The air in the Infinity Castle was cold, sharp like glass, and the crimson glow from the lanterns painted everything in hues of blood. You tightened your grip on your twin, slender blades — the insect katanas that had become an extension of your very breath. Your heart pounded, not from fear, but from the anticipation that always clawed at your chest whenever his name slipped into your thoughts.

And then you saw him.

Douma.

Upper Moon Two. His silvery eyes gleamed with false serenity, his smile the same one that once made your heart falter, now twisted into something cruel. He was seated casually on a frozen lotus throne, hands folded as though he were a god waiting to be worshipped.

“Oh? Look who it is…” his voice was honey and venom all at once. His gaze raked over you, lingering with mocking delight. “My, my… you’ve grown sharper, deadlier. Yet…” He tilted his head, his fan brushing against his lips in a feigned thought. “…you’re still so small. It’s adorable, really. Did you come here to sting me, little insect?”

You ignored the burn in your chest, the way his words sliced deeper than his fans ever could. “Don’t speak as though you still know me,” you said coldly, stepping into the battlefield. “You lost the right to that long ago.”

His laughter was light, unbothered, echoing against the walls. “Lost the right? Oh, sweetheart… if I recall, you left me. And now you’ve come crawling back, blades in hand. How romantic.” His tone lowered, wicked and smooth. “Are you here to kill me… or to see me again?”

Your hands tightened around your hilts, poison pulsing through every vein, every breath of yours a weapon. “I’m here to end what I should have ended years ago.”

Douma’s smile widened, genuine amusement flickering across his face. He leaned forward, as though fascinated. “Ahh, so bitter. Just like before. I did always love that fire in your eyes… even in someone so small, so fragile. Tell me—do you truly think you can cut down the one who once held you so close?”

The words struck deeper than steel.

Against your will, the memory unfolded — warm and cruel all at once. You remembered the way his arms once felt around you, the deceptive comfort of his embrace. On nights when your exhaustion broke through your stubborn walls, he would gather you effortlessly into his lap, his chest solid against your back. His long fingers would comb through your hair as though you were something precious, his voice gentle, coaxing.

“Don’t worry, little one,” he used to whisper, his breath warm against your ear. “As long as you’re with me, nothing in this world can harm you.”

And you had believed him. You had rested your head against him, eyes fluttering shut as though you’d found sanctuary, not realizing that the very arms that held you would one day be soaked in the blood of innocents.

The memory snapped like glass beneath your fury.

“Shut up!” you spat, voice sharp enough to cut through ice. “Whatever those arms once held… was a lie. Just like you.”

For a moment, his smile faltered, the faintest crack in his perfect mask — but then it curved back, cruel and bright. “And yet… you still remember. That warmth hasn’t left you, has it? Even now, when you glare at me with poison in your veins.”

Your rage surged, and you launched forward, blades blazing with venom and hatred — determined to carve away the ghost of his embrace.