Afterimage (4)
Afterimage (4)
Ravin's death brought no meaningful change to Levina's life.
She woke each morning, reviewed documents, stamped approvals, attended the occasional pointless meeting.
Whatever chaos erupted in the Church, whatever turmoil shook the family, she handled it within the bounds of reasonable common sense and nothing more.
As though one person's death were beneath notice.
A day passed, a week, a month — it made no difference.
Knock, knock, knock.
The sound was urgent.
Levina did not answer.
The door wasn't locked. A male student council member burst in moments later, gasping for breath.
"Madam President! It's a disaster!"
Sweat glistened on his face. His uniform was disheveled. He hadn't even steadied his breathing before the words spilled out.
"The Saintess — she vanished, and now she's at the building — she's — "
"Yes."
Levina didn't lift her eyes from the paperwork.
"A Knight Studies student named Jenna, and a knight brought in as an instructor — right there on the spot — "
"Making a spectacle of herself, I imagine."
"The entire Knight Studies department is holding a standoff, trying to stop her! What should we do? We have to alert the Order, the guards, the professors — "
"Leave them be."
Levina turned another page. The whisper of paper against her fingers felt like the only sound in the room.
"What? But at this rate, casualties will keep piling up! Never mind the aftermath — this is happening in the middle of the Academy — "
The boy's face was a picture of confusion.
Levina raised her head and cut him off.
"I said leave them."
"..."
"Get out."
He opened his mouth to protest, but the weight of her gaze sealed his lips. He stared at her a long moment before retreating from the room. The look on his face said he'd just pieced together whose hand had set this in motion.
The door clicked shut. Only Levina and the dust remained.
She set down her pen and leaned deep into her chair. A small, hollow laugh escaped.
Broad daylight was bolder than she'd expected, but she felt little surprise. She was the one who'd nudged events toward this outcome in the first place. Cleaning up now was never part of the plan.
After Ravin died, Estelle had been a walking corpse.
She no longer thought. She simply existed.
Levina remembered the day Estelle came to the main house clutching Ravin's body.
Estelle had arrived holding Ravin's eerily intact corpse and asked in a low murmur where he should be buried.
They found a decent coffin and laid him to rest on a sunny hill not far from the main building.
Through rain and sunrise, through sunset and another dawn, Estelle never moved from the grave.
Afterward, she'd spoken to Levina.
You drove him out and killed him, so you should die too.
Levina hadn't denied it. She'd answered flatly.
Wasn't it you who killed him?
You took him and never gave him back. Where were you, exactly?
As if proving her innocence, Estelle had begun slaughtering every priest connected to the decision to execute Ravin.
So Levina started feeding her names, whenever Estelle came by.
Nobles who'd been an eyesore. Figures who might one day become a liability. All of them linked to the priesthood, she said. All complicit in Ravin's death.
Estelle never questioned it. She simply went where she was pointed and killed.
Everyone whispered that the Saintess had gone mad. They suspected who stood behind it, but none dared aim the arrow of blame at Levina.
Who would dare suspect the Heir Apparent of Edelgard?
Just the night before, Levina had shared a few more names. Kyle, Serepina, the librarian, and a woman knight named Jenna. She'd added that it was Jenna who first discovered Ravin at the estate and blew the matter wide open — an idiot who understood nothing of how he'd been captured or how he'd died.
How long could she keep this up?
'She'll get herself killed eventually.'
The thought rose like smoke and vanished without a trace. It wasn't her concern.
She rose and stepped into the corridor. A long, silent walk stretched before her. Through the windows, students were gathering outside.
At their center stood Estelle, clad in a priest's vestments now stained a wet black-red.
Something glinted in her hand beneath the sun. A lump of crimson flesh.
Levina stood nailed to the corridor floor, watching the scene without expression. Estelle looked like an actress giving her final performance on a stage built just for her. Two more students screamed and crumpled.
Then, as though exhaustion had finally overtaken her, Estelle sank down among the bodies.
