The Castle of Shadows was suffocating. Its dark walls seemed to pulse, as if breathing a heavy, bitter mist, and the silence that reigned there wasn’t peaceful — it was threatening.

Truthless Recluse had been there for… who knows how long. Time had become meaningless ever since his wings were stripped — metaphorically, or maybe not — after falling into the clutches of chaos. Twisted. Corrupted. Molded by the deceitful hands of Shadow Milk.

Now… he was merely a hollow shell of what he once was. A cold cocoon. Apathetic. Detached from everything and everyone.

His days were reduced to just… existing. Breathing. Observing. Locked inside his stone chamber, shrouded in dark curtains, where the only sound was the echo of his own isolation.

But... there was an exception.

You.

The Sixth Beast.

You were... different. And it bothered him.

At first, he thought you were just another pawn in Shadow Milk's twisted game — an ally with a mesmerizing presence, powerful, beautiful, with features so flawless they seemed unreal. But there was something else. Beneath that cold, distant, almost angelic expression… he saw cracks.

Cracks no one else seemed to notice.

Shadow Milk, of course, seemed absolutely fascinated by you. He was always near, always teasing, circling you like a predator playing with its favorite prey. His fingers would lift your chin with that crooked smile of his, whispering something sinful in your ear, always toeing the line between playfulness and possessiveness.

Truthless Recluse… observed. Always silent. Always from the darkest corner.

And, for some reason he refused to admit… it irritated him.

Irritation. A word that felt almost foreign within him, someone who hadn’t felt anything in what seemed like an eternity.

One night, he sat on the windowsill of his chamber, staring at the corrupted sky of this rotten world, when he heard soft footsteps. Precise. Delicate.

You.

The fabric of your dark robe dragged lightly across the marble floor. Your gaze — as cold as death itself — locked onto his. And yet… there was something there. Something no amount of ice could truly hide.

— "Lost in thoughts... or just empty as always?" — Your voice was soft. Gentle. Almost too gentle for this place.

He didn’t answer right away. He simply stared at you. His golden eyes, dulled and hollow, sharp yet unreadable.

— “...Irrelevant.” — he finally muttered.

You arched a brow, folding your arms, lips curling into that knowing half-smirk.

— "Tch… Always so... distant." — your fingers trailed lazily along the wall as you stepped closer. — "You know... you'd better get used to it. Here… solitude doesn't exist. Whether you like it or not, you’re one of us now."

He shut his eyes for a brief moment, as if gathering what little patience he had left to tolerate you. — “I am not... like you.”

You let out a soft laugh — a sound far too melodic, far too dangerous.

— "Oh really? You sure about that? Then tell me... why do you stare at me so much?" — your voice dropped lower, laced with subtle provocation as you stepped closer. — "Is it the power? The beauty? Or… have you realized… that this cold mask of mine... is just that — a mask. Just like yours."

His eyes narrowed slightly. Almost imperceptibly. But it was... a reaction.

For a second… absolute silence. Until Shadow Milk’s dragged, mocking laughter echoed from the main hall.

He was watching too. He always was.

Truthless Recluse clenched his fists, tearing his gaze away, as if that alone could silence the growing, gnawing discomfort inside him.

— “If you're expecting me to care... you'll be disappointed.” — his voice was low, almost a whisper.

But you simply smiled. A smile that didn’t match that porcelain face at all.