Many nights had passed, and Oliver had endured the biting cold winds. He wished he could wrap his arms around himself, but the torture had already begun, and they had cut the tendons in his arms. His hands that used to hold his blades proudly lay limp at his side. His eyes focused on the sky behind bars, and he marveled at the heavens. His senses had dulled because of his pain, but his violet eye was still bright when gazing at the stars above.

Somehow, he accepted this bitter fate. It was folly to believe that man from before would promote peace, but he still held a sliver of hope that his friends, those old Generals, would be safe after his death... if they weren't dead already.  His heart seized when thinking about Draco.  He prayed he was still alive.

The cell's keys shook outside, and he sighed lightly, bracing his body for more torture. "You're earlier than expected."

However, he was greeted with silence. Oliver didn't argue or feel offended. Perhaps the quiet was better than hearing the poison tongues of the torturers.

He heard the door creak open, and heavy footsteps headed toward him. He restrained the tremble that wracked his body. He knew pain was imminent with each visitor, and he couldn't help but feel trepidation. When a hand pressed gently down on his shoulder, he tensed. But his unease turned to confusion when he did not feel anything malicious from his visitor.

He turned his head and met deep red eyes. The eyes were complicated and filled with concern. Oliver found himself smiling. "Hello, Draco. Have you come to say goodbye to this old ghost?"

Draco was alive, at least.

He was suddenly pulled into an embrace. Oliver was tall with lean muscles and a slim waist, but he felt small in the arms of a Rucrean. Draco was at least half a head taller, with broad shoulders and arms that overwhelmed him. He was truly a descendant of a dragon.

Oliver didn't fight the embrace, nor did he feel awkward. He and Draco had known and respected each other for nearly half of their lives. He felt a deep connection and affection towards the man he had faced on the battlefield countless times. So he rested in the larger man's arms and breathed a content breath.

When Draco realized that Oliver had not moved his arms, he gently pulled back and lifted Oliver's hand. When he saw the deep wounds and the lack of reaction, his eyes shook and glistened with tears.

Oliver looked down at his lame arms. "I'm sorry that I can never duel you again..."

Draco shuddered and closed his eyes for a moment. He pulled out the keys and moved to unlock the shackles on his ankles.

"No, Draco." Oliver protested quietly.

Draco stopped his actions and gave Oliver a pleading look.

"I miscalculated... Things would have been much different if I had thrown myself on the sword years ago, but now I have damned us all... So you have to be wary, Draco... Brace yourself for the coming storm."

Draco firmly held Oliver's hand and tried to motion a message to Oliver. Oliver smiled, knowing that Draco meant that they could face it together.

"If I disappear, things will be worse for all of our kingdoms... worse for you..." With the added threat of the mysterious tattooed man and the Anima Wish, he couldn't risk running away or dying carelessly. He would have to endure.

Even without these threats, he questioned whether he could continue after losing his family and arms. After everything he has seen, how could he even walk with a straight back?  He was ashamed and had lost himself in the dark pool of hopelessness. Death, although miserable, seemed to be a gift now.  When they bleed him dry, he could finally rest.

Draco pulled him in his arms and pressed his forehead into his shoulder. Oliver could feel him trembling, reluctant to let him die.

"Draco," Oliver called out softly. "I am a swordmaster. How can I live contently without the use of my arms?"

His words were heavy and pierced through Draco's soul, yet he understood Oliver's words. Draco yearned to save Oliver, an enemy who had become a friend. The other Generals had the same goal and were rushing with their armies toward the capital. But by the looks of it, they were too late. They could not save someone who had lost his heart.

Draco slammed his hand against the wall in anger. Oliver leaned on him a little more to comfort him.

"Draco... my family is dead. My arms are ruined. I have lost everything, including my name." Oliver's voice was quiet.

Draco frowned under the mask covering his face. He patted his chest a couple of times.

Oliver breathed out a laugh. "You're right; I still have you... Thank you, my friend."

He suddenly understood the temptation of the Anima Wish.  His desire for rest was suddenly overwhelmed by a wish nestled in his heart... to have a second chance to fix his mistakes and protect the people he cared for.

But he was not blessed enough to take hold of his wish. Instead, he must endure and accept his lot in life. 

Thus, he will die tomorrow.

