Deon wiped the blood trailing down his cheek with the back of his hand, only for the cut to sting imdiately.
"Corrected?" he asked, though there were dozens of questions in his head right now. "What does that even an? And what even is all this?"
Yet, no answer ca as his chat was gone.
Hmmm...maybe it was a pre-recorded ssage. But still, who the hell is GraveyardArchivist? And how the hell can he intervene?
Before Deon could fully process the thought, the space around him started to sway, like a paused video suddenly deciding to continue.
The fire in the fireplace started moving again. Marcel, who was in the middle of getting up, continued his motion like nothing happened.
The spilled ink was still there. But now it looked normal. The patriarch stared at it for a mont before picking up the ruined letter.
Deon followed as Marcel walked toward the fireplace. For a mont, the man hesitated, but in the end...
He threw the letter in.
The paper caught quickly as black ink bubbled across the surface, corners curling inward. The Miracle Royale insignia darkened first, eaten by the flas until blackened bits of it remained.
Deon watched it burn. "So that’s why only scraps were left."
Marcel stood there until most of the letter had beco ash before returning to his desk. To Deon’s surprise, what he reached for next wasn’t his quill, but a small picture fra on the corner of the desk.
Deon hadn’t noticed it before, maybe because the fra had been turned away.
The patriarch picked it up gingerly, and without even having to guess, Deon already knew why he did so.
It was a picture of both him and a woman with dark blue hair, the sa shade as Elliot’s, in a lovely garden. She looked composed, with a gentle smile—yet for so reason, sothing about it disturbed Deon.
"Rosaline..." Marcel whispered, thumb brushing the edge of the fra. "You told this would happen."
"You would have called a coward," he whispered. "And you would have been right."
Deon looked from Marcel to Rosaline’s photograph, then toward the closed door Elliot had left through.
A sick father, absent mother, and neglected child...I think I’m starting to see the pattern here.
"Regret, huh..." Deon muttered.
The blue light suddenly flickered in his pocket again, prompting him to take out the [Playback] Card.
[Full Scene Recreation Ending.]
"What?"
The room suddenly stretched as dark wood blurred into long streaks. The fireplace sared into orange light. Marcel’s face, Rosaline’s picture, the burning scraps of the sixth letter—all of it began pulling away from him at once.
"Wait, I’m not done—!"
The last thing he saw was Marcel still holding the picture fra, staring at the woman with dark blue hair like an apology he had never sent.
Then the mory snapped.
And Deon was dragged backward into the dark.
***
FWOOOP!
Deon shot out from the fireplace, his body flying across the Master Office like a cannonball.
"Wha—?!"
Hana barely had ti to scream before Deon crashed straight into one of the red guest chairs.
BANG!
The chair tipped backward, and Deon went with it. Both of them slamd into the floor in a jumbled ss.
Then, Deon groaned from sowhere beneath the chair.
"...I hate this place."
Hana dropped beside him imdiately. "Deon!"
Jin nearly tripped over himself rushing forward. "Are you okay?!"
Vivian, whose chair had been right beside the crash zone, slowly opened one eye. "You’re back earlier than I thought?"
"What does that even an?"
"I dunno, I just thought you’d be kidnapped for longer."
Hana, unlike Vivian, looked like she was about three seconds away from shaking him by the shoulders. "Deon, stop talking and move the chair!"
Mina and Jin sprang into action, grabbing the edge of the chair and helping lift it off him. Deon pushed himself up with a groan, only to imdiately open up his earlier wound.
"Gghk—"
Hana’s eyes widened. "You’re hurt!"
He finally had the chance to look at his condition. His jacket had been torn across the shoulder and side, blood staining the fabric.
"Damn it...was my favorite jacket too."
But even as he said that, Deon’s eyes had already moved past Hana and toward the window leading outside.
The giant numbers still hung outside in the sky, pale and impossible beyond the glass.
[46:24:32]
"...Wait."
Hana had already lifted [Basic Heal], but stopped when she saw his expression. "What?"
Deon pushed himself up a little too fast when his wound stung again. "Ggh—damn it."
"Don’t move!" Hana snapped.
But Deon ignored her, eyes still locked on the tir. "It’s been an hour and a half already. Was I really gone for that long?"
Everyone in the room nodded their head in unison.
After a mont of scuffling and finally calming down, Deon managed to get everyone around. Hana was by his side, [Basic Heal] in hand as she closed so of the shallow wounds.
Vivian’s lazy smile from before had faded, replaced with a serious look he’d never seen her make before.
"...What happened?"
Deon leaned back, reaching into his pocket before pulling out the blue Card. Vivian’s eyes widened as she stared at it.
"That’s why you fell from first place..."
"HEY!"
"So...what does it do?"
Deon looked down at the Card between his fingers. The surface was now fully blank.
It’s on cooldown, huh? Hope not for long.
"It lets watch mories," he said after a mont.
Nami, who now looked a lot better thanks to Hana’s efforts, managed to get up and ask. "What kind of mories?"
"Scene recreations of an object," Deon pointed to the blackened scrap of paper. "I sort of traveled to the past and watched the missing scene...and then fought so kind of ink monster."
Everyone in the room blinked, but before they could ask, Deon changed the topic. "Whatever. Though I think there seems to be a the in this mansion. Maybe it could help us escape."
Vivian’s eyes narrowed. "And that is?"
"Regret."
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