Die Melusine - Chapter 59

“Hk—”

The emperor closed his eyes, expecting death. But no pain came.

When he opened them, the sword was still there—pointed not at him, but away. The hilt faced him instead.

“W-what is this…?”

“Take it,” Kieron said.

“What?”

The emperor looked up at his younger brother, stunned.

“With your current strength, you can’t strangle me. Slitting my throat would be much easier.”

Kieron tapped the center of his throat lightly with two fingers.

“W-what did you say?”

“As you said—this time, don’t fail. I know you’ve wanted to kill me all your life.”

Kieron went so far as to place the sword firmly into the emperor’s hand. Once callused and powerful, the hand was now soft and feeble.

Well, he had been the one holding the sword for years now.

“Are you mocking me? Because I’m old and sick? What, planning to wear me down until I die?”

The look in Kieron’s golden eyes toward the aged predator was laced with quiet sorrow.

“If that were my plan, Your Majesty wouldn’t still be breathing.”

His mouth twisted strangely as he spoke.

Startled by those words, the emperor hastily gripped the sword and stood—slowly, with effort.

He raised the blade in a trembling stance, aiming it at his brother at a clumsy, useless angle. Kieron already knew—this blade could no longer kill him.

Slice.

The sword grazed beneath Kieron’s Adam’s apple, missing the vital spot. The wound was shallow, but blood still dripped from the torn flesh.

And yet, Kieron didn’t move. He didn’t flinch.

In the room where only the two of them stood, where one pointed a sword at the other’s throat, the emperor finally crumbled to his knees.

A moment later, a quiet sobbing sound rose.

Kieron’s brow twitched at the sight—his brother weeping, for the first time in his life.

Colder than when he’d shouted for his death.

“You think this is all… just about Edvard?”

Kieron wasn’t sure if the sting in his throat was from the cut or the man kneeling before him.

“Isn’t it?”

Wasn’t this the same brother who had spent his entire life walking on eggshells for the sake of his son?

Maybe, once, he had yearned for that affection too.

There was a faint warmth he remembered from childhood—back when stories and legends were shared, before everything turned to survival. But Kieron had always been quick to give up, quick to understand how things were.

What comforted him most was knowing that even though his brother always wanted to kill him, he never actually did. That, perhaps, was the last shred of familial feeling the emperor had left.

Or maybe he didn’t want to feel anything at all. So that betrayal wouldn’t cut too deep when it came.

Kieron had lived like that—building up sand inside himself, layer after layer.

The emperor couldn’t speak for a while. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again—clearly trying to find a voice that didn’t tremble with tears. Kieron noticed.

And wondered—what does it matter, at a time like this?

“No,” Kieron said again.

The fact that he was still asking—still waiting for an answer—meant maybe he hadn’t refused death purely out of instinct.

Maybe… deep down, he wanted to ask this one last question.

“…No. It’s not just that,” the emperor said at last, his voice a hollow laugh, drained of everything.

“It’s me, Kieron. Not just Edvard. It was me, too.”

What nonsense. Kieron’s lips twisted with a bitter smile.

“I only became stronger because you existed. I held this empire together… because I didn’t want to be consumed by you. Because I didn’t want to lose to you.”

The emperor let the sword drop to the ground and suddenly fell to his knees.

“You were my driving force. But now that I’m about to die… I want you to come with me.”

Kieron saw it—the man trembling all over, the old emperor’s frail shoulders.

Once those arms had beaten him near senseless. Once that body had stood taller than any enemy. A mountain on the battlefield, a force more terrifying than any foe.

And now, broken by illness and time, he seemed so small.

“Ah… so now you want to take me with you into death? Is that it? Are you going to whip me again if I say no? Because you’re afraid of dying alone?”

Kieron’s golden eyes sank lower, heavy with something colder than before. His voice, now laced with mockery unlike anything he’d ever shown, made the emperor flinch.

He had known all along. That all of the emperor’s cruelty—toward him or even toward his own son—was rooted in fear. Fear of Kieron, the threat he posed.

“You knew… and even so, you still…”

Unable to even meet Kieron’s gaze, the emperor hung his head low.

All that buried inferiority, which he had thought so carefully hidden, had now been laid bare. Stripped of every last scrap of pride, the emperor broke into tears again, clasping his hands together in a desperate plea.

