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misakisakuya · 1 month ago

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Just kill me why don't you? I loved it

illusion

Part 2

The days passed like a faded shadow of a time that was once alive, spinning rapidly without form, while he stood still — a stranger on the margins of life. No one noticed the dimming light creeping into his eyes, nor did anyone sense the heavy silence that had settled over his soul.

The absence of his aunt, who had always possessed the ability to read him like an open book without a word, made everything harsher. She was the only one who truly saw him, but now she rests in the city of the dead, after things had finally calmed. She deserved peace, and so he didn’t burden her with what he considered his trivial troubles.

As for Cale… the one who used to intrude into his world without permission, disturbing his false calm — he had vanished too. His visits ceased, his voice faded from the hallways, as if they had never met at all.

Cale — despite everything he had done — was still someone Alberu appreciated and understood the value of his lazy life, the one he had always wanted… and finally obtained.

And so… Alberu was left alone, consumed by emptiness, swallowed by silence, in a room that had become too small for his soul, despite the vastness of its walls.

To him, all days became the same — dragging themselves heavily before him, passing without color or taste, as if time itself had lost its desire to change.

He no longer cared about what was happening around him; indifference had become his only cloak, and emptiness lived in his heart like a permanent guest.

For someone who had spent his life hiding behind a mask of lies, it wasn’t hard to keep pretending to care about things that meant nothing.

Once, there was a child who dreamed of the throne — who dreamed of becoming a king that would lead the kingdom to glory.

What he had once dreamed of—what he had spent his life longing to attain—the throne of the kingdom, no longer stirred anything in him except a crushing weight.

The dream had become a burden, pressing down on his weary soul, reminding him with every passing moment that this was what he had wanted so desperately… and yet now, it was something far beyond what his exhausted spirit could endure.

And now… he was crumbling, slowly, unseen by anyone.

The nobles’ problems no longer concerned him. He no longer sought to please them, nor even to understand them. Their daily whims were no longer worth a glance.

He now saw value in the simplest things — his people sleeping in peace, their bellies full, their homes safe — and to him, that alone was proof enough that things were still okay. And that, now, was enough for him.

But inside, he was not okay. Exhaustion consumed him from all sides, and emptiness stretched within him like an endless desert.

He lived each day as if fulfilling a duty, nothing more — smiling when asked to, speaking when required — while in truth… he was fading, slowly, into nothingness.

He had stopped dreaming long ago.

He learned to live each day as nothing more than a duty, hiding his disappointment in silence, breathing with the heaviness of a man who realized too late that what he had fought for wasn’t what he truly needed.

It wasn’t the thing that could fill the void in his heart.

All he wanted now — all he had come to understand he truly needed —

was not a crown, nor power, nor answers to his old questions.

But a warm, sincere embrace — one that held him without question, without the need for explanations or justifications.

A place where he could cry without shame, collapse without being told to stay strong,

where he could pour out all his pain — all at once — onto a chest that wouldn’t turn away,

onto someone who would understand him even without words.

He was exhausted from pretending, worn down by the weight he carried on his shoulders.

And now… he was no longer searching for solutions.

All he longed for was warmth — just a hand gently resting on his head, whispering, "It’s been hard, hasn’t it?"

And yet, he walked on like a drowning man who had grown so used to pain that he mistook it for normal, while his mind screamed in a silence no one could hear.

The exhaustion within him wasn’t something a good night’s sleep or a cup of hot coffee could cure.

It was the kind of fatigue that settled deep in the bones, crept into the chest, and pressed down on the heart like a heavy stone.

His weariness was too deep to put into words, too heavy to bear.

And for the first time, he no longer trusted his own ability to endure…

He didn’t know how much longer he could hold on before he completely broke.

He could no longer stop.

Tasks piled up and drowned him, kept him busy, pulling him further and further away from that room.

And the farther he got, the more his fear and panic grew.

It wasn’t the fear of breaking down, or of being unable to give anymore—

but something else entirely… something in that room.

He was terrified of the thought that it might disappear.

That room — the one that showed him an illusion he didn’t truly possess —

his mother’s face, the warmth of her presence —

had become his only refuge, the only place that could, even temporarily, quiet the pain in his chest,

even if it was a lie.

He knew deep down she wasn’t really there,

that what he saw was nothing more than an image conjured by his weary mind.

But it was the only lie that gave him something close to peace.

And every time he was forced to stay away from it,

his fear grew — that he would return and find it gone,

that reality would swallow it up,

just as it always swallowed everything he loved.

He stuffed his mind with lists, correspondences, and reports, yet his thoughts always returned to her…

back to that room,

where the one person he truly missed still waited for him.

That thought gave him a false sense of comfort, a fleeting warmth he clung to in the midst of a storm of cold.

