Chapter 136

Horne lay on the bed and could only see the mottled, crumbling ceiling above him. He rolled over, found the firelight too glaring, turned his back to it, then felt the crackling of the flames too distracting. In the end, he got up, opened the door, and went outside.

The snowy night was colder than imagined. Only by wrapping himself in both clothes and blanket did he gradually feel the warmth building up in his body.

The protruding eaves blocked the drifting snow. Horne leaned against the wall, hugged his knees, rested his head on his arms, and let his eyelashes droop, half-opening and half-closing his eyes.

Although most of their lives had been spent in winter, nights like this with swirling heavy snow were rare. The pale expanse stretched endlessly, the horizon blurred, heaven and earth merged into one, making it nearly impossible to distinguish boundaries.

He sat there alone, with not even the sound of wind in his ears, only silence. The entire world seemed wrapped in slow-motion time, every movement sluggish, every breath subdued. Drip-drop, drip-drop, growing slower and slower.

A very faint sound of a door opening came, but Horne did not lift his eyes.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Horne did not want to answer. Hels simply came out and sat beside him.

Ever since that emotional outburst like a volcanic eruption, Horne had not completely rejected Hels again, but he had not engaged much with him beyond the topic of “all humanity” either. He still could not delve into it deeply. Whenever the word “Aliens” appeared in his mind, a pain like claws seizing his nerves would shred his sanity.

He kept thinking about the moment Yaro died right before his eyes, and about the shock after surviving the war, only to hear of Al’s obituary. These emotions buried deep in his flesh could not be excised, so he had no way to deconstruct love and hate from the same person’s body. He knew he hated, and he knew he loved.

The two sat like that, watching the ground roll in the distance, occasionally forming a three-dimensional, flowing wall of mist. It was as if the world were merely a beautiful yet dead silent remnant of the universe, with a few rays from undying stars in the debris, creating auroras that seemed within reach when people looked up.

Green auroras fell on the snow, growing a lonely tree.

“In the snowfields at the extreme north of Siberia, there’s a tree called ‘Mira’s Tree’.” Hels suddenly spoke, his voice low. In this temperature and pressure, it seemed right by the ear, the only note in the vastness.

Horne’s gaze flickered for a moment, then quickly turned away, maintaining his dazed expression.

“That tree stands year after year in the depths of the snowfield, day after day, year after year, constantly withering, constantly sprouting new buds.

“Even the gods could not remember how long it had waited there. Finally, one day, a god asked it: Why do you wither again and again, only to return again and again? Are you waiting for someone?

“The tree answered: Waiting for a departed soul.”

Horne did not respond or interrupt. He stared into the distance, listening to Hels recite the tale in a gentle tone.

“So the god told it: Your loyalty is meaningless. It has vanished, yet you imprison yourself.

“The tree said: Death is not disappearance. Death is the wind and snow of this moment, the flowers of tomorrow, the stars of the day after. Death and life are the same cycle, each part of the other, so my choice is not imprisonment—it is freedom.

“Then the god left, and the tree remained forever unchanged.”

After Hels finished, Horne still showed little reaction.

Hels did not mind and continued, “This was a Slavic myth Mikaila told me when we were young. She said Milo was Slavic and wanted to understand everything about him, so she always delved into his background.”

Horne frowned slightly, then relaxed immediately.

There was no such Slavic myth.

“But Mikaila told me this story because that day I asked her: Since she was an Alien, did that mean I wouldn’t have to face ‘death and separation’? But human lifespans are so short—everyone has to experience their own death and others’. It’s too painful. So I told her I would never fall in love with any human like she did.”

Hels smiled as he said this.

Horne lowered his eyelashes and let out an untimely “Mm.”

Hels sighed deeply, somewhat helplessly. “In the end, Mikaila said I thought of death too narrowly, assuming the body’s demise was the end of existence. But life and death are like breathing—we die and live anew every moment. Let the loved one live in your heart, in every step you take forward.”

Snow surged across the ground like a white tide crashing into their faces. Horne shivered. He glanced sideways at Hels, who had not even wrapped himself in a blanket, frowned, pulled his own tighter, and pushed him through the padding.

Hels looked puzzled. “Hm?”

Horne spat out a single icy word: “Cold.”

The two huddled together under the blanket, keeping some distance between them.

Horne was silent for a long time before asking, “Why tell me this all of a sudden?”

Hels turned his head to look at him. “I wanted to talk to you. Wanted it badly.”

“Oh.”

Silence again.

Half the low sky scattered with heavy snow, half the high sky rippled with auroras, layers of waves cascading down together.

Just as Hels thought he would get no response from Horne, Horne suddenly spoke: “Do you think you’ve done what your mother said?”

Hels paused, then realized. He smiled and said, “Do you care whether I have or not?”

Horne lowered his eyelids. Hels pressed, “Are you asking because you want me to have done it, or because you don’t?”

Let the loved one live in your heart. When he had built that snow castle with Horne at the North City Gate of Loch City and placed Horne inside, he knew that what Mikaila said was all just wind to him—gone as soon as it passed.

That wind that passed brought a snowball smacking right into Hels’s face with no warning. Pa!

Pa!

Snow hit Hels on the head.

One, two… no gaps, no mercy.

Hels ran ahead, dodging snowballs while quickly grabbing handfuls of snow from the ground to throw back. His arcs passed over Horne and fell behind, only to be met by a barrage of snowballs from Horne, forcing him to keep running forward.

Flames ignited in Horne’s chest, burning a dragon of fire across the snowfield, turning snowballs into a prairie fire.

