt dizzy and I couldn’t really remember what was going on.
From the memory, I was struck by several demons but...
Where am I?
As I discovered the answer to that question, my eyes were taken a back by a soothing presence of someone. A male wearing glasses, with a faint smile on his lips.
And as he saw me awake, he politely bowed his head then said,
"Oh, you are already awake. I see... So, how is it? Are you feeling well?"
That was a sympathetic response I’ve never heard before...
Carefully, I then looked closely at him, noticing his features.
A small curvy lips, a pair of beautiful diamond-alike eyes, a noticeable nose. A silver hair with long ears. And even his clothing couldn’t take my attention away from him.
So, he is the so-called infamous Nakanarian race...
Known for their elegance, mastery of healing, and a chilling neutrality in war. Stories described them as living grimoires—ancient, distant, yet terrifyingly precise. I never thought I’d meet one in person, much less wake up to one watching over me.
"You were badly injured," he said, his voice as soft as linen brushing skin. "Your body went into shock. We had to subdue the curse poisoning you... temporarily."
Curse?
I tried to sit up, but my body screamed in protest. Pain lanced through my chest and down my arms, as if every nerve remembered what I couldn’t.
"Don’t move," he said, extending a hand just above my forehead—not touching, just hovering. His fingertips glowed with a pale blue light.
Warmth seeped into me. The sharp pain dulled into a throb. My breathing calmed.
I blinked, trying to focus. "Where... am I?"
"A sanctuary. For now," he replied, brushing a strand of silver hair behind his pointed ear.
"You collapsed just outside the boundary stones. If you had been a second later, we wouldn’t be speaking."
A sanctuary? So, I made it past the border.
But why would a Nakanarian heal me? And more importantly... what was I running from?
Flashes came back—blood, snarling mouths, voices screaming in languages I didn’t know. The demons, yes. But something else was behind them. Someone was chasing me.
I was running away from a formidable demon.
The Nakanarian narrowed his eyes slightly. "Your memory is fragmented. That’s expected. The spell etched into your collarbone was tampered with—violently. Who placed it on you?"
I looked down, startled.
My collarbone burned faintly beneath the bandages. I hadn’t even noticed.
"I... don’t know," I admitted, then paused. "Wait, spell?"
He nodded.
"A binding glyph. Modified for silence and control. You must’ve broken free... somehow."
His expression remained serene, but something flickered behind his diamond-like eyes.
Interest? Concern? Calculation?
"You’re lucky," he continued, turning to a shelf lined with vials.
"Or cursed. Often, they feel the same."
He took a small bottle, shook it gently, then returned to my side.
"Drink this. It will help stabilize the remaining flux in your blood."
I stared at the vial. The liquid shimmered like melted silver. Trusting someone like him—especially now—should’ve been unthinkable.
And yet... something about him felt strangely familiar.
As I took the vial from his hands, a question slipped out before I could stop it.
"...What’s your name?"
He paused. A small, amused smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Call me Ferry," he said. "It’s not my full name, but it will do—for now."
Ferry. A name that felt like a whisper from a dream I hadn’t had yet.
And suddenly, I knew: waking up was only the beginning.
Ferry tilted his head slightly, studying me with those shimmering, unreadable eyes.
"And you?" he asked softly. "What should I call you?"
My heart skipped.
The truth teetered at the edge of my lips—but something in me clamped it shut. It wasn’t just self-preservation. It was the way he looked at me—not as prey, not with pity, not with suspicion—but with a strange kind of... patience. As if he already knew I wasn’t telling the whole story, and didn’t mind.
"Rieri," I said quietly.
It was a name I hadn’t used in years.
A false one, a shadow of someone I once imagined myself to be.
Ferry’s expression didn’t shift. No surprise, no doubt.
"Rieri," he repeated, as if tasting it. "I see. Very well."
A pause settled between us like a soft sheet of snow.
Peaceful, quiet. I was never really used to that.
He moved around the room with quiet grace, checking vials, shifting scrolls, making notes in a language I couldn’t read. Every movement was precise, like a song he’d performed a hundred times and still hadn’t grown bored of. I watched him more than I should have, each glance lingering too long.
He caught me once. I looked away, embarrassed.
But he didn’t say anything.
That night, the stars glimmered faintly beyond the paper-screened window. I couldn’t sleep. Maybe it was the pain still numbing my limbs. Maybe it was the silence—the kind that gets so loud it makes your heartbeat feel too heavy.
Ferry was still awake, sitting by the far table, scribbling something by lamplight.
I sat up. "Can’t sleep?"
He looked over his shoulder. "Neither can you."
I swallowed. "Um anyway, thank you... for saving me."
He paused, then gave a small nod.
"You don’t have to thank me. I did what anyone who expertized in healing would do."
"No," I said. "Not everyone would’ve helped me. Especially not someone like you."
He turned fully.
There was something in his eyes I hadn’t seen before—something human.
A crack in the glass.
"You looked like you wanted to live," he said simply.
And I wasn’t sure how to respond to that.
Because I hadn’t. Not entirely.
But I didn’t want to die in front of him.
"Ferry," I said, my voice quieter than I intended. "Why are you really helping me?"
His eyes softened. "Because you’re broken."
The words should’ve stung. But they didn’t. Maybe because I already knew.
"And you don’t have to stay broken," he added gently.
I didn’t realize I was crying until he stood and wiped the tears from my cheek.
My fingers curled around his wrist. I felt his pulse—steady. Calm.
"Will you stay with me?" I asked.
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. I saw the hesitation in his eyes, not out of disgust, but out of care. He was calculating whether I knew what I was asking.
So I answered before he could.
"I want to claim you," I whispered. "Not out of fear. Not because I’m broken. But because when I look at you... I feel like I’m still alive."
His hand trembled slightly in mine. "Rieri," he murmured, and it was the way he said it—as if he knew it wasn’t my real name—that made something inside me melt.
"This will be our first time, are you sure?" he said, voice low, laced with restraint.
"You don’t have to rush anything just because—"
"I’m sure," I interrupted, eyes meeting his. "Please."
Another beat passed.
Then he leaned down, pressing his forehead gently to mine.
"If I do this," he said, "I won’t pretend it means nothing."
"It doesn’t," I whispered. "It already means something."
And under the quiet light of the sanctuary, with no demons, no lies, no noise from the world outside, Ferry kissed me.
Softly at first. Then deeper.
Not to take, but to give.
And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was choosing something... not to survive.
But to live.