Charles walked through pitch blackness, the sound of his footsteps echoing in a space he couldn't make out.
Everything was dark, as if light had been swallowed by an invisible force.
No walls, no ceiling, no defined floor—just endless void enveloping him. His body moved on its own, as if guided by something unseen.
Suddenly, his eyes caught something on the ground. A still, pale figure, surrounded by a dark pool.
Charles stopped, a knot tightening in his stomach.
It was Kaira.
Kaira… was dead.
Her body lay face-up, her throat slashed with a clean cut.
Dried blood crusted around the wound, and her skin was marred with bruises. Her red eyes, usually vibrant with life, were empty, lifeless, staring into nothing. Her red tunic was torn, her hands limp at her sides.
Charles looked at her, expecting to feel something: grief, rage, fear.
But he felt nothing.
His heart beat steadily, his mind blank, as if he were looking at a stranger.