Anger.

Pa!

Pa!

Shame.

Pa!

Pa!

Snowballs kept landing on Hels’s back, shoulders, and head, white flakes exploding everywhere.

Hels could not keep up, retreating repeatedly. He dodged sideways with a hidden smile, then pretended not to yield, turning to counterattack.

“Asshole!” Horne cursed loudly, panting.

Hels’s distant voice came from ahead, full of agreement. “Yeah, yeah, I’m an asshole. So what? You can’t catch me anyway.”

Footprints crisscrossed the icy snow, flakes drifting between the two as they chased. Horne was determined to smash Hels, but though Hels’s attacks were mild, he always kept a distance.

The fire in Horne’s heart grew fiercer. The angrier he got, the more ferociously he wanted to shove Hels into the snow.

Snowballs turned into bullets, sending Hels scattering in retreat.

“Hey, no need to go so hard! Trying to kill me?!” Hels shouted laughingly.

Horne gnashed his teeth. Far from just killing—he wanted to kill Hels ten thousand times. All his aggression turned into snowballs in his hands, substituting for the trigger he could not pull, firing wildly.

“Asshole! Stop!”

“No way!”

The two figures ran desperately like that, dashing through flowing auroras, leaping over snowdrifts. Snow pelted their faces, blocking vision, covering hair, landing on shoulders.

That night’s snow was intense, as if only thus could it suppress all the obsessions in their hearts.

The chase drew closer—more exhausting than killing Aliens. Hels was already covered in snow from Horne’s throws. If snowballs were real bullets, he would be riddled with holes.

The auroras shifted from green to pink. As Hels ran, he looked up and gradually slowed.

Horne never let up for a second. Finally, in the vast white cold, he saw that figure and lunged forward.

The two tumbled to the ground together, then rolled embracing down a slope, crashing headfirst into soft snow.

The snow stopped.

Hands struggled out from the snow. Hels coughed twice, choked. Just as he caught his breath, another handful of snow fell from above, burying him again—

Horne might really have wanted to bury him there, as if that snowy night had never pulled him out.

Snow piled on their clothes. Horne’s nails dug into Hels’s throat, his legs straddling and pinning Hels’s waist. He got his wish, pressing the asshole into the snow.

Horne’s chest heaved, his gaze sharp. Wet hair hung from both sides of his face in tangles, with white flecks at the tips.

Cough, cough. Hels kept coughing.

Remembering his condition, Horne finally stopped, hurriedly digging away the snow covering Hels’s head, then froze.

Both panted, their breaths dispersing in the depths of the snowfield, at the end of time.

Hels was exhausted too, his body not recovered. He let Horne restrain him. Looking up from below, after a long while, he slowly reached out. His fingertips gently brushed aside the strands hanging over Horne’s forehead, tucking them behind his ear, then trailed along the ends, lightly caressing his face.

No words, no pulling away. Urgent breaths beat against each other’s faces and necks.

Horne stared into Hels’s eyes. Hels gazed back, those eyes holding only his usual gentleness and smile.

His heartbeat slowed.

The night grew colder, but their breaths grew hotter, the warmth spreading to their eyes, turning their gazes scorching.

“Horne.” Hels’s lips brushed lightly as he murmured his name.

The voice was so close, barely needing volume—a few breathy sounds fluttered back and forth by Horne’s ear.

Horne held his breath, then said coldly, “Shut up. Who said you could call me?”

Hels lowered his eyelids, looking at Horne’s slightly parted lips, his reddened nose tip, his ice-blue eyes, and his own reflection in the pupils.

“Horne.” Hels called again, his voice even softer.

With no resistance from Horne, Hels murmured as if to himself, “If tomorrow is the end of the world, no salvation possible, and we lose everything—what would you want to do now?”

His fingers slowly caressed Horne’s skin.

“Tomorrow won’t be the end of the world. I won’t lose anything.” Horne answered quickly, indifferently.

Hels acted as if he had not heard, staring entranced at the strands by Horne’s ear, continuing slowly, “If there’s nothing tomorrow, right now… I want to kiss you.”

Horne’s whole body stiffened for an instant. Just as he was about to rise, Hels already cradled his head and pressed him down. Horne hadn’t expected it, so his arms suddenly went slack, his body sank, and their lips met.

With a soft hum, his breathing quickened again. Horne tried to push him away with slight force, but Hels pinned his hands, denying him the chance. Instead, Hels pressed him down even harder.

Their lips sealed tightly, and Hels’s tongue tip swiftly probed inside.

Horne’s mind buzzed blankly.

It had never happened before. Hels had never acted so dominantly, as if all his previous restraint and gentleness toward Horne had been fake. Only the wild stirring of the tongue remained, plundering freely.

Horne’s clenched teeth were pried open bit by bit. The soft, wet heat quickly swept across his teeth before entwining with his own tongue in a passionate dance. The more Horne retreated, the deeper the kiss pursued.

In the end, Horne gave up. He closed his eyes, his hands slowly loosening before bracing on either side of his body. They gradually moved upward, fingers threading into Hels’s hair. He parted his lips slightly, allowing the raging storm to invade without restraint.

He felt that he and Hels were the same—they both wanted to be each other’s selfish possessors. At least here, no one would judge his betrayal.

Snowflakes chilled their lips, but they soon melted into the scorching deep kiss. In that moment, amid the vast universe, there was only this kiss, this embrace, and these entwined figures.

20:59

The numbers on the Obelisk changed once more.