Volume 02, Chapter 82

Memories [3]

Célestin’s eyes snap open.

“What…” he mutters, his voice hoarse and uncertain as his gaze sweeps across the devastation surrounding him.

Aurelior, once the radiant jewel of Verdant Haven, lies in absolute ruin. The streets are unrecognizable, buried beneath crumbled stone and ash. Fire engulfs the remnants of once-grand buildings, their spires now broken.

The air is thick with the stench of burning and death, and scattered across the debris-laden ground are the lifeless bodies of those who once filled the vibrant capital with laughter and life.

Célestin’s hands curl into fists as he takes it all in. “It is this again…” he mutters, bitterness lacing his tone.

This is not the first time he has seen this scene. As a regressor, Célestin has experienced this exact scenario countless times. Aurelior’s destruction is an inevitability that haunts him in every cycle. No matter how often he regresses, this moment always arrives, a cruel constant in a world that should have reset.

But this time… this time something feels different.

“Am I… wait…”

His thoughts scramble as he tries to piece together what has happened.

The last thing he remembers is the chamber where the Chalice of Merging was held. Clark had been there, reaching for the Chalice. Then, without warning, the room was engulfed in purple smoke.

His brows furrow as the memory replays in his mind. That chamber—the one holding the Chalice—was not supposed to have traps. He has entered it countless times across countless timelines, retrieving the Chalice without incident. It was supposed to be safe.

“But… how? The chamber is supposed to have no traps in it… how does it have one now?!”

His voice echoes faintly in the empty, ruined streets.

A cold realization creeps over him. The only logical explanation is that someone has tampered with the temple—someone who knows about his circumstances and the regression cycles and has deliberately set a trap to catch him off guard.

“Was it… Malignor?” The name escapes his lips like venom.

Malignor is the strongest enemy that shadows his and Dominic’s countless struggles. A foe of unimaginable power, one who has retained his memories and abilities through every reset. If anyone could change the game's rules, it would be Malignor.

“But why now? Malignor has never acted this early in any of the cycles…” Célestin mutters, his mind racing. “He always kept his distance until later, until after we had regained enough strength to pose a challenge. Is he… changing his strategy? Is he going on the offensive?”

The thought sends a chill down his spine. In all his regressions, Malignor has never shown his hand this soon. He has always waited, lurking in the shadows, letting Célestin and Dominic grow stronger before finally striking. It was a pattern Célestin had come to rely on, a strange balance in the chaos of their repeated struggles.

But this? This breaks every rule he has come to expect.

Célestin clenches his jaw, his thoughts spiraling. “Now that I think about it…” His voice grows quieter as he pieces together fragments of doubt he has buried before. “Why did he never attack us while we were weak? Every time we reset, our abilities and powers reset with us. We start over, vulnerable, while Malignor stays the same—an [SS] Rank threat. Why did he never strike, then? Why let us recover, build our strength, and fight back?”

It does not make sense. Malignor has every advantage. He could have crushed them at the start of any cycle. Instead, he always waited until they were strong enough to resist him. Why?

Célestin’s fingers tremble as he rubs his temples, trying to make sense of the impossible. “He has always held back. But why? What is he waiting for?” His voice cracks, frustration spilling into his words.

The idea that Malignor has been deliberately holding back all this time unnerves him more than anything else. This means that Malignor is not just a powerful adversary; he is strategic and calculated. And worse, it means there is a reason behind his inaction. A reason Célestin cannot see.

“Why let us regain our strength?” he mutters, his eyes narrowing. “What could he possibly gain from that? Is it some kind of game to him? Or…” He trails off, his thoughts darkening. “Or is he preparing for something bigger? Something we cannot stop even at full strength?”

The fire crackles in the distance, and the oppressive silence of the ruined city bears down on him. Célestin stares into the horizon, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“I have been a fool,” he whispers bitterly. “All this time, I thought I understood the cycles. I thought I knew the rules. But Malignor… he has always been ahead of us.”

And now, he has proven it again with the trap in the Chalice chamber. Célestin is not sure if fear or rage courses through him, but one thing is certain.

This time, everything is different, and he is not sure if that is a good thing or a death sentence.

“It was not him, Célestin.”

Célestin jolts at the voice, his heart pounding in his chest. He turns sharply, his eyes widening at the sight before him.

Dominic stands there, bathed in the eerie glow of the ruined landscape. He wears a pristine white dress shirt beneath a black vest and a blood-red tie.

Completing his outfit is a black fedora that casts shadows over his dull, lifeless eyes. Blood streaks his face, dripping down his cheek and staining his shirt. In one hand, he grips the lifeless body of a demon.

“D-Domy…” Célestin whispers, his voice trembling with disbelief.

Dominic’s presence feels wrong. The purple smoke is not supposed to manifest illusions that talk to him. It is designed to dredge up memories, not this—this thing standing before him.

“Yeah,” Dominic says, his lips curling into a sinister smile. “It’s me.”