It wasn’t real warmth—

but it was enough to keep him standing.

He knew—deep down—

that his attachment to it was like trying to hold sand in his hands:

the tighter he gripped, the faster it slipped through his fingers.

He understood that the illusion would eventually collapse,

that the room wouldn’t last forever.

Life had taught him that in the cruelest of ways.

And that face — smiling at him from the depths of memory —

would, one day, fade into nothing.

And yet, he kept pushing—

as if some part of him wanted to hasten the loss,

to lose her quickly rather than live on the edge of a loss merely postponed.

Clinging to her wasn’t born of hope,

but of despair itself—

of that mad urge to hold onto what he knew was fading,

just because it gave him one fleeting moment of feeling alive.

He still clung to a fragile belief…

that when things became too dangerous, he would pull back.

But he was a fool.

A fool who thought death hadn’t come for him yet,

who believed he’d be able to walk away at just the right moment.

But deep down, he knew—

these were nothing but illusions,

flimsy justifications his mind created to bring logic to the inexplicable.

He felt it clearly,

after spending just a few days inside that room.

Something was being torn from his soul each time—

piece by piece—

as if his very being was quietly unraveling.

Each day spent there emptied him more,

leaving him nothing but a fragile shell.

He pretended to stand strong,

mastering the role of the unshaken,

but inside, he was collapsing.

And yet, he didn’t care.

He didn’t pull back. He pushed forward,

as if pain itself had become a means of getting closer.

Only to see her…

only to catch a glimpse of his mother,

even if it was just the ghost of an illusion.

If the price was his life,

he was ready to pay it,

just to remain with her.

Willing to lose everything within him,

just to stay near her for one moment longer.

And still, his mind screamed at him,

warning him before they both fell into the abyss:

Wake up.

You are deluding yourself.

Alberu, you no longer know the difference between reality and illusion.

You’re living in a world of fantasies now, where everything is distorted and wrapped in lies.

But even with those screams echoing in his mind, he refused to listen.

Deep down, he knew what he was seeing wasn’t real, but he was a greedy being.

There was something deep inside him,

something that made the illusions a refuge,

better than the endless emptiness that stretched before him.

And the truth...

the truth was too harsh for him to face.

Losing her, losing everything else he thought he possessed.

So he had no choice but to live in this fantasy,

even knowing, with each passing moment,

that he was sinking deeper into it.

Because, until the end, he was greedy.

But everything collapsed in seconds… the moment he entered the room.

That was when they arrived suddenly: Raon, On, and Hong.

They were Cale’s three children, who had missed seeing him, and he had missed them too.

They were still young, having suffered and been forced to grow up too quickly.

He wanted to tell them that everything was fine, but he couldn’t even convince himself of that.

So, he watched them grow, becoming more amazing with each passing day.

They deserved all the love in the world.

They had missed him so much — and they had missed the cookies he used to give them with a warm smile.

They surprised him with their sudden entrance, demanding that he join them for a walk.

Raon spoke excitedly as he landed on his head.

"I’ve missed you so much, crown prince !"

As Hong quickly walked towards Alberu to hug him, he said excitedly, "I’ve missed you too, Your Highness!"

Meanwhile, On simply sighed, a quiet smile tugging at her lips as she said softly, yet with a clear tone of joy, "The Crown Prince is no longer... he is now the Emperor."

In that moment, Alberu felt something strange stir in his heart, a mix of astonishment and longing. The change was so great, as if those childish faces reminded him of everything he had lost in his pursuit of power.

At that moment, Alberu stared around the room with confused eyes, instinctively searching for the one who had always been there with the children... but Cale wasn’t there.

He whispered in a barely audible voice, "Where’s Cale?"

The children answered in unison, as if they had agreed beforehand:

"He’s still asleep, lazing around as usual."

Alberu could only sigh, a sigh that carried a hint of nostalgia and a touch of surrender.

He knew that resisting their wish was futile, especially when their laughter and pure voices surrounded his solitude, softening its grip on him.

So he smiled, despite the weight of exhaustion pressing on his heart, and gave in to their request.

It was as if, without realizing it, they had pulled him out of the shadows of the room that had begun to suffocate him.

In that moment, the children eagerly dragged him along with their irresistible childlike enthusiasm.

Their hands clung to his robe as if afraid he might pull away,

and they pulled him with them, out of the room, out of the palace,

away from everything he had come to know—

the monotony and the loneliness.

They ran and laughed, while he simply watched them in silence. His steps were heavy at first, but then lightened without him even realizing.

They moved away from the high walls of the palace, walls that suddenly felt like cages.

Eventually, they reached a small garden outside the capital, hidden among the trees, a place no one visited except those who truly knew it.

There, beneath the shade of an old cherry tree, they finally stopped.