“You were right. Hrk—yes, you’re right about everything. It was all my fault. I did this. So please, Edvard… Edvard… Fine, kill me. If that’s what will ease your rage, do whatever you want. Just—just protect Edvard…”

Haa… A quiet sigh escaped Kieron’s lips. So even now, at the end, he wanted to fulfill his duty as a father.

“Your Majesty. Die of your illness. Die slowly, painfully, just like this.”

It was laughable, the way he sought a clean, merciful death after everything. The cold inside Kieron, which had grown numb, suddenly began to boil over with rage. Not because his brother still thought only of his son, even in his last moments—but because of the pathetic, broken figure before him now. The shadow of the man he used to be.

He couldn’t stand to look at it.

This was not the brother Kieron wanted to remember. He would have preferred the brutal, domineering tyrant who tormented him with whips and schemes—strong, terrifying, and invincible.

Kieron stooped to pick up his discarded sword and slowly turned away.

“Kieron! Please, my last request… Please…!”

The emperor sobbed behind him, but Kieron left the room without once looking back.

And a few days later, the emperor drew his final breath.

***

It had been a long time since he dreamed of his brother’s final moments. And in the five years since, Kieron had not slept properly even once. He never allowed himself rest. He didn’t want it.

What remained wasn’t betrayal—only emptiness. It wasn’t anger toward the brother who tried to kill him to the very end, but a hollow, aching disappointment in the man who had finally collapsed, confessing all his hidden truths in utter weakness.

That last memory, more than anything, turned all the years he had forced himself to forget into something unbearable.

His mind still groggy with sleep, he stirred at the sound of a soft voice humming nearby. A gentle hand brushed across his back, familiar in its tenderness.

Melusine. Was it her?

The melody wasn’t the Vercez she always sang.

[If I knew where the sea was flowing… would we meet again someday?
If I told you to follow the moonlight… would you be waiting there?
The wind is the sky’s whisper… the waves, the breath of the sea… and my song is—]

“What is that?”

Unlike the usual Vercez, which meant nothing to him, this was in an old tongue—barely intelligible, yet oddly clear in meaning. Even without knowing every word, he somehow understood.

A mermaid’s spell, perhaps?

Strangely enough, the unease stirred by his dream began to settle.

“You’re… awake?”

Her cheek came to rest gently on his back as she hugged him from behind. The sensation of her soft, damp body clinging to him felt as if he were submerged in water.

“It just came to me… that song.”

Something had broken free inside her after that day in the emperor’s drawing room.

She’d watched him sleep, face furrowed with tension from whatever nightmare tormented him. Then the melody had simply begun to flow. She hadn’t meant to sing. The words and tune had just… come.

Lying against him, Melusine trailed her fingers lightly along his back.

“What’s… this? Does it hurt?”

Kieron shook his head.

Faint and uneven scars—long, thin, and deeply set—rose like ridges along his back. Whenever he moved, they shifted and twisted like living things.

“They’re like mine… but so much thicker.”

And so many more.

She hadn’t realized just how covered his back was—hadn’t noticed it while touching him the night before.

She didn’t know the details, but the scars were clearly the remnants of pain. Her own came from the lashes of a man who had once owned her.

The more she saw, the more she touched, the more a dull ache spread in her chest.

“He must’ve… wanted them too. Kieron’s tears.”

Pfft. Her words, so unaware and simple, finally loosened something in him.

Smack, smack.

Melusine began to place soft kisses along the lines of his old wounds. Like birds gently brushing beaks, she kissed each mark with care.

The ripple of her lips against his back sent slow waves through his entire body—rolling inward, deep, and unshakable.

It must have… hurt so much.

The whisper nestled between her kisses made his stomach tighten.

“Did I go too easy on you yesterday?”

“Mm? Ah—!”

Kieron suddenly turned over, pulling her into his arms in one smooth motion.

Startled, Melusine tried to push herself up from his firm chest, but he caught her cheek and pulled her back down toward him.

Their lips met naturally, and his tongue slipped into her open mouth—at first gliding gently, then gradually tangling with hers in a persistent, seeking rhythm. It was like swimming through each other.

Ah… Kissing this man feels… so good.

They had spent all of yesterday tangled as one, yet already her heart—no, her whole body—ached from the rush of feeling rising within her.

Melusine melted into Kieron’s embrace like a wave surrendering to the sea, swept away in a dreamlike warmth.