Célestin’s breath catches in his throat as Dominic casually drops the demon’s corpse to the ground. He strides toward Célestin with an unnerving calm, each step echoing in the desolate silence. His smile is wrong—too wide and sharp—and his eyes… are empty. Hollow.

As if the Dominic he knew is no longer there.

Dominic stops just inches from him, tilting his head slightly, his dull blue eyes locking onto Célestin’s with an intensity that makes him shiver.

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“If it isn’t him, then… who?” Célestin murmurs, his mind racing.

Deep down, a terrible thought begins to take shape, but he pushes it away, refusing to acknowledge it. Another entity has retained their memories after regressions, but that possibility—it cannot be true. It cannot.

Célestin shakes his head, trying to banish the thought. “No… It can’t be…” he whispers, his voice trembling.

Dominic’s smile widens. “Célestin,” he says softly, his tone almost pitying, “who else could it be? It’s obviously me.”

“No…” Célestin’s voice cracks as he steps back, his legs trembling. “No… you wouldn’t… We have been through so much together… Why would you do this?”

“Just accept it,” Dominic says, his voice a chilling blend of calm and cruelty. “I did it.”

“B-But… why?” Célestin stammers, his mind struggling to reconcile the Dominic he has known—the Dominic who has endured countless cycles of pain and loss with him—with the figure standing before him now.

Dominic’s expression darkens, the smile slipping from his face. His voice drops to a chilling whisper. “Because… if something different happens, perhaps it would be different for you. Perhaps Aetherium would not mark you.”

Célestin freezes. “Aetherium?” he repeats, confusion and dread intertwining. “What… what are you talking about? What is Aetherium?”

Dominic’s gaze sharpens. “You don’t need to know, Célestin. I am doing this for our sake. Trust me—it is better if you don’t know the full plan. Not even Clark knows about it.”

Célestin’s chest tightens. The Dominic he knows would never keep something like this from him. They have faced horrors, bled together, and shared the weight of their failures. And yet… here Dominic stands, speaking of secrets, plans, and forces that Célestin cannot comprehend.

“What… plan?” Célestin demands, his voice breaking. “Why can’t you tell me? Don’t I deserve to know? Haven’t I earned that?”

Dominic’s gaze softens for a moment, but it is fleeting. He takes a step closer. “I already told you, Célestin… It is better if you don’t know.”

Célestin’s hands ball into fists at his sides. This is not the Dominic he knows. This is not the friend who has stood beside him in countless cycles of suffering. This Dominic is someone else—something else. And yet, the undeniable pain in his chest tells him that part of it is true. Part of it is Dominic. And that makes it all the more unbearable.

“But… can you at least tell me why?” Célestin’s voice cracks. “Why did you leave us? Why did you leave me?”

Célestin already knows the answer. He has heard it from Clark. But he wants to hear it from Dominic.

Dominic remains silent, his cold eyes avoiding Célestin’s gaze. The weight of the silence presses down on them. It is unbearable.

“Answer me, Domy!” Célestin shouts. He surges forward, his anger and pain boiling over. “Is it because the regressions broke you? Is it because you have had enough? Is that why you chose Clark to take your place?! Is that why you abandoned us?!”

The question lingers, raw and trembling. Célestin's chest rises and falls as he waits, his heart pounding so loudly it seems to overpower the silence.

Dominic does not flinch. He does not move. For a moment, Célestin wonders if he will answer at all. But then, after what feels like an eternity, Dominic finally speaks.

“Yes,” he says, his tone flat, void of the warmth that once defined him. “I was tired. I could not do it anymore. So I left.”

His simple answer cuts deeper than any elaborate explanation—no excuses, no justification—just a cold, unfeeling admission.

“I see…” Célestin murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as he lowers his gaze to the ground.

His hands tremble as anger, sadness, and betrayal surge within him, tangled with a reluctant understanding that makes hating Dominic even harder.

He wants to scream, lash out, and demand more from the man he has relied on for so long. But he cannot. Because deep down, he knows.

It was Dominic’s choice.

And though it hurts more than anything, leaving him feeling abandoned and utterly alone, Célestin cannot blame him. He cannot find it in himself to hate the man who has endured the same unending hell as he has. Who has carried the same unbearable weight. Who has stayed, cycle after cycle, until he simply… could not anymore.

But that does not make it hurt any less.

“I should be angry…” Célestin whispers, his voice shaking as his fists unclench. “I should hate you for leaving us… for leaving me. But I can’t.” He lifts his head, eyes glistening with unshed tears as they meet Dominic’s cold, unyielding gaze. “Because I get it. I get it, Domy. You were tired. You were done. And you… you deserved to rest.”

His voice breaks as he lets out a trembling breath, emotions spilling. "But... you left me. Alone. To face everything. I don't know if I can do this without you."

Dominic does not respond. His expression does not change. And that silence, that unfeeling void, is what finally breaks Célestin.

He lowers his head, his shoulders trembling as he whispers, “You left me, Domy… and I don’t know how to forgive you.”