On sat on the grass, pulling out some sketches she had been working on, while Hong and Raon began racing to pick wildflowers.

As for Alberu, he stood in the middle, watching them...

feeling something strange creeping into his chest.

Perhaps it was warmth.

Perhaps it was something like life.

They sat there on the grass, enjoying the meal that Beacrox had specially prepared at the children's request.

The scent of fresh bread and seasoned meat filled the air, blending with their pure, childlike laughter.

They chattered enthusiastically about everything that had happened while he was gone, as if they were trying to fill the void with words.

Raon told how Choi Han had burned the kitchen three times, and how Beacrox had punished him by denying him sweets for a week.

Then On spoke about their recent training sessions with Ron.

Raon boasted about learning some of the secrets of ancient magic from Eruhaben, waving a small wand in his hands in his human form.

As for Alberu, he smiled sometimes, murmured in agreement at times, but his eyes weren’t really there.

He listened, his body present, but his mind fragmented, lost in the fog of his thoughts.

It was as if only half of him was sitting with them under the sun, while the other half remained stuck there... in that room, at the doorways of illusion.

The cheers, the laughter, the breeze, the food... all of it felt like it was happening from a great distance, far, far away.

Yet, despite his absence, he didn’t push them away.

Their presence sparked something still in his heart, as if it tethered him to life by a thin thread, one he hadn’t severed yet.

He struggled to focus and pay attention to what they were trying to say.

It was as if the words floated in the air around him, never settling in his mind.

Each sentence reached him late, broken, as if it were being translated from a strange language into a half-asleep consciousness.

And yet, he managed to grasp some meanings... He caught the name Choi Han, something about the kitchen, and the sound of Raon shouting the word "Magic!"

He didn’t understand the details, but the joy on their faces was clearer than anything else.

He didn’t need to understand everything they were saying; just their presence was enough to keep him clinging to a simple thread of feeling—neither sadness nor joy, but something closer to temporary comfort.

A blurry comfort, yet real enough to make him stay there, amidst their laughter.

On finally noticed something she could no longer ignore.

The dark circles under his eyes were undeniable, and his eyes—despite his physical presence among the children—swam in a distant place, as if they were gazing at something unseen.

He seemed to be listening, but in truth, he wasn’t really there.

His mind was muddled, absent... as if his body had decided to join them, while his soul remained somewhere else.

She hesitated for a moment, then whispered softly,

"Are you alright, Your Emperor?"

He didn’t answer.

It wasn’t out of disregard, but because he didn’t even hear the question.

She asked again, this time with a firmer tone, but still, no response came.

So she stepped closer, placed her hand gently on his shoulder, then shook him softly, her eyes filled with concern:

"Are you alright?"

It was as if, in that moment, she pulled him out of the whirlwind of his silence.

Alberu blinked several times, then finally spoke in a hoarse voice, mixed with a sense of detachment:

"Yes... I’m fine. Sorry."

But On didn’t believe him.

She looked at him with small but sharp eyes, betraying what he didn’t want to say.

At that moment, Raon and Hong also noticed something wasn’t quite right.

They saw the dark circles, the exhaustion in his features, and the untouched plate in front of him.

Even his laughter, which came intermittently, sounded hollow, as if it didn’t belong to him.

The children were sharp—after all, they were cale's kids.

Despite their young ages, they knew how to read what wasn’t said and feel what the adults hid beneath their masks of silence and pretense.

They saw the exhaustion in his eyes, felt the tremor in his voice, and sensed his absence despite his presence among them.

But they didn’t press him.

They didn’t ask again, nor did they insist on answers.

Instead, they just exchanged a silent glance, one that spoke volumes without words.

"When we get back, we’ll tell Cale."

Only cale could reach him because, despite all his titles, Alberu was their father’s hyung.

And they knew he loved them, that he wouldn’t hurt them, but perhaps he was hurting himself in silence.

So they decided to pretend that everything was fine.

They laughed, played, continued their conversation as if nothing had changed, as if they hadn’t seen anything.

But they had seen.

And they saw it clearly.

They carried within them the sharp observation they had inherited from their father, and a tender heart nurtured by Alberu’s kindness.

So, they continued to pretend... Pretended they hadn’t noticed the weariness in his voice, the emptiness in his gaze, or the pain that lingered behind his smile.

They laughed and played until the end, giving him a false sense of calm, as if they wanted to protect him in their own way.

And he, too, kept up with them, as if the collective game had begun, and none of them had the courage to break it.

When the outing ended, everything returned to how it had started... gently.

They bid him farewell with hugs and smiles, then headed back to the Super Rock Villa, while behind them, Alberu’s steps led him back to the palace.

To the long corridors, the piled-up papers, and the endless orders.

He returned to his duties, as if nothing had happened, as if they hadn’t been the only threads momentarily tying him to life.

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