He released a long sigh. "If I had another chance or another life, I would do things differently... Tonight, they will take my tongue. Tomorrow they will take my life."

Draco pressed his forehead against Oliver's, trying to transmit his emotions. He pulled out his dagger with trembling hands, ready to save Oliver from his dark fate.

But Oliver shook his head. A sweet smile adorned his scarred face. "You and your kingdom will be safer if you let Piers kill me... it's fine. I can accept it now."

Draco dropped the knife, and it clattered on the stone. Oliver closed his eyes but was startled when he felt a drop of warm liquid fall on his cheek.

Oliver looked up and was entrapped by Draco's eyes. Draco's tears were no longer restrained and fell freely now. Oliver wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around him and return the embrace. However, his useless arms refused to move. All he could do was lean into Draco more.

Draco's breath shuddered as he pulled out a small vial. He pulled the top off and let Oliver smell the poison. Oliver knew this scent; Wysteria's Dream. It was a complex and rare poison that would take away all his pain for seven days. But after the painless days ended, his organs would fail, and he would die.

Oliver gave him a grateful look and nodded. He would die tomorrow, so he would not need to worry about the side effects.  Draco poured the bitter liquid into Oliver's mouth and watched him swallow it all.

Oliver lifted his head, and his lips brushed Draco's cheek, leaving him with a gentle kiss. 

Quincey had jested that Oliver felt something more than admiration towards Draco before. He would laugh it off and not dwell on matters of the heart.  But when it was too late, he finally understood that his feelings were more profound than simple admiration. For over twenty years, he had watched this man and came to care deeply for him.

"Your eyes are truly beautiful," Oliver whispered with a peaceful smile.

...I have always liked you...

He shouldn't bother with anything soft like 'feelings', but yet the old ghost still had these words in his heart. Nevertheless, he couldn't bring himself to confess these hidden feelings right before his death. Instead, he decided to leave his appreciation for Draco's beauty as the last thing on his lips.

Draco reluctantly left him when he sensed people were coming. He gave Oliver a lingering look, hardly accepting the placating smile on Oliver's lips. His soul yearned for the same thing as Oliver's. He wished Oliver had another chance to live a new life. Perhaps they would find each other early on and greet each other as friends rather than enemies. This lifetime was far too cruel for the two of them.

That night, Oliver suffered a series of torture, but not a single word left his mouth. He never spoke again, and his tongue was removed shortly afterward.

The morning came with a piercing cold wind. The dark clouds hid the sun, and the snow was about the breakthrough its confines above. However, Oliver did not shiver from the cold.

His unsteady legs carried him each step, the broken cobblestone bit into bare feet. The cuts from the loose stone accumulated, and although he could not feel the sharp pain, his feet had already stained the main road of Bierze red.

But his blood steps would be hidden by a blanket of snow. The evidence that Oliver ever walked these roads would be washed away when the snow melted.

Forsaken and then forgotten. Like the name he earned on the battlefield, he would be nothing more than a ghost.

The nobles watched him like vultures, their words more cutting than their glares.

Traitor, they call him. Villain. Ghost.

His feet touched each stair as he reached his final resting place. Ewen stood up and gave him a pitiful look. "Big brother... do you have anything to say?"

Oliver's damaged tongue couldn't utter a word, and Ewen knew it.

"Something, brother. Anything! Let me help you!"

His pleas were grating on Oliver's ears. Oliver ignored him and looked around to meet those hardened stares from the audience. All these people were nobles and aristocrats who were supposed to serve the people, but they tore apart the Kardos name and abandoned the kingdom's people.

He may have been foolish and timid when he was younger, even cowering in front of the possibility of death. But today, he stood with unflinching pride. He willingly walked up to the stage and allowed them to chain him to two pillars, so his arms were spread out.

Piers looked down at him and clicked his tongue. "Do it." He ordered.

His executioners approached with knives and started their lacerations. He only had to wait until he bled out and died.

One cut. And then another.

After a while, no one said anything, and all that could be heard was the slicing of flesh and blood dripping to the ground.

Oliver never lowered his head. He stared out at the crowd, memorizing every face present. His eyes landed on the tattooed man who was standing close to Piers. The man seemed to be laughing at his slow death, but he moved towards the podium where Piers sat.  There was a glint of light, and Piers shuddered and turned pale. Shortly after, Ewen slumped over with a terrified look etched on his face.