“Célestin!”

Célestin's thoughts snap like glass as another voice breaks through his fog. It is Dominic's voice—no, Clark's—distant yet urgent, echoing from above.

He tilts his head upward, his heart racing. “Clark!” he shouts, his voice trembling with hope and desperation.

“Ah…” the Dominic before him mutters, drawing his attention back. “It seems Clark is here to save you, huh?”

Célestin freezes. Dominic’s expression is still unreadable—neither cruel nor kind, just... empty, as if he carries the weight of countless untold secrets.

“Whatever happens next,” Dominic says, his voice soft and measured, “do what you have always done before. Follow Clark’s lead and pretend like this never happened. Pretend it is all the same as before—the regressions, the cycles, all of it. Do not deviate so she won’t notice further.”

Célestin’s brow furrows deeply, confusion swirling in his chest like a storm. “What… what are you talking about? What do you mean ‘like before’? Who is ‘she’? Why can’t I—”

-Crack!

The world trembles violently as fractures spread through the air, resembling a splintering mirror. The cracks grow rapidly, their deafening sound echoing like reality is breaking apart.

Dominic offers a faint, bittersweet smile. "Just do as I say, Célestin," he says softly, his voice tinged with finality. "Goodbye… it was good to see you."

“Domy, wait!” Célestin reaches out, but the world crumbles around him before he can utter another word.

Darkness envelops him, cold and oppressive, and for a moment, there is nothing—no sound, no light, no feeling, just the heavy void pressing against his chest.

The last thing he sees before his vision fades completely is Dominic’s smile, etched with sorrow and resolve as if carrying the burden of countless untold truths.

“Why…” Célestin whispers into the void, his voice trembling with grief and confusion. But there is no response.

The world is gone. All that remains is silence.

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“Célestin, wake up!”

Dominic shakes Célestin’s unconscious body with increasing urgency. His voice is laced with frustration, but there is a faint edge of panic.

“Wake up, damn it!” Dominic growls.

-Slap!

Dominic slaps Célestin’s, but there is no response.

“Damn it, wake up!” His frustration boils over.

-Slap!

Dominic slaps Célestin’s face harder this time—still nothing.

“Wake. Up!” Dominic repeats, his voice rising with every word as he slaps Célestin’s face repeatedly.

Standing to the side, Arthur watches the scene with confusion and concern.

“Uhh, Clark…” Arthur tries to interject, his voice hesitant.

But Dominic either does not hear him or chooses to ignore him. The slaps continue, echoing through the chamber.

Arthur’s brows furrow as he observes Dominic’s expression. There it is—a faint, almost imperceptible smile curling at the corners of Dominic’s lips. It is not a smile of relief or determination—it seems… amused that he is enjoying this a little too much.

Arthur’s unease grows as he remembers how Dominic had slapped him earlier. The force behind those slaps had been firm but controlled, almost reluctant. But now, with Célestin, there is an intensity, a nearly gleeful vigor, that Arthur cannot ignore.

‘Why is he smiling?’ Arthur thought.

Is this because of Célestin’s carefree attitude? Has Clark simply reached his breaking point with Célestin and decided to take this opportunity to vent his frustrations? Or… is it something deeper, something darker? Arthur is not sure.

“Ah!” Célestin suddenly gasps, his eyes snapping open as he jolts upright.

Dominic immediately stops slapping him, his hands hovering mid-air.

“You’re awake! Finally!” Dominic exclaims, his tone light and cheerful, as though nothing unusual has happened.

“Yeah—ugh!” Célestin groans, wincing as he touches his flaming red cheeks. Pain shoots through his face, making him flinch. “What the hell happened to my face?! It feels like it’s on fire!”

“Oh, the gas,” Dominic says nonchalantly, waving a hand. “It made your cheeks red.”

Célestin blinks, confused. “But… the gas does not do that. It does not leave physical marks.”

Dominic’s expression does not falter. “Nah, it does. Believe me, I felt my cheeks hurt too. Right, Arthur?” Dominic turns to Arthur, his eyes sharp, almost daring him to contradict him.

Arthur’s heart skips a beat. “Oh, uh… yes! Yeah, definitely,” he stammers, forcing a nod.

He does not know why Dominic is lying, but the weight of Dominic’s stare leaves him with no choice but to play along.

“I see…” Célestin mutters, his voice low as he gingerly stands up, still rubbing his sore cheeks. “Weird.”

Dominic claps his hands, his tone upbeat. “Alright, let’s not dwell on it. I got the Chalice of Merging, so let’s get out of here.”

“…Yeah,” Célestin mumbles, his voice quieter than usual.

As they walk, Célestin’s mind drifts, weighed down by the memory of the illusory Dominic and his cryptic, chilling words. The sadness he feels now is heavier, as if he has left part of himself behind in that dark place.

He glances at Dominic, who leads the way.

A heavy silence hangs over the group. Célestin’s heart aches, but he keeps his emotions buried, fearing they might overwhelm him if he lets them rise.