It was the hardest one to remember.

  Not because of the pain.

  But because, somewhere buried deep, Lysa almost mistook it for what they called kindness.

  Almost.

  But no.

  Baron Vexil had not been an executioner, nor a tormentor. He had not hurt her with hands or weapons.

  He hurt her with hope.

  And that... was even crueler.

  Lysa took a deep breath, her eyes still closed.

  And let the final memory return.

  Cycle 818 — Lysendar Estate, Null Wing

  After the failure at the House of Ethical Studies, Lysa was declared “mentally uninteresting” and placed in an experimental pilot program for “Zero re-education.”

  It was a project funded by “benevolent” nobles — an attempt to gain political favor by presenting mercy as progress.

  The main patron was Baron Vexil, heir to one of the Founding Houses — a cultured, affable man, with gentle eyes and a calm voice.

  “Welcome her kindly,” he said on Lysa’s arrival day. “Every life has value. You just have to find it.”

  She was taken to one of the estate’s pavilions: simple, clean, with washed clothes and regular meals. There were lessons. Exercises. Books.

  After all she’d endured, it felt like a lie.

  It took weeks for Lysa to believe.

  To eat.

  To sleep in a bed.

  To hear music again.

  Vexil visited sometimes. He never touched her. Never looked at her with contempt.

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  “Do you like stories?” he asked once.

  She nodded.

  “I’ll send books. Good ones. With hard endings, but true ones.”

  And he did.

  Over time, Lysa began to speak. Quietly, with errors, but she spoke.

  She wrote.

  She drew.

  She even smiled once, when she heard a cat purring.

  And Vexil saw it as proof of success.

  “Rehabilitation is possible,” he told other nobles. “It just takes context. Compassion. Technique.”

  Lysa never truly trusted him.

  But she believed just enough to let her guard down.

  Believed that maybe she wasn’t just a broken thing.

  Maybe...

  Until the day of the Registration Commission’s visit.

  Six representatives of the System. Three men. Three women. All in blue robes, eyes glowing with tracking runes.

  They came to “audit” the progress.

  Lysa was summoned for “presentation.”

  “Just walk. Talk. Respond. Show that you can follow simple commands,” Vexil said, smiling.

  She hesitated.

  “It’s alright, Lysa. They just want to see that you... are real.”

  And she tried.

  Tried to smile.

  Answered the questions.

  Walked in a straight line.

  Spoke her name.

  “Lysa.”

  It was the first time she’d said it aloud in two years.

  The auditors took notes, cold and clinical.

  “Recommendation: reintegration not viable. Deviated from original pattern. Potential instability.” “Suggested sentence: reabsorption or use in laboratory research.”

  Vexil looked at them. Then at Lysa.

  And said nothing.

  Nothing.

  Not a word.

  She waited.

  Waited for him to protest.

  To slam the table.

  To raise his voice.

  But he simply...

  Agreed.

  “If that’s the recommendation... I can’t contest it.”

  And then, with a slight nod, he ordered her taken away.

  Like someone accepting that a coin had fallen from their pocket.

  Lysa was removed from the estate that very night.

  No ceremony.

  No explanation.

  No glance back.

  And what hurt the most... was that part of her still hoped he’d appear at the gate.

  That he’d say it had been a mistake.

  That he’d fight.

  But he didn’t.

  He never fought.

  And never looked back.

  Present

  Lysa opened her eyes slowly.

  Morning hadn’t come yet.

  Kael was still asleep.

  And she... felt hollow.

  Not from pain.

  From certainty.

  All the names were clear now.

  Five.

  Five keys that had shaped the person the System believed could never exist.

  She had survived Grenda, Vareth, Hadrik, Sario, and Vexil.

  And now... she would live to see them fall.

  One by one.

  Slowly, she picked up Veyla’s dagger and etched one last name into the floor.

  Baron Vexil

  Title: Minister of the Commission for Ethical Registration

  Location: High Capital, Tower of Harmony

  Fate: Direct judgment — under everyone's eyes

  She didn’t want him to die in the shadows.

  She wanted the world to see him fall.

  With the same coldness he showed when he handed her over.

  With the same smile he wore as he closed his hands while she was dragged away.

  The Code pulsed faintly around her.

  But she felt it:

  It was time to return.

  Time to rise.

  Time to begin erasing.