The last thing Julian felt as his life slipped away was a rush of cold air as something heavy hit the mud beside him. It was something he could not see himself doing for his heart had already given its final, stuttering throb, and he died. That something heavy was a man, one who looked like he had just had a part of him torn to shreds.

The Duke looked at Julian’s body sprawled in the dirt, his lousily bandaged leg, the heavy stench that came from the blood that had pooled in the dirt, the antiseptic, the dead snake, and... Julian’s pale and lifeless face.

He paused, not able to handle what was in front of him. Not able to handle the truth. Slowly, he reached his trembling hand and placed two fingers under Julian’s nostrils. There was no breath.

Julian had stopped breathing.

The Duke felt his heart fall. It didn’t do a little thud; it actually fell, and he dropped to his knees, defeated as the light left his face completely. He was struck with a horror that had met him seven years ago.

"No..." he said, his words cracking with fragility. "It can’t be...right? Astrea... Julian..." his voice trembled with a low rumble. "...this is a nightmare, right?"

But the reality was cold and stagnant. The lifeless body of the man he had begun to grow fond of—the man he couldn’t stop thinking about—lay pinned to the earth. Why did this happen? How did this happen?

He was sure Julian was right behind him, so when did he lose sight of him? When did he suddenly disappear?

The Duke’s hands trembled, rage and self-loathing boiled in Alaric’s chest. He blamed himself for being too late. Again. If he had been more careful, if he had looked back just one more time, he could have spotted Julian slipping from the path. If he had arrived sooner... He dropped his hands over his face, a silent raging scream erupting from his lungs, the veins in his neck bulging as he shook with the sheer force of his grief.

While the Duke was wallowing in his guilt, something else was going on in front of him.

Deep within the cooling shell of Julian’s body, something stirred.

The ’System’ didn’t care for grief, and it didn’t recognize death as a permanent state while it still had a host to utilize. In the pitch-black void of Julian’s subconscious, a secondary persona—the cold, calculating core that had survived years of Astrea family abuse, the very one who wished to wreak havoc that would shake the entire Empire—snapped its eyes open. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

> [CRITICAL INTERVENTION: SOUL REIGNITION INITIATED]

A violent, electric jolt tore through Julian’s nerves. It wasn’t a gentle awakening; it was a brutal restart, and he jerked so visibly it looked like his bones were snapping.

Duke Alaric, now in tears, was startled at the movement in front of him. He couldn’t explain what was going on, but Julian, whom he had confirmed dead just now, had his eyes wide open, staring at him with a darkness he couldn’t understand.

And then, the Duke felt that uncomfortable feeling again while looking at Julian. He had a vibe and a grit that did not match the tutor he knew. But would he think about that? Of course not. The important thing was that Julian had woken up from the dead... Julian was alive.

The body slumped back, and the Duke quickly checked his heart; it was beating, though weakly. He got up, lifting Julian right away to get him treated right away.

"The rope!" he yelled, and a rope was tossed down. The Duke looked at Julian. This time, he would do it right. He would not let anything happen to him going forward. That was his promise.

The incident became a hot topic. The accident of the fourth son of house Astrea, and a member of the Duke of the North’s household. It made anyone who heard of it go pale. How lifeless Julian looked as he was carried out of the pit.

But there was another thing that became an even hotter topic. It was none other than the way the Duke held Julian. He kept him close on the horse, placing his hand on his chest to feel his heart to make sure he was still breathing as he pushed the horse to go the fastest he could. And how he did not let anyone touch him, even as he got down from the horse.

He held Julian like he was the most precious thing in the world. And this solidified the rumors from before, about how the tutor had the Duke of the North wrapped around his fingers.

Three days after the incident...

Julian’s eyes snapped open.

He tried to bolt upright, his heart hammering against his ribs in a frantic, stuttering rhythm, but the world immediately tilted, and he fell back.

"Ugh..."

A strangled wheeze escaped his throat. Every inch of his body felt like it had been crushed and reassembled incorrectly. The pain was gut-wrenching—a sharp, throbbing agony in his thigh and a dull, heavy ache in his chest that made every breath a struggle. He gripped his shirt, his fingers twitching against the fabric as he tried to ground himself.

Then, the events came back to him. He remembered the pit, the snake, the stake in his thighs... the chilling smile of the Emperor.

How he waited in the cold mud. He waited while enduring the smell of rot, and his body was paralysed by the poison. And how he was sure he had died. Yes, he definitely died, so how was he awake at this moment?

The air here was different—it smelled of expensive beeswax, medicinal herbs, and the sharp, clean scent of pine.

A hand, broad and startlingly cool, suddenly dropped onto his forehead.

Julian flinched, his eyes darting upward, and then he saw him. His last regret.

Duke Alaric was leaning over him, his face a mask of such raw, unshielded worry that for a moment, Julian didn’t recognize him. The Duke’s hair was disheveled, more than usual, if you may, and his eyelids were dark and heavy, as if he had been assigned the task of a night vigil for several days straight.

"Easy," Alaric murmured, his voice uncharacteristically soft, though the tremor in it was unmistakable. "You can calm down now. You’re safe."