She lifted her head and looked this way. Her eyes met Levina's.
Estelle waved, bright and childlike, as if greeting a friend.
Levina showed nothing.
Estelle threw herself forward, seized the head of a commoner named Kyle — someone they'd once said might become a Sword Saint — and began to fight as if toying with him. A few punches from Estelle's fists, and the body burst apart. The head was ripped clean off while the man was still alive.
Levina had no particular taste for the gruesome. She clicked her tongue at the sight.
Maybe ten minutes passed. The slaughter unfolding in the heart of the capital finally drew them in — the Sword Saint, dignitaries whose presence made no sense, knight orders, priests, Academy professors. They descended on Estelle as if avenging their own children.
At that point, a sensible person would have fled.
The Saintess acted like someone who'd already chosen where she meant to die.
Dozens of blades, arrows, and spells pierced her body. She clutched at her spilling intestines, and the sight was almost laughable. She'd called Levina a rag, and now her body was literally in tatters. A faint smile tugged at the corner of Levina's mouth.
Stupid woman.
From the gutter to sainthood by luck alone. That was why she understood nothing of how the world worked. A goddamn fool who'd never learned a thing, riding on raw power alone.
If not for that woman, Ravin would still be alive.
If not for that woman, Ravin would be staying in the annex by now.
She'd heard that before he died, he'd called out for her. Called for his noona. At the very end, he'd called for family. He'd spoken Estelle's name too, but that was hardly the point.
That woman had killed him.
Estelle fell — slowly, so very slowly. She'd faced a swarm of the strong alone and never once looked cowed. She was smiling. A brilliant, luminous smile. And her eyes weren't on the enemies in front of her.
She was staring blankly at the empty air, speaking to someone.
Staring at someone no one else could see.
And why, in that moment, did she look so beautiful?
Her lips moved, murmuring something. Calling Ravin's name, most likely.
Levina didn't stay to watch her die. She would be dead soon enough anyway. Perhaps the priests who sang hymns about protecting the Saintess would gather in time to heal her.
Levina turned away, and a ghost of a smile flickered at her lips before vanishing.
This game was growing tiresome.
She turned her steps toward the family estate. The manor had always felt like sanctuary — a quiet space perfectly sealed against the noise of the world. Lately, even that comfort had deserted her. More so since Ravin had gone.
Had the boy truly occupied so much space inside her?
She'd known he was precious. But had he lodged himself this deep?
She didn't know. It felt less like a hole in her heart and more like something inside her had rotted away and scattered on the wind. Every line in those novels felt like a lie now.
Dinnertime.
Three people sat at the vast table: her father, her mother, and Levina. The first meal they'd shared since Ravin's death.
An empty chair kept its vigil.
The servants brought out dish after dish. She tasted nothing. Chewed and swallowed by rote.
In the silence, the clink of cutlery cut sharp.
Her mother broke first.
"The capital has been so noisy lately. Still, what a blessing that wretched brute is dead. Don't you think so, Levina?"
Her voice was buoyant. She spoke as if addressing Father, but her gaze was fixed on Levina.
"It feels as if peace has finally come to this house. While that vulgar woman's child was alive, I never had a moment's comfort."
Levina's mother believed Ravin's mother had stolen her husband's love. As far as Levina could tell, that love had never belonged to her mother in the first place. The hatred she bore Ravin was too extreme for that single reason — and sometimes, it almost seemed laced with fear.
"If not for that child, everything would have been perfect. Our family. Your father. Even you. What house takes in a bastard and raises him in the main building? Finally, everything is as it should be."
Father stared down at his soup bowl and spoke quietly.
"Wife."
He seemed to be struggling to accept that his beloved son had died that way. He blamed Levina and his lawful wife fiercely, but this wasn't a situation where he could show it openly.
"Yes."
"......"
"That child — Ravin had it coming — "
Father looked at her, and Mother clenched her teeth as she continued, voice barely above a whisper.
