FLNL 48

Chapter 48

There were only two living people who knew this truth—aside from Hyperion himself.

If such a “weakness” were to become known to the world, it was certain that someone would try to exploit it in any way possible.

Thus, Hyperion kept the truth a secret from everyone except two of his most trusted retainers.

The only time he showed himself to the world was during the biennial Rite of Prayer—but even then, he could simply order one of his retainers to wear a mask and act in his place.

Though his appearance changed drastically with each cycle of reincarnation—save for his golden eyes that shone like stars—this current life’s appearance was astonishingly similar to that of his very first life.

To the point that he even questioned whether he had somehow sired a descendant he didn’t remember.

…Was that why the regret weighed even heavier this time?

When Hyperion had fully regained the memories of his past lives, he silently lowered his head.

“You saved me, so now I’ll save you.”

He had spoken with a voice so resolute—as if his conviction were absolute—despite having no real power to back it up.

The image of young Adelstein, reaching out his hand to him, flickered in his mind like a mirage.

“Pointless…”

Hyperion tore his gaze away from the mirror and sneered coldly.

Drowning in regret was something he had done over and over again, for countless millennia.

Breaking out of his reverie wasn’t difficult. The first thing he did was contact the Magic Tower.

Once his memories returned, all his magical abilities came back too. Sending a message was as easy as breathing.

Hael Terzen rushed down from the tower upon being summoned and spun a plausible lie to Hyperion’s current guardians. The guardians, believing his story, handed over their young son without hesitation.

“They are your birth parents, after all. Shall I offer them some support?”

“No. That won’t be necessary.”

Hael had tentatively made the suggestion, but Hyperion refused to provide any aid.

They had barely raised the boy in the first place—neglect bordering on abandonment. In public opinion, they were practically the textbook definition of “trash parents.”

And so, life continued back at the Magic Tower—monotonous, tedious, and all too familiar.

“The flowers are blooming beautifully in the region.”

Tap.

Hyperion turned at the sound of something being set down by the window.

Droplets of water on the petals sparkled under the soft sunlight, and the lilac flowers in full bloom emitted a nostalgic scent.

“…Lilacs.”

“Ah, yes. Aren’t they pretty? I personally like lilies the most, but lilacs have their own charm. Now that I think of it, didn’t Lihail have a favorite flo—”

Hael had begun chattering, but Hyperion’s attention and gaze remained fixed on the bouquet.

“Thank you.”

The serene face of the one who had smiled so foolishly, nestled in his arms while he grumbled for them to shut up and stay still since death was approaching quickly.

“Thank you… For being with me in my final moments… Because of you, a life that seemed utterly fleeting and meaningless now has a death that wasn’t in vain.”

Hyperion had snapped back then—asking whether there even was such a thing as a meaningful death. He added that this one was a pathetic waste.

He had told him to take back the favor he’d asked for, even now.

Said he’d take revenge instead—against the ones who drove him to his death.

As if pleading.

“Thank you. If, and this really is a ‘what if’…”

And then, he had smiled.

Just like the lilacs he had once called the most beautiful, said he loved more than anything—fragile and fleeting, like he might fade away at any moment.

“If I hadn’t known your real name, and if I had dared to believe you were an ordinary human like me…”

His eyes, losing their light, slowly closed.

“Maybe… our relationship might have been a little…”

The whisper dissolved into the air, barely louder than a breath.

No more words followed.

“Even the flower’s meaning is romantic, you know? ‘First love’ and all that. I suddenly remembered my first love from, oh, 563 years ago… Wait, where are you going, Lord Ruar? Hey? Lord Ruar?”

He remembered the place where he had buried the dead.

Hyperion suddenly felt the urge to visit that place.

* * *

“So here I am…”

He had buried him where the lilacs bloomed in abundance.

A final resting place beside the flowers he loved so much, to tell him to rest now.

“What the hell is all this weird stuff growing here?”

Hyperion kicked aside a hawthorn tree and clenched his jaw.

Only about twenty years had passed… and yet, something felt terribly off—as if a sacred space had been defiled.

Wrapped in unfamiliar displeasure, Hyperion stepped into the forest.

He wanted to see how much had been ruined.

And there—

“Hic… h-hic… sniff…”

“…?”

He came upon a little girl sobbing miserably.

Suppressing his presence, Hyperion quietly observed the child.

…Did she lose her parents or something?

“Waaahhh….”

That was the first thought that came to mind—she looked like she was mourning a funeral.

So much for a quiet trip down memory lane. With an annoyed sigh, Hyperion turned to leave.

If not today, he could always come back tomorrow.

“Sniff, sob… waaaahhh…”

But the next day, he found the exact same scene.

…Was it a timing issue?

Maybe this was her designated crying schedule?

Feeling unusually tolerant, Hyperion came a few hours later the following day.

“…?!”

But this time, beneath the crimson glow of sunset, he found her sitting in silence, her face buried in her knees.

Hyperion was about to lose it.

Fine. Then let’s try coming even earlier.

“Waaaahhhhh!”

“…”

Same result.

At this point, was she even human? What if she was a forest spirit?

Maybe she just lived here year-round, 24/7.

“Ha.”

Hyperion sighed and deliberately made his presence known instead of concealing it.

“Hic!”

The rustle of leaves underfoot and a few leaves falling from above made the girl flinch and snap her head up.

Perched comfortably on a tree branch, Hyperion gazed down at her quivering lavender eyes.

…Ah, she had been crying so much, he hadn’t noticed before.

“Stop crying, kid.”

She looked just like a lilac.

Plop—

The girl stared, wide-eyed, as the boy—who seemed around her age—leapt effortlessly from the high, precarious branch that even an adult would struggle to climb.

“Every time I see you, you’re crying.”

Hyperion approached, bent down, and stared intently at her.

“…?”

The child trembled, clueless and afraid.

Hyperion, looking down at her, felt a sudden surge of curiosity and allowed it to sway him.

All his companions and retainers agreed—Hyperion was a ruthlessly cold man.

But maybe that wasn’t his true nature.

After all, he had taken up Adelstein’s feeble plea and chosen to protect him. That wasn’t something a cold and logical man would do.

…Maybe it was just that the crying was getting on his nerves.

Maya blinked in surprise as a hand gently ruffled her hair.

“Purple is the color created by a god in mourning… Perhaps that’s why you cry so much.”

Like a transcendent being who mercifully looked after the small and fragile, he thought this child was… pitiable.