The Butterfly That Swallowed the Fog
The moment Tilia realized what was happening, she lunged forward, desperate to pull Elex back toward her side.
But he moved first. Before she could even shape the word “Elex,” his long leg shot out, sweeping toward the man charging at them with a knife—Gregory.
“Ugh!”
Elex’s strike landed mercilessly against Gregory’s chest, sending the madman crashing backward. The knife and the mysterious glass bottle slipped from his grip and skittered away. Elex kicked the bottle farther out of reach, then drove his boot down again to crush the figure writhing on the floor.
“If you had just stayed quietly captured, you would have avoided this fate.”
“Ugh…!”
Elex’s voice remained flat, emotionless, as he ground his heel into Gregory’s head. “Was my warning not frightening enough?”
At last something sparked behind Gregory’s eyes. He looked up at Elex with pure hatred.
“Y-yours… was it?”
His voice came out garbled and broken, crushed beneath the sole. “Ever since when have you—!”
His words cut off as another savage kick slammed into his ribs.
Elex continued stomping without a trace of hesitation, his expression bored. His hands stayed in his pockets, face cold and mechanical.
Under his heel, flesh was slowly crushed into pulp.
And then—
Tilia’s face drained of every ounce of color, as though bleached white.
Only now did she admit it to herself: for Elex, she had always held a certain image of him. Not lighthearted, but he had smiled at her often enough. And though he pretended otherwise, he had always given her an undercurrent of gentleness.
But watching him beat a man to bloody pulp right in front of her shattered that illusion.
He was no harmless figure. How stupid she had been, to finally see him as nothing more than an ordinary man—
—a man who could strike her with violence.
The dull thud of impact echoed in her mind, dragging up memories from the past she had long tried to bury.
Father… please… save Mother… Mother, I—”
She had begged until her swollen fists bled, yet all she received were brutal blows.
“Shut your mouth!”
The nightmare she thought she had buried long ago came crashing back. Her belly that had never hurt before twisted in agony. The hands that should have been too small to reach her back then now trembled violently as if being crushed beneath the same boot.
Run… run…
Her subconscious, still childish and undeveloped, whispered urgently.
Don’t want to get hit. Run—run—
Following the silent command of her body, Tilia took a step back.
That man would be next. If she were hit like that, she would never walk again.
Torn between trauma and reality, her mind fractured.
Run—run—
But before she could take even three steps away from the scene of unrelenting violence—
CRACK.
Under the heel, something shattered. Tilia whipped her head around just in time to see the glass bottle she had accidentally knocked from Gregory’s hand lying in pieces. Thin white smoke rose from the wreckage, curling lazily across the floor.
What… is this?
She watched the strange substance move like a living organism, then—”
“Tilia!”
A voice called her name. She looked up to find Elex approaching with a terrifying expression, blood streaking his face.
She overlaid the image of her own father’s face from memory onto that terrifying mask.
No.
She tried to turn away, but it was already too late. The massive hand stretched toward her, slow at first, then faster—
Elex slammed both hands over her mouth and nose, whispering directly into her ear, “Don’t breathe.”
It was not hard; she had stopped breathing properly hours ago.
“Damn it.”
Elex’s low curse sent her body into another uncontrollable tremor.
“It’s concentrated vaporized Holy Water. Breathe as little as possible, and close your eyes just in case.”
Tilia’s ears twitched at the unfamiliar word, but her mind was already reeling.
…Holy Water?
“Too scared?”
Noticing she had lost her sanity, Elex spoke gently, patting her back slowly.
But Tilia was too lost in her thoughts to register the touch.
Holy Water? Holy Water?
With tears welling in her eyes, she lowered her gaze and spotted a shard of glass glinting on the floor.
“Damn bastard… making me angry even to the last breath.”
Elex stared at the broken, pulp-like remains of Gregory with murderous eyes, then turned to look down at the woman in his arms.
The terrifying steel-gray irises softened into something far warmer.
“Let’s get out of here first.”
He kept one hand over her mouth and the other cradling the back of her head as he guided her toward the exit.
Tilia leaned heavily into his chest, staring at the floor in confusion. She had escaped her panic attack, but the situation still made no sense.
Why?
Only the question circled endlessly in her head.
She tilted her head up slightly and caught Elex’s urgent expression as he scanned the exit.
So why… why…?
She bit her lip unconsciously as she stared down at her own trembling hands.
From right beside her, the rapid thunder of his heartbeat echoed through his chest. For some reason, the sound felt unbearably strange, and she couldn’t stop worrying the inside of her mouth.
***
The heavy door finally swung open with a loud crash.
At last the hands were gone.
COUGH.
Cold morning air flooded deep into her lungs.
“Breathe slowly and deeply,” Elex murmured, rubbing her back as she gasped for air.
“I’m all right now. Take it easy.”
Why did that gentle touch bring her such strange comfort? She had been perfectly capable of holding on by herself. If she had been alone, she would have gritted her teeth and endured.
But she couldn’t anymore. She collapsed right there on the spot.
Elex caught her in surprise, lifting her into his arms.
“Are you all right?”
He carried her to a bench a safe distance from the crime scene and began checking her carefully.
The shaking had finally subsided in her eyes, but his large hand entered her field of vision.
“Since you were going to discard me anyway, I might as well use you dirty.”
In his neatly folded palm rested a pristine white handkerchief embroidered with delicate patterns.
At the sight of it, the situation finally clicked.
That hand she had thought would strangle her was, in truth, moving to protect her. The touch she had feared was meant to save her, not kill her.
His words were true. Elex Davenport had truly tried to help her.
Everything—the way he pulled her close, the way he covered her nose and mouth the instant he saw the smoke, the way he was now offering her this brand-new handkerchief—
All of it was for her.
…
Gratitude rose in her throat, but the question marks still swirling in her head refused to let the words spill out.
Why? Why would you do this for me?
She stared at the handkerchief in her lap, still lost in confusion.
A soft thud landed on her knees. She looked up and saw him standing several paces away from the bench, staring at nothing with a rigid expression.
“Wait here a moment. A carriage will be here soon.”
Standing about four steps from the bench where she sat, he gazed off in some direction with an unreadable face.
Why is he acting so strangely all of a sudden?
Tilia’s eyes, filled with unease, watched him cautiously.
That was when she remembered the events from underground.
Gregory had brought the bottle. Elex had smashed it. It contained vaporized Holy Water. The moment the smoke filled the space, his organs had been exposed to it—unlike her. His hands had covered her face instead of his own.
So…
Tilia’s eyes widened in sudden realization.
Then Elex… did he just drink the smoke straight through?
The thought sent an unexpected rush of strength into her hands. If the bottle Gregory had brought contained the same symptoms as the one she had once drunk, then Elex was—
Her fingers tightened on the handkerchief, creating deep creases. Her anxious gaze flicked sideways—
Only to see his hand reaching into his coat pocket.