Chapter 94. Hands of His

Crackle... Crackle...

The air was thick, a choking broth of heat and grit that seared the lungs with every rasping breath. It was no longer a place for air, but for ash. The vast, vaulted ceiling of the Grand Hall, once a breathtaking celestial map of gold leaf and lapis lazuli. Was now a yawning maw of blackened rafters. Some still clung to the stone walls like the scorched ribs of a colossal, burning beast. Light, the harsh, flickering glow of a dying sun, bled through the collapsed sections of the roof, painting the total destruction below in shades of violent orange and choking grey.

The marble floor, polished to a perfect mirror sheen for centuries, was now a treacherous carpet of debris.

Crumbled statues lay decapitated, their serene faces cracked and buried under drifts of smoldering tapestries. The great pillars that had once held up the sky were scorched black, their intricate carvings of the great dragon and the goddesses rendered into grotesque, weeping faces by the sheer intensity of the heat. A deep, groaning sound, like the death cry of a leviathan, shuddered through the hall, and another section of the far colonnade collapsed in a deafening shower of sparks and dust.

Slowly, through this terrifying vision of hell, distinct details began to resolve. The thick smoke settled just enough to reveal sharp shapes standing amidst the chaos, islands of stillness in a sea of ruin.

Miller and Prince Vadim stood opposite an older man dressed in ruined, luxurious clothing, who wore a fiercely haughty expression even while bound in heavy iron chains.

“Why don’t you rejoice? Finally, your people will be free of your tyranny,” Prince Vadim chuckled coldly. Handing a heavy executioner's sword over to Miller, he finished, “Any last words, King of Jin?”

Ptoo!

The older man spat a glob of blood onto the ruined marble floor. He looked up into Miller’s crimson eyes, a burst of unhinged, rattling laughter tearing from his throat.

“Ha! Death at the hands of a mermaid blooded bastard, is it?! You all can label me a tyrant, but you know what?” The fallen King's crazed eyes locked onto Miller as he hissed, “Those hands of yours... They are made only for bloodshed and death. They will never create a life.”

Swish-!

With the resounding whistle of the heavy blade cutting through the air, just as the King's head fell...

“Miller! Wake up!”

Francesca’s frantic voice shattered the nightmare, echoing loudly in his ears as she firmly pressed her warm hand against his cheek.

“Are you alright? Was it a nightmare?” she asked, her voice laced with worry as she gently wiped the cold sweat from his forehead with the edge of the bedsheet.

The pale moonlight filtered through the window, casting a soft, ethereal outline across her bare skin. Still trembling violently from the sheer emotional weight and terror of the dream, Miller dropped his head onto her shoulder and pulled her into a desperate, crushing embrace.

“I... I am so sorry,” he whispered into the dark. “What are you talking about?” Francesca separated, demanding an explanation from him.

“It has been more than a week since we received the news about my soul fracture... Miller, it is fine. Just like you told me.. there is a silver lining to everything... we just have to be willing to find it.” Francesca reached up, gently stroking the arms he had wrapped around her. She asked in a low, tender voice, “Or were those just hollow words?”

“They weren't,” Miller replied, burying his face in her silver hair and hugging her tightly from behind. The freezing winter wind invaded through the slightly open window, brushing a sharp chill against their bare skin. “It’s just... I feel so anxious. I am terrified that what the King of Jin said in his dying breaths might actually hold true. That I am not good for anything other than killing people, and enjoying it.”

It feels like the news hit him even harder than it did me, even though he tried so hard not to show it, Francesca thought, steeling her heart to be his pillar of support.

“Miller,” Francesca said softly. She held onto his strong arms and shifted slightly to press a comforting kiss to his skin. “Are you really saying that is all there is to you? Aren’t you working your hardest every single day to give the people under your rule a better life?”

“But it’s not the real me... I only try to be the perfect leader for my selfish reasons, not because I am genuinely a good natured person!” Miller replied, his voice cracking with raw, unfiltered pain.

Francesca let out a soft sigh, her grip on his hands tightening. “Even so, you are the one who actively makes the choice to do good. Be proud of that decision.”

A heavy, intimate silence settled over the bedroom. Miller didn't argue further; he simply continued to hold her securely in the dark. Finally, as the pale moonlight outside was completely swallowed by a passing winter cloud, he spoke again, his voice much calmer.

“Let’s get some sleep. Tomorrow is a massive day... The first artificial winter Moringa harvest and the full cable cart line test are to happen.”

Without another word, he gently pulled Francesca back down onto the pillows, pulling the heavy blankets over them as he closed his eyes to try and find some peace.

Francesca lay awake for a moment longer, looking out the window at the hidden moon.

It is these exact hands of his that so desperately tried to save my life, she thought inwardly, feeling the warmth of his arms around her. How could he ever say they are only meant for killing?