“How have you been?”

Silas was unresponsive to his question, just staring at him silence. Dominic tilted his head.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

The demon frowned.

“I don't get it,” he said.

“Don't get what?”

“Why you’re here.”

Despite how little he cared for Dominic, he seemed dissatisfied by the situation.

“You were up to something,” he said, “I was sure of it. Why did you give yourself up, then? This can't be part of your plan.”

“I didn't give myself up—I was captured,” Dominic corrected.

“You gave yourself up,” Silas pressed, determined. “You could easily have escaped.”

“You’re that confident in me?”

“It’s because of my suspicions that I can be.”

The demon was sharp. Dominic thought for a moment, then just shrugged.

“If I hadn't been caught, I would've had to live as a wanted man,” he replied. “Isn't this much nicer?”

“You're going to die.”

Silas’s black eyes were cold as they met his.

“Your execution is already set. You’ll be leaving this afternoon.”

“Leaving?”

“They're sending you into the fog…Why are you smiling?”

Dominic put a hand over his mouth, having not noticed his own expression change.

“I wasn't smiling,” he replied.

“You…”

Silas frowned and shook his head as if to clear his thoughts.

“I’m wasting my time on a lost cause again,” he muttered. “I only came down here to inform you of your execution. The guards will fetch you when it’s time.”

“Okay.”

The demon gave him one last look, then turned away and headed back out of the jail. Dominic was left with the boredom of waiting again. He partially understood the demon’s confusion. He could've broken free of the pursuers that night if he’d tried. But it was better to be perceived as dead than to be a fugitive, even if there were more steps involved. Besides, there was something he had wanted to try.

Surprisingly, soon after another set of footsteps echoed down the corridor. This time, the one who appeared was shorter, thinner, and dressed much better.

“What business does the young master have down here?” Dominic asked as Thelo stared curiously at him.

“…I told you to kill him, not to die,” Thelo responded. “What are you doing here?”

“Everyone’s asking the same thing.”

“I sure hope you’re not expecting me to break you out,” he commented. “You got yourself into this.”

“I’d never ask for such a thing,” Dominic replied calmly. “I fully intend to go into the fog.”

The demon stared at him for a moment, studying his expression, trying to put together why he was acting this way. Eventually, he seemed to give up on the endeavor.

“Well, any last wishes?” he asked.

“Hm…” Dominic tapped the bench he was sitting on, thinking. “Try not to die in the next few days?”

“You’re telling me?”

“Yes, Young Master.”

“Hmph.”

Thelo snorted, and he looked slightly amused.

“I don't make those kinds of guarantees, Dominic.”

“I wouldn't want to leave a territory without an heir.”

“I—”

He was going to reply, but suddenly his expression shifted as he caught onto the hidden meaning. His gaze flicked back to Dominic, full of questions but unable to ask. Because it seemed like it could be possible, and yet none of it made sense. The person in front of him was dying today, after all.

“If you don't die in the next few days,” Dominic said. “You might just be able to live until you're old and withered.”

Thelo’s eyes were fixed on him, trying to unravel his meaning, trying to comprehend the impossible, grasping for the thread of hope that was dangling in front of him.

“…I have been trying my hardest to survive from the beginning,” he finally replied. “I will do the same as I always have.”

“Thank you, Young Master.”

“I’ll hope that the gaps in your memory didn't leave holes in your brain.”

He opened his paper fan, waving it lightly.

“Just know that when they push you, I won't save you.”

“Of course.”

He glanced at Dominic once more, then sighed and turned away. His footsteps receded.

Everything was set for an execution.

∞

The wind whistled past his ears, a gale swirling around the top of the cliff the guards were escorting him towards. Just beyond, positioned almost like some fairytale monster, was the white wall of the fog—smoky tendrils sweeping across the land below. The viscount was standing ahead of him, smiling in satisfaction, dressed impeccably despite the morbid task at hand. Silas was by his side, expression still tight with suppressed confusion.

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“The criminal arrives,” the noble commented.

Dominic was tugged to a stop at the edge of the cliff, the chains around his ankles and wrists clinking.

“What a shame,” he continued with fake care, “you were a very talented healer, child.”

There was no response. Being ignored seemed to anger him slightly, though he easily covered it up.

“To be honest, I don't want to do this,” he said. “In a perfect world, we would've made great friends.”

His eyes narrowed slightly as a sly smile spread across his face.

“I would almost be tempted to reach a hand out to you again, but alas—you’ve done something unforgivable. I can’t.”

He looked at Dominic, waiting for a response. There still was none.

“Hmph.”

His cordial expression faded, returning to a flat apathy.

“A shame.”

The viscount turned away from him, stalking back towards the castle without another thought. Silas tried to follow, but strangely, there was a tug from behind.

His blood ran cold as he looked down. Dominic had grabbed a fistful of his clothes. And he was falling.

“No—!”

Without even waiting to be pushed, Dominic had leaned back from the high perch into open air. Silas felt himself being pulled down, fear immediately possessing every bit of his body.

He lashed out in a panic, but his feet slipped and he found himself barely keeping his upper body above the cliff. He managed to grab onto the hem of the viscount’s clothes.

“My lord—”

His eyes met the old noble’s, and his blood froze into ice at the expression that he received.

Disgust. Pure and utter revulsion for the person that dared to touch him. He kicked his foot out, tearing Silas’s grip off of his clothes. Without a care in the world, the viscount turned away from his loyal servant.

He fell. Wordlessly, he watched the wall of stone pass by his eyes, too stunned to even process the danger he was in. The impenetrable white haze of the fog enveloped him, and he wondered if dying this way would at least relieve some of the pain.

Unfortunately, it didn't kill him. After a second that felt like an eternity, a massive, dull pain was driven through his body as he landed hard on the ground.