Clink.
Levina set down her fork. The metal rang sharp against the plate.
Her mother's words halted mid-breath.
"Shut your mouth."
Levina's voice was quiet and low. It was enough to freeze the air above the table solid.
"...What did you just say to me?"
Her mother's expression was pure disbelief. Her face hardened. In all her years, she'd never heard such words from her obedient daughter.
Instead of answering, Levina raised her wineglass and emptied it in one swallow. A pulse throbbed at her temple. The image surfaced: a woman knight with a hole in her stomach, a commoner whose head was ripped off while fighting Estelle.
A fleeting thought crossed her mind — had it been right to say those things to Estelle? Then it dulled, and all of it felt meaningless.
"I said shut your mouth."
"It seems you've forgotten who put you in that seat."
Her mother's voice dropped. Her face flushed with fury.
"If not for me, you wouldn't be playing Heir Apparent right now. Inheriting this family — all of it! After everything I did to raise you, how dare you speak to me this way?"
She raised her voice, as if to reassert that she was the mistress of this house and Levina's mother.
"That child with tainted blood never should have set foot in this home. Your father insisted, so I had no choice but to accept it, and what was the result? He overstepped his place, ran wild, and died the death he deserved. And you dare to — "
Levina met her mother's eyes.
Her voice remained calm.
"Mother."
"There's a curious pattern among the wives of House Edelgard. So many of them seem to grow overly fond of port, lose their footing on the terrace, and depart this world."
Her mother's mouth fell open. No sound emerged. The color drained from her face.
Levina looked away. Now she gazed only at her empty plate.
"Levina."
Her father spoke at last, voice low.
"I'll excuse myself first."
No one stopped her. Levina walked out of the dining room without a backward glance.
Back in her study, she pulled open a drawer. Inside lay a hairpin — a simple thing with a small, cheap gemstone. Ravin had bought it for her as a child, after hearing from his fiancée what kind of gift Levina might like.
Levina held it for a long time, then gathered back the front of her hair and pinned it neatly in place. A crude, worthless trinket a child might afford with saved pocket money — but it was something Ravin had given her. The reflection in the mirror looked like a stranger.
From deeper inside the drawer she withdrew an object wrapped in black velvet. She placed it on the desk and unfolded the cloth.
Ravin's right hand lay there, fingers still clenched tight around a revolver. A skilled mage had preserved it. Not even the warmth had faded. It could have been the hand of a man who'd been alive moments ago.
Levina cradled his rough hand, kneading it gently with her fingers. Calluses and old scars mapped the skin. She opened the cylinder. Two of the six chambers held bullets.
Something flickered behind her eyes — she didn't know why.
An afterimage of Ravin aiming this gun at himself.
A vision she couldn't separate from memory or imagination passed across her gaze. Then Estelle's face swam up — Estelle, staring at something unseen, radiant and terrible.
Another illusion layered over it. Ravin pressing the barrel of the revolver to his own head and pulling the trigger. The shot, the burst, the horror.
Herself, cradling Ravin as he fell backward, kneeling there blankly for an endless stretch.
What had she felt?
She didn't know. Only afterimages remained.
Reality or not, after the vision passed, Levina found herself gripping Ravin's hand. She brought the cold muzzle to rest between her own brows.
First trigger pull.
She shut her eyes tight.
Click.
Nothing happened. Mechanical noise alone fractured the silence.
Second pull. She closed her eyes again.
Click.
Still nothing.
She drew a slow breath and tightened her finger again, flinching.
Third pull.
Bang.
The round discharged. Her body jerked, a violent shudder, and the strength bled from her shoulders. She sagged slowly against the back of the chair.
A red flower bloomed across the wall behind her. Blood spilled from between her brows and trickled down her cheek. Her head dropped forward, and blood pattered onto the desk in thick drops.
The Heir Apparent of Edelgard, eyes still open, clutched Ravin's hand in both of hers as if it were the most precious thing she'd ever held.