The Fate Chosen

The world spun in circles.

Artua hurled the portrait away.

His breathing, which had briefly steadied, had long since become erratic again.

And worst of all, his ears hurt unbearably.

Vanessa laughed without rest, as if he would never grow tired.

Even through the blur in his vision, Artua trembled with humiliation—mocked by a s*ave.

In fury, Artua grabbed Vanessa’s throat.

But he could not grip properly.

His hands would not obey him, and even in this moment, Vanessa was breathtakingly beautiful.

Then suddenly a thought struck Artua.

Is he really human?

His head spun more violently.

Is the one before me truly a s*ave? A mere s*ave could never be this beautiful. More importantly, it makes no sense. A royal, feeling divinity from a s*ave?

A royal never kneels to anyone.

But if the being before him were a god, everything made sense.

The way he could not take his eyes off Vanessa when they first met.

The way he gave Vanessa a god’s face when painting.

The way he unconsciously knelt before him…

Artua’s mouth slowly opened.

A chill of reverence crept over his body.

He whispered,

“You have finally revealed Yourself before me.”

Finishing his words, Artua collapsed to his knees.

Vanessa silently watched the tears of rapture filling his eyes.

“I knew it instinctively from the very beginning. Your true nature.”

Artua prostrated himself, pressing his lips repeatedly to Vanessa’s pale foot.

Anyone could see he was no longer sane.

“I truly wished to meet You. There was something I always wanted to ask.”

Artua’s fingers clutched Vanessa’s delicate robe like scratching at fabric.

In a trembling voice, he asked,

“My God, why did You create me?”

“……”

“Why did You give me nothing but such mediocre talent? I have admired and loved You deeply, yet could not help resenting You. Why can I not defeat him even once?”

Artua waited, heart trembling.

Vanessa, who had remained completely motionless as if hearing nothing, slowly bent down at last.

He whispered something into Artua’s ear.

Listening quietly, Artua felt his blood turn to dust.

He answered hollowly,

“Yes. You’re right. Your words are true.”

“……”

“How could a mere creation defy the will of God? But you see… still… this… this…”

Unable to speak further, choking on his breath, Artua turned his head.

The work he had poured his soul into—no, the trash—lay smashed on the floor.

Artua tore at his hair and screamed.

“AAAAAAAAHHHH!”

It was a loud, sharp, piercing scream.

“What is happening, Your Highness!”

“The scream came from this direction!”

Artua ran outside.

Loyal retainers, rushing toward the studio at the sound of the prince’s voice, all turned to follow him.

“Your Highness!”

“Where are you going, Your Highness!”

Guests stared with bewilderment.

Slaves stepped back, terrified of brushing against him.

Paintings covered the walls—works all belonging to Artua.

But none of them were what he truly desired.

The long-standing question had been answered, but he felt no joy.

Instead, his throat burned as if he had swallowed seawater.

And yet, even now, an absurd thought came to him:

It was truly fortunate that he had purchased a mansion built at the edge of a cliff.

Standing precariously at the brink, Artua looked down at the deep blue waves swirling below like spilled paint.

Voices cried out behind him,

“Your Highness, it’s dangerous there!”

“Please, come back!”

Artua looked down at his hands.

And he repeated the same words he spoke when he realized Vanessa was a god,

“I knew. I actually always knew.”

“What are you talking about, Your Highness?”

“From the very beginning… I knew. But like a fool, I couldn’t let go. And I know I never will. But I don’t want to live that way.”

“Your Highness, please…!”

“So…”

His retainers reached him at last, hands outstretched—but too late.

Artua stepped forward off the cliff.

“I’m done.”

And so Artua abandoned life—and the art that had been his life.

Just like the scream that echoed through the mansion, the retainers’ cries echoed across the cliffside, mixed with tears.

But the sea rippled calmly, as if nothing had happened.

The royal palace erupted at the news that Artua, third in line to the throne, had taken his own life on the day of the exhibition.

Artua’s parents insisted it was a conspiracy, that he had been forced to die through threats.

But no one took their claims seriously.