His head rang from the impact. Silas laid there, waiting to die. He waited, and was too shocked to register that nothing was happening until Dominic’s face appeared above him.

“Are you alive?” he asked.

The question was so strange that it managed to wake him from his daze a degree.

“I might as well be dead,” he muttered.

“He’s alive.”

Dominic stood and stretched, and that was when Silas realized that he’d already broken out of his restraints. The cuffs were lying, torn to scraps, around the white rocks that blanketed the ground. Strangely, he’d created a line of glowing mana, one end of it connected to his wrist, one to the demon’s—linking them together.

Dominic groaned and cast healing magic on himself, feeling the bruises from the impact mending themselves. He’d had to break Silas’s fall with his own body, since he wasn't sure how sturdy the mediocre healer was. And he needed him to be at least a little alive to test some things.

“…Am I dead?” the demon muttered, not believing the situation at hand. “No, this must be some bad dream.”

“This is no dream,” Dominic replied coldly. “Your beloved viscount really did throw you away.”

“Lies!”

He shot upright, finally regaining his energy.

“How can this be anything but a dream?!” he argued. “I am sitting in the land of death, breathing and speaking!”

Dominic glanced down, past him, at the ground. Where the white rocks were. Silas, confused by the silence, followed his gaze, then immediately recoiled.

Bones. The ground was covered in bones—some scattered, some still in the recognizable shape of skeletons. He tried to scramble back, but everything beneath him was the same. Bodies on bodies on bodies. Centuries of executions had piled up here and never left.

“You dream of this?” Dominic remarked.

“Shut up!”

“Why do you still defend a monster?”

“He’s not—”

Silas stopped mid-shout, his face full of anger.

“…See, you can't even say it,” Dominic said.

The demon ground his teeth.

“You wouldn't understand.”

“You’re right.”

He flicked his finger upwards.

“Stand up.”

Silas grimaced, but obeyed. Dominic turned around.

“Follow me.”

He made his way down the morbid pile, bones clacking and snapping under their feet. He continued until they had left the boneyard, the shards of white mixing with the sand, then eventually disappearing. The scent of salt was growing, wrapping around him like a dry blanket. The fog here was so thick that he could only see a few feet ahead.

Dominic continued forward, breathing calmly. Silas glanced around, unable to tell anything about where they were, and his mana seemed to waver.

“You,” he called.

There was no reply.

“Who are you?” he asked regardless.

“Who?” Dominic repeated. “You know who I am.”

“…If this really is not a dream,” Silas answered, “then I don't.”

“Why should I tell you?”

Silence. He couldn't come up with a reason. Dominic could hear the sound of the ocean growing in his ears.

“You’re getting arrogant even in this situation,” he said. “Thinking it’s easy to stay alive.”

“What?” Silas responded, brow furrowing.

“Who said I was going let you leave the fog alive?”

The demon frowned deeply.

“Why is it up to you to decide?” he replied.

“Just try taking that manacle off.”

Dominic pointed to the tether that was keeping them connected. His mana hummed, wrapped around his wrist. Silas stared and bit his lip. He couldn't do it. He didn't know what was happening.

“If I let you return,” Dominic said, “you’re just going to go crawling back to that lord of yours. You’ll make up all the excuses in the world to go back.”

“Shut up. What do you know?”

“I've seen plenty of people like you.”

His expression was calm as he spoke about it.

“They're everywhere, the kind of people that’ll defend anything, no matter how horrible, as long as their lord throws them a bone once a year. A dime a dozen.”

He glanced over his shoulder at Silas for a second.

“And that’s why he threw you away so easily,” he said, looking back forward. “He’ll have a new one by morning.”

“What do you know?!”

The demon exploded with anger.

“You're just a child!”

“I’m sure I know more than a person so naive that he wasted his life on a fruitless endeavor.”

“Shut up!”

Silas was startled for a moment as Dominic stopped abruptly in front of him. He turned to face the demon, his gaze so scathing that it made the much larger man freeze.

“You're awfully loud for someone who shouldn't be alive,” he said.

Silas gritted his teeth.

“You were the one who dragged me down here,” he retorted.

“Right,” Dominic replied. “And now you remind me of the reason.”

“The rea—”

His eyes flew open as he saw Dominic grab the tether on his wrist and pull.

The golden mana shattered instantly. The line fell to the sand, their connection cut, and Silas collapsed, clutching at his throat.

He was dry-heaving, trying to pump oxygen into his lungs, but the more he breathed the paler he got. Tears welled from his eyes and streamed down his cheeks. His mouth was gaping open, trying to swallow air in, but nothing helped.

Dominic reached down and grabbed him by the hair, forcing his head back. He was finally able to take a huge, audible gasp, and his complexion started to recover from the corpse-like color it had taken on.

Their eyes met, Silas’s expression finally as panicked as he should've been from the beginning.

“So it really does kill people,” Dominic noted to himself.

“…Wha…what…?”

Without giving him another second, he flicked the demon in the forehead with his finger. Silas slumped over, unconscious. He calmly picked up the slack body and threw it over his shoulder—ungainly with his size.

He took one step forward, then stopped.

“Why didn’t you let him die?” A deep, baritone voice asked, from behind. “I’m sure he’s no friend of yours.”

Dominic was quiet for a moment, then turned around.

“I wouldn’t have wanted to dirty your beach,” he replied.

A huge shadow swooped in, swirled around his head, and landed on his shoulder. An owl, pitch black from head to talon, had landed there and was regarding him with an interested look. Its eyes were crystalline, almost like pure obsidian. And its body radiated power.

“Did I make you wait long?” Dominic asked.

The owl chortled.

“Not at all,” it replied.

It leaned in close, the feather tufts on its head bobbing with the breeze.

“Welcome back, little eavesdropper.”