Just when Julian thought his life was finally heading in the right direction, ’it’ came back.

Julian snapped awake in the middle of the night, painting loudly in the silence of the bedroom, his lungs suddenly seizing as if the air had turned to stone. He reached out instinctively, his hand sweeping across the sheets for that familiar, solid warmth, but his fingers met only cold, empty fabric.

Alaric was gone.

The Duke had likely slipped out to handle the mountain of midnight dispatches he’d been ignoring to spend time with Julian the whole day, leaving Julian alone in the velvet dark.

But it wasn’t the silence that terrified Julian. It was his heart.

It wasn’t beating; it was thrashing. A familiar, frantic, sickening rhythm that made his chest feel like it was being crushed by an invisible vice. Cold sweat broke out across his forehead, soaking into the pillowcase as he struggled to pull in a single, clean breath, his hand tightening on his chest as he heaved heavily.

I can’t... I can’t breathe. Why can’t I breathe?

And then, a chime echoed in his head.

> [System Alert: Mental Stability Fluctuating]

> [Warning: Waking Madness (Stage 2) – Relapse Detected]

(A/N: So, in case I haven’t mentioned the morning plague as waking madness before, well, I’ll be naming it that now. It’s something that truly sticks, you know.)

The translucent purple window flickered into the dark, pulsing with a sickly, distorted red light that made Julian’s head throb.

No. Please, no.

The realization clawed at his gut, sharper than any blade.

The madness he had suffered from for the many months he was in this world, the very one that had ceased after he got hurt, was back.

It hadn’t been eradicated by a miracle or chased away by the peace he felt this far. It had just been waiting. It had sat in the corner of his mind, watching him heal, watching him be happy, watching him feel ’untouchable,’ only to strike the moment he had completely let his guard down.

Julian curled into a ball, clutching his chest so hard his nails dug into his skin. He was terrified.

If this thing was back, even after all this time, then how was he going to break free from it this time?

A tear slid down his face and soaked the sheets.

Why me? Why is this happening to me? What did I do wrong? 𝒻𝑟𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝑛𝘰𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝘤𝘰𝘮

But that wasn’t the way the question should go. It shouldn’t have been, ’what did I do wrong?’ but ’what am I not doing right?’

The Duke finally returned to the room in nothing but a simple, loose-fitting robe, his hair still slightly mussed from the late hour. He had worked quickly, driven by the desire to return to the warmth of the bed and the man he had finally claimed as his own.

He had left a Julian who was flushed, peaceful, and breathing with the steady rhythm of a deep, restorative sleep.

Just thinking about cuddling him made his blood boil in passion. Maybe too passionate.

He planned to slip in as quietly as he could so as not to wake up his sleeping lover. He paused as he found Julian sleeping upright, his gaze fixed on the balcony window and the light linen that was fluttering softly with the gentle flow of the night.

"Julian," the Duke called, but Julian didn’t even flinch, as if he still hadn’t noticed the Duke’s presence. "Julian," he called again, but there was still no response. He wondered if he was asleep while sitting up and crossed the room in large strides until he was in front of Julian, and what he saw immediately shattered him.

The smile and the happiness that had been dancing on Julian’s face all evening were nowhere to be found. What he saw was a grief-stricken expression, a dark one, like the face of someone who didn’t know what they were living for anymore.

"Julian," the Duke called once again, his voice louder this time and more commanding, and Julian flinched, barely escaping his thoughts of despair.

Julian slowly turned his head, his neck creaking as if he were a rusted marionette until his eyes finally met Alaric’s. There was a hollow, glass-like stare that made the Duke’s blood run cold.

"Lucien?" Julian’s voice was paper-thin and trembling.

The Duke didn’t hesitate and cupped Julian’s face, his eyes searching Julian’s, and he did not mistake it. Something had died in them in the hour he was not by his side.

"What is this?" Alaric’s voice was a low, urgent rasp. He searched Julian’s face, his thumbs brushing against the cold sweat on his temples. "Julian, look at me. Are you in pain? Did the wound... is your leg hurting again? Did the Priest fail?"

He was a strategist, a man who solved problems with a blade or a decree, but he was staring at an enemy he couldn’t see.

He didn’t know about the [Waking Madness] pulsing in Julian’s soul. He didn’t see the red alerts of the system or the jagged static. All he saw was the man he loved breaking apart in his hands for no reason he could fathom.

"Tell me," Alaric pleaded with a desperate voice, his forehead dropping against Julian’s. "Tell me where it hurts. I will bring the Priest back here tonight. I will tear the city apart to find a cure. Just tell me what happened while I was gone."

But Julian didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

How could he explain that the ’fortress’ Alaric had helped him build was being dismantled by a glitch in his own soul? How could he say that the peace they had found was just a temporary truce with a monster that lived in his head?

Something unknown was lurking, and the system was keeping things from him.

He could feel it.

Those words swirled in his head and never surfaced to the light of day.

Instead, Julian moved. His movements were slow, almost desperate, as he leaned forward and wrapped his arms tightly around the Duke’s waist. He buried his face in the soft fabric of the Duke’s robe, clinging to him as if Alaric were the only solid thing in a world made of smoke.

He didn’t say a word. He just held on, his fingers trembling as they bunched the fabric of the robe. He was terrified, and he was exhausted—exhausted from fighting a war that never seemed to end.

Alaric froze, his hands hovering over Julian’s back before he pulled him in even tighter. He didn’t understand.

A moment ago, they were fine. Nothing in the world seemed to happen. But now? Now he felt as if he were holding a man who was already halfway to the grave.

"I’m here," Alaric whispered into the dark, his voice thick with a helpless, protective fury. "I’m here, Julian. I’ve got you."

There was nothing he could do to save his lover when he had no idea what was killing him. He could only give him words of comfort and offer his sturdy body for support.

But the Duke was determined. As he held Julian, his blue eyes glowed red in rage. Whether unknown or known, that thing that was causing Julian grief... He would find a way to tear it apart.