#1. Idren
2023.12.01.
What Idren Yggdrasil wanted was only one thing: love.
She was a wife who came from afar. Ophelia Mebasa, daughter of King Dares Mebasa of Reden, was different from him by bloodline alone.
Idren was an illegitimate child of the Duke, while Ophelia was a princess born with rightful succession.
If he had not personally killed his father and brothers, and if he had not become the Duke of Aglante, he wouldn’t even have dared to propose to her.
Besides that, there were countless differences between Ophelia and him. He had black hair, a proof of his illegitimacy, while Ophelia had silver hair, the symbol of the royal family.
He had nothing left but Aglante, so he cared for that land like his own body, but Ophelia had no interest in Aglante or anything of his.
Yet, among all these differences, the clearest one was set.
Idren wanted her, but Ophelia did not.
It was clear from the very first day of their marriage.
On the night of the wedding ceremony, Ophelia sat on the bed. Her blue eyes, slightly shadowed by candlelight, blinked slowly.
Those eyes were like a night sky without a single star—he could see himself reflected there, but that was all. They contained nothing else: no kindness, no curiosity, not even hostility.
Because of that, Idren had to make excuses before kissing her.
Sitting beside Ophelia, he muttered that although they were married, if she hated it, he wouldn’t force intimacy. He said they could pretend to have consummated the marriage at dawn to save face.
That pitiful excuse on the very first night was met with a careless reply.
“There’s no need for that.”
Ophelia told him to do as he wished.
So Idren kissed her very cautiously. Ophelia did not push him away, and he took that as permission.
Idren still remembered the feelings he held that night countless times.
Maybe Ophelia also wanted to make this marriage work… maybe not as much as him, but perhaps she cared for him somewhat…
How foolish that was.
The reason Ophelia told him to do as he wished was simple: whether they consummated the marriage or not, their relationship wouldn’t change.
It was entirely his mistake to interpret that as meaning she was willing to at least try despite not loving him.
The cost of that delusion was high. For three hopeless years, Idren lived only trying to look good in her eyes.
After over a thousand days thrown into emptiness, he finally realized.
Ophelia’s eyes were not the sky, but the deep sea. She would never show him the sky.
She had buried him at the bottom of the ocean.
Realizing the truth, Idren began to wonder. Was what he was doing really love? Is love truly so pathetic, hopeless, and stubborn?
But before his doubts became certainty, he lost the chance to prove it.
Because around that time, Ophelia died.
It was a peaceful death.
One morning, Ophelia’s face at the moment of her last breath was as calm as someone who had entered a long rest. So much so that even the servant who helped her dress thought she was merely asleep.
When Idren learned the situation and went to Ophelia’s chamber, many people were there. Doctors and servants bustled about, and knights guarded the door, controlling entry.
Amid the commotion, Ophelia lay calmly on the bed. A faint flush remained on her cheeks and lips, and her pale, delicate hands rested quietly on her stomach.
At first, Idren thought she might be playing a prank.
Of course, he and Ophelia weren’t close enough to joke with each other, but she often caused trouble for others with nasty tricks.
Around that time, she was even playing pranks involving flower prices.
Knowing this, Idren almost grabbed her hand to check her temperature but mocked himself. Stupid. If you grab her hand now, you’re just proving that she can manipulate you at will.
Though he had rushed over when he heard she was unwell, Idren didn’t want to show he cared.
So he withdrew his outstretched hand and called her name.
“Ophelia.”
His voice was deliberately cold. Though not as cold as Ophelia, he had a knack for speaking icily when needed.
But Ophelia didn’t answer.
Anxiety rose from the silence.
Ophelia was always indifferent to him, but she never bore malice. Even if her actions often felt hostile, Idren knew that she never ignored or insulted him intentionally. She simply lacked the will.
So if she had heard him, she would have opened her eyes.
Idren parted his lips.
“Ophelia…?”
His voice, now stripped of coldness, was filled with confusion. He hurriedly took her hand resting on her stomach.
It was cold.
Ophelia drank a deadly poison. The poison, which could kill with a single sip, was called “Romance.” It was named for the flush that remained on the cheeks and lips of the dead for a day.
Because of this, the poison was popular among nobles — to show a beautiful appearance to those who would find the body.
The doctor said Ophelia probably sought that poison for the same reason.
Idren laughed bitterly upon hearing that. Romance? What kind of romance is there in ending one’s own life?
If it weren’t for his wife, he would have laughed at them freely.
But Idren couldn’t laugh at Ophelia. Though he could be angry or shed tears because of her, scorn never came.
So he said nothing, and time passed, regardless of his silence.
The incident happened on the one-month anniversary of Ophelia’s death.
He was rarely sober those days. During the day, he acted composed on the throne, but at night, he sought alcohol. Thanks to this, he discovered a drinking habit he hadn’t known before.
The habit wasn’t anything special — just twisting the ring on his finger. The large yellow gem set in the ring was passed down only in the Yggdrasil bloodline.
It was a ring called “Fragment of God” with a grandiose name “Kiss of Hope,” but Idren didn’t care for old stories. The only reason he fiddled with it was simply because it was on his hand.
That night, too, Idren was drunk, twisting the ring, staggering as he walked through the castle’s back garden.
The weather wasn’t good for a walk. The royal castle was in northern Aglante, and even ignoring geography, temperatures dropped at night anywhere.
But feeling suffocated and flushed, he couldn’t stay locked in his room. The alcohol made him more honest with his usual feelings.
He reached the small well at the center of the garden.
The gray well covered in red moss was said to have existed since the beginning of the Yggdrasil royal family.
Leaning against the cold stone, Idren pressed his temple. His head ached.
And the cause of this headache was one.
“…Ophelia.”
Looking down into the well, Idren muttered the name of the dead woman. Ophelia, Ophelia.
He couldn’t get past the fourth utterance before it became a complaint.
“Why did you do it?”
As if she were right in front of him, he poured out his frustration.
“What was so displeasing? What were you so unhappy about?”
He spoke as if the black hole was a channel to her.
His heart, bruised as black as the hole before him, spilled out easily. Realizing hot tears dropping from his eyes, Idren hurriedly breathed in. Pulling his head back slightly, he muttered, No, maybe it was just me you hated.
“You were displeased with everything I did… weren’t you?”
Otherwise, she wouldn’t have abandoned him without any warning.
Idren wiped his blurry eyes. To be shouting at a well over a dead person in the middle of the night — it was the worst.
Taking a deep breath, he spoke in a trembling voice.
“…I hate you now, too.”
But what changes even if you hate the dead?
Regaining his composure, Idren leaned again on the well. He looked at the ring in his hand. The yellow gem symbolizing the throne shone in the darkness.
What use was it all? Suddenly, such a thought crossed his mind.
Though he sat on the throne, he was as unhappy as when he was an illegitimate child of the Duke.
The one thing he truly wished for had not only slipped from his grasp but never even came close, and the person he believed would navigate the darkness with him had buried him deeper in the mire.
Yet the more ridiculous thing was that even now, he knew exactly what he wanted.
Knowing how miserably Ophelia left him, Idren still wanted to know why she died. He wanted to know what he did wrong to be abandoned.
It was then that the ring slipped.
As the thick ring fell into the darkness, Idren reached out instinctively. At almost the same moment, he realized he was falling into the black hole himself.