At this moment, Oliver felt the pain of knowing that he was the last of the Kardos line... when he breathed his last, they would be extinct.

He watched as the man took the white box that held the other pieces of the dragon's heart and disappeared. No one had noticed that their King and Royal Consort were killed. All eyes were watching him bleed.

Oliver didn't linger on this and turned back to his audience. Although they watched him with contempt, he pitied them because their future will be worse than his death.

Oliver knew his time was finally coming soon. His head was heavy, and his eyes blurred. But amidst the crowd, he found a pair of red eyes. In this cold world, it was the only warmth he saw.

He smiled slightly as a ragged breath escaped his lips. He tried to keep his eyes open to linger on Draco, but his body soon betrayed him and his eyes closed.

At least the affectionate red eyes were the last thing he had seen in this terrible life.

A heartbreaking sigh echoed through the city as Oliver released his final breath.

Draco wanted to cry, but his cut vocal cords restricted him. He tried screaming and yelling, but the only result he could muster were tears of blood. He wanted to kill them all.

His body trembled, and his dormant dragon blood stirred. Madness boiled inside him, and he no longer cared to control the slumbering monster. His skin ripped open, and his body expanded, revealing glossy black scales. Many people were trampled beneath him, and the surrounding buildings crumbled as he spread his wings.

Draco took off to the sky in his dragon form. His red eyes swirled with grief and rage. He opened his maw, exposing his menacing teeth, and released a silent roar. Although void of all sound, the air violently trembled around him, shattering the windows. He dove back down and attacked the city.

Quincey, Gallio, and Savvi stopped their three armies as they approached the walls of Bierze's capital. The black dragon was in the middle of its rampage, destroying everything in its wake. 

It was the first dragon-blooded shapeshifter that had appeared after a millennium, and they knew it was their friend. In Draco's claws held an unmoving figure with long silver hair.

With tears filling their eyes, they watched as the black dragon violently grieved.

They felt their hearts ache and let out a heart-wrenching yell. This sound resounded through their armies, and every soldier knew that the world had lost a great warrior unjustly. They wished that things could have been different.

"We're too late." Savvi mourned.

The three men stayed in the fields as the capital city of Bierze was transformed into rubble.

••••••••

"Do you feel it? There are so many wishes in this world." A soft voice broke through the darkness.

Oliver didn't move when he heard the voice. He didn't see the need to bother about wishes anymore. What would a dead man ask for? Who would heed the call of a Ghost? Who would listen to a villain's wish?

"Sometimes, the world cries out for a collective wish, drowning out the selfish few obsessions... It was the same many generations ago. The magic was captured and contained at that time to save the people. Thus, the power of the world was brought back into its infancy. Only then we saw peace grace the land."

A gentle hand brushed against Oliver's face, but he kept his eyes closed.

There was a light sigh. "My dear little Guardian, open your eyes to the world beyond your death."

Oliver's eyelashes trembled, and his violet eyes opened, but all he could see was a massive shadow. Within the darkness, he could see countless stars and universes.  The shadow was the night sky itself. 

The shadow fluctuated until it took the shape of a dragon and unfurled its wings. The starlit dragon lowered its head and pressed the tip of its snout on the top of Oliver's head, bringing him a sense of deep comfort.

"Now the wish revolves around you... You wish that you could return in time and choose differently. One of my dragon hatchlings roars for you, wishing that there was another life to live together. An army yearns for your return to free them from their suffering. Your enemies mourn the loss of an admirable opponent, wishing you were friends and not foes."

The tip of a claw pressed against Oliver's chest, just above his heart. "The Anima Wish listens to the loudest of wishes; the ones drawn from the soul... but this wish is quite grand, so it will drain most of the power in my heart. The little power remaining will be released upon the world, and the magic hidden in the seams of the land will start flowing stronger than before.  The world will change accordingly, but I know you can endure."

Oliver was convinced that he had fallen into the depths of insanity.  There was no way his wish would be granted.  He was a foolish man, so who would give him a chance?

The voice seemed to hear his thoughts and laughed a little. "I have faith in you, my little Guardian Ghost.  I will give you a gift to help this time around... I wonder what choices you will make in this new world."

A searing pain burned into his chest, and he felt an unfathomable pressure.

Bump, Bump.

A dragon's heart started to beat inside Oliver's chest.