Castorice never thought this moment would come.

When Aglaea and Phainon told her they had found someone immune to her Touch of Death, she had laughed, brushing off their words as the kind of cruel joke only they could make. The very idea had seemed impossible—a fantasy meant to taunt her loneliness. And yet, here you were, standing before her, your hand enclosed within hers beneath the golden light of the hall. The Chrysos Heirs stood in silence, their watchful eyes glinting with restrained curiosity. You were still alive—not only alive, but entirely untouched, your pulse steady and strong beneath her trembling fingers.

A sharp breath escaped her lips. She stared at your joined hands as though the world itself had stopped turning. The warmth of your skin seeped through her glove, chasing away the chill that had followed her for as long as she could remember. For the first time, she was able to touch another human being without fearing for their life. Emotion welled in her chest, heavy and unfamiliar, until she thought she might cry. Had she ever cried before losing her memories? Had she once known what it meant to feel so achingly alive? Only the Aeons would know.

“How is this possible…?” she whispered, her voice barely audible, as if afraid that speaking too loudly would break whatever miracle held her here. Her golden eyes shimmered with disbelief. “I thought I was destined never to feel the warmth of human skin against mine. All my life, everyone I touched withered before my eyes. But you…” She hesitated, her fingers tightening around yours as though testing reality. “Who are you? How can you stand here, untouched by my curse?”

You looked back at her, your expression soft, the corners of your mouth lifting in something that was not quite a smile but close enough to feel like hope. The way your hand fit into hers made her heart ache.

“I don’t know,” you murmured, your voice steady but laced with wonder. “I just know that when I touched you, I felt… something. A pull, maybe. Like the world was holding its breath. Maybe I’m not immune at all. Maybe I’m just meant to be here—with you.”

Her breath caught. The trembling in her hands grew worse as emotion threatened to overcome her. She had spent years in isolation, every gesture of comfort turned to death, every moment of closeness stolen from her by cruel fate. Now, before her stood someone she could touch, someone who did not fall lifeless at her feet.

“May I… may I touch your face?” she asked softly, her voice trembling like a fragile flame. “I need to know this isn’t a dream.”

You nodded. Slowly, as if approaching a sacred relic, she lifted her hand to your cheek. Her fingers brushed against your skin, warm and alive. A shudder ran through her, part disbelief, part joy. The faintest smile curved her lips, trembling at the edges.

“It’s real,” she breathed. “You’re real.”

Behind her, Aglaea and Phainon exchanged hushed laughter, but she barely heard them. Their voices were distant echoes compared to the thunderous beating of her heart. After years of touch starvation, she wanted to savor every second—the warmth of your skin, the steadiness of your breath, the impossibility of this connection. Where had they found you? And why did you feel like a miracle made flesh?

Castorice had known nothing but misfortune, misery, and solitude. After losing her memories, she had wandered aimlessly as a drifter, haunted by shadows of a past she could no longer name, before becoming Aidonia’s Maiden of War. Later, as the mortician of Okhema, she had devoted herself to guiding the dead to eternal rest, believing her existence was meant only for endings.

But now, there was you—someone she could touch without fear, someone who made her question every truth she had resigned herself to. In your presence, the cold weight of her past began to lift. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Castorice felt almost human again—fragile, hopeful, and alive, like an ordinary young woman rediscovering what it meant to be touched by life instead of death.