Chapter 100: The Ghost Of Guilt
"Ivan."
Lydia’s voice was soft, almost like a whisper.
She called him again, a little louder this time. "Ivan... Ivan."
Still nothing.
He was right there—sitting across from her, barely a few feet away—but it felt like he wasn’t. Like he wasn’t even in the room.
He had stopped moving. His wine glass stayed frozen mid-air. His eyes were wide but unfocused, staring into nothing.
"Ivan?" Lydia tried again. Her voice trembled now. Her heart had started to race. She was starting to get scared.
But Ivan didn’t hear her.
Because in his mind, he wasn’t here anymore.
He was sixteen again.
Standing in the palace hallway, sword in his hand. Blood on the floors, on the walls, on his clothes. The screams had been endless. They had filled every inch of the air until there was no room left for anything else. He had felt nothing at the time—just rage. Just a burning fury that tore through his chest like wildfire. Servants had screamed for help. Guards had begged for mercy. Some had run. Some had fought. None had survived.
He remembered their faces.