ICARUS stormed into his room like a man possessed.
The air trembled around him, thick with rage and grief. His assistant rushed in after him, panting, worried.
"Sir, should we—"
Before he could finish, he was blasted back by the sheer force of Icarus's aura. It cracked through the space like thunder, flinging the assistant into the wall. Only the quick activation of his shield spell saved him from being crushed.
"Sir! What the hell—?!"
But Icarus didn't hear him. Or maybe he did and simply didn't care. With a single wave of his hand, the door slammed shut behind the assistant, locking the world out.
Silence fell.
Icarus stood in the middle of the room, clutching his chest like it was caving in from the inside.
"It was all useless," he whispered hoarsely. "I didn't save my Aria… I saved someone else."
He staggered back into the chair at his desk, fingers trembling as he pulled open the drawer. Everything inside was untouched, preserved like a shrine to a ghost:
– The stack of letters, arranged in perfect order, each one with her handwriting, each word dripping with warmth and loneliness.
– The dried flower crown she made for him when they were children.
– The bracelet she tied around his wrist on his birthday, still faintly scented like the perfume she once wore.
– And the ring… the one he never had the chance to give her.
His hands trembled as he picked it up.
And then he broke.
The first sob escaped like a knife to the throat. He screamed into the silence, throwing the papers across the room, slamming his fists into the desk until blood smeared the wood. Why?! Why couldn't he reach her in time?!
"Icarus…"
Her voice echoed in his head.
The voice of the little girl who used to chase him with lilies.
The girl who waited for his letters.
Who asked to see him one last time.
He had failed her.
Days passed.
He didn't eat. Didn't sleep. The room dimmed with dust and decay, but he remained frozen in place—eyes hollow, fingers flipping endlessly through ancient tomes, forbidden spells, god-summoning rituals, anything that might bring her back.
But would she want that?
"Why am I still here?" he muttered, looking down at the violet ring glowing faintly in the gloom.
"I was supposed to tell you how I felt. But I was always too afraid. You weren't someone I was allowed to dream of…"
He opened another drawer.
Inside lay the dagger she once gave him—a gift when they were teens. It gleamed with a polished violet sheen, the same color as his eyes.
Her favorite.
He lifted it slowly, almost reverently.
"At the end… I have to use it like this, Aria."
There was no more hesitation.
With one final glance at the ring, Icarus pressed the dagger to his heart and drove it in.
The pain was instant—but so was the peace.
"I hope… I find you in the next life," he whispered, vision blurring.
A single tear slid down his cheek.
And then…
Darkness.
It was Icarus's assistant who came, eyes wild with fear and desperation.
"Lady Aria… please," he choked, breathless. "I don't know what happened, but… I can barely feel Master's aura. He's locked himself inside for days, but now—now there's barely anything left."
Aria froze.
Moments ago, the ache in her chest—the one tethered to Icarus—had dulled to almost nothing. Like a heartbeat slipping into silence.
She didn't ask questions. Her legs moved on instinct.
The moment she forced open the sealed door, the scent of blood and magic filled her senses. Icarus was slumped in his chair, crimson soaking through his shirt, his hand still loosely clutching the dagger.
He was barely breathing.
The system blinked, as cold and clinical as ever.
{Let him go. — GF}
Aria's voice trembled. "Why?"
{It's better this way. He was destined to die after the real Aria disappeared.}
Her heart burned.
"So that's it?" she whispered. "He doesn't obey. He can't be controlled by your rules. So you'd rather erase him?"
There was no reply. Only silence.
She looked at him again—his lips parted, the faintest breath on them, his skin pale and wet with sweat. The once brilliant glow of his soul was fading.
She didn't hesitate.
Golden aura burst from her palms, wrapping around his body. The room filled with light—but something went wrong. His dying purple aura flared suddenly, violently clashing with her light. The force threw her across the room, crashing her against the wall with a crack.
Pain shot through her chest. A sharp, suffocating pain that wasn't hers. She gasped for breath; eyes wide.
Then—she saw her.
A glowing silhouette knelt beside Icarus, touching his chest with ethereal gentleness.
It was her.
The real Aria.
Her presence shimmered like a warm memory. Her voice was soft, teasing.
"You're being silly, Icarus," she whispered, brushing hair from his face. "I never wanted you to die for me."
Aria—the one watching—could feel the depth of love the girl held for him. It was raw, selfless, and endless. And laced with regret.
"Aria…" Icarus's voice cracked. His eyes fluttered open, blinking away tears as recognition filled them. "You're… real…"
"I'm sorry," she whispered, stroking his cheek. "So sorry. I couldn't tell you the truth. You would've stopped me—wouldn't you? Don't blame yourself. I wanted to do that and if I have to do it again, I will do the same."
His tears fell freely now. His chest heaved with pain and longing.
"Please… take me with you. Aria, I can't—please—don't leave me again…"
She leaned forward, lips brushing his forehead, then his lips. Her smile trembled as she said:
"I love you, Icarus. I always have… so live for me."
Then she turned to Aria—Su-yeon.
"Thank you Su-yeon," she said with a grateful smile that warmed the room. "Thank you… for holding onto him."
And just like that, she vanished into the light.
Icarus slumped forward, the dagger clattering to the floor.
But his heart was beating again.
Not because of fate.
Not because of the system.
But because she had asked him to live.
The Realm of the System pulsed with divine energy.
The God of Fate stood at its center, his expression stormy as he turned toward the one cloaked in shadows—Caelum, the Keeper of Souls.
"Why," Fate growled, "is the real Aria still here?"
Caelum's golden eyes didn't flinch. "She didn't want to move on until she saw Icarus."
"She's a soul, not a deity," Fate snapped. "She doesn't get to want. The moment she died, her role in this world was done. And you—" his voice rose, laced with fury, "—you've violated the path. Icarus was supposed to die!"
His voice thundered, and the webs of fate trembled.
Caelum stood calm. Steady.
"Every soul has a demand," he said quietly. "And if we gods can't grant that one final wish, then what's the point of being divine at all?"
Fate's eyes burned. "Don't talk to me about mercy, Caelum. You're cracking the laws of balance—"
"No," Caelum cut in, voice sharp now, firm. "I'm honouring something even higher than balance: love. You call it a crack, I call it grace."
Fate's fists clenched. "Are you taking her back now?"
"That choice," Caelum replied, "is hers. I won't tear her away from the one she loves. I won't be a tyrant like you."
Fate's face twisted with rage. "Then get out of my realm!"
Caelum gave a soft laugh, something ancient and unbothered. "This isn't your realm, Fate. It belongs to the Supreme God. You're just a custodian... who's grown too attached to your own strings."
Fate went silent, eyes narrowing, jaw tight. He hated hearing the truth.
In the far corner of the realm, Y.G.—the Young God—curled up, tears streaming down his cheeks as he watched the threads replay what had just happened between Icarus and Aria.
"That kind of love…" he whispered between soft sobs, "it's too beautiful. I didn't know… I didn't know they could hurt that much…"
Caelum glanced over and smiled faintly at Y.G.
"Don't cry, little one. That's not sorrow you feel. That's knowing what it means to be human."