There was no evidence.

No witness had seen him meet anyone shortly before his death.

Nothing suspicious was found in the studio where he was last seen.

And everyone knew of Artua’s obsessive fixation on his art.

“He must have gone mad with inferiority and killed himself. Did you see the piles of Talia in that studio? It was horrifying.”

“Shh, quiet. We just need to do our jobs.”

“…Still, thinking about it makes me depressed.”

The elves whispered but otherwise calmly handled the situation.

Then a newly arrived elf asked,

“What about his body?”

“Well, um…”

Another answered with difficulty,

“If only he had fallen into the sea—there might have been hope. But he had the misfortune of hitting the rocks…”

“Horrific.”

There was nothing more they could say.

Fren quietly turned away.

Vanessa, standing like a ghost beside him, did the same.

Returning home by carriage, Fren washed Vanessa clean and asked,

“How was the special stimulant?”

He seemed curious about the effect of the drug they had secretly mixed into Artua’s wine.

Thinking back to Artua’s state, Vanessa replied,

“Judging from how fast his work progressed, the effect was definite. But the side effects were severe. He seemed to struggle even to breathe, and I think he was seeing hallucinations. His emotional control was nearly gone. Other stimulants are similar, but this one felt particularly extreme.”

“People with heavy workloads would normally love something like that… so we shouldn’t commercialize it. Don’t want unnecessary enemies.”

Fren placed a chocolate into Vanessa’s mouth.

The surface was firm, but inside was soft fresh cream—delicious.

As Vanessa savored the sweetness, Fren stroked his hair.

“Well done, Vanessa.”

Vanessa averted his eyes shyly.

“No, not really.”

“I provided what you needed, but this was all your plan. We removed Artua and confirmed the stimulant’s side effect data.”

Fren kissed Vanessa’s cheek.

“Truly fitting of a protagonist.”

“……”

“Here, have another.”

Vanessa obediently accepted more chocolate.

Even after bathing, he kept eating more.

Normally I’d stop after one or two, but after today, I can’t stop thinking about food.

He kept feeling hungry.

He had already begun eating with his own hands.

When the box was half empty, Fren called him,

“Vanessa.”

Vanessa quickly swallowed and answered,

“Yes, Master.”

“What did you whisper to Artua at the end?”

Immediately, Vanessa whispered into Fren’s ear just as he had to Artua.

Fren’s eyes widened briefly.

“Really?”

Vanessa nodded.

Fren snickered and patted his head.

“Well done. You struck right at the heart.”

“Thank you.”

“Where is the painting Artua made?”

“Here.”

Vanessa handed over a rolled sheet tied with a ribbon.

Fren unrolled it.

“Hm…”

After a moment of consideration, he offered the simplest praise,

“Well drawn.”

He rolled it back and handed it to Vanessa.

“What should we do with it?”

“Burn it together with the one I gifted him. Just in case.”

“Yes.”

Fren lay down with his head on Vanessa’s lap.

Vanessa gently stroked his hair.

While they were enjoying their quiet moment, the butler knocked.

“What is it?”

“Elder Io is here. He says there’s something to discuss regarding this incident.”

“Is that so?”

Fren put on an outer coat at once.

Vanessa quickly stood.

“I’ll come with you—!”

“No. Rest. I won’t be long.”

“But—”

“It’s fine. I’ll be right back.”

Fren pressed Vanessa’s shoulders to seat him back on the bed.

Vanessa looked up desperately, but Fren was firm.

“Where is he waiting?”

“In the parlor for now.”

Fren left with the butler.

Left alone, Vanessa sat blankly on the bed, then turned his head—and froze.

His reflection in the mirror beside the bed stared directly at him.

Vanessa considered lying back down, but instead rose slowly.

He approached the mirror.

“……”

Fren’s room.

Fren’s touch in his hair.

Clothes chosen by Fren.

There was nothing untouched by Fren.

Staring silently at himself in the mirror, Vanessa spoke softly.

The same words he had whispered to the devout Artua,

“That is your fate.”

Fate cannot be defied.

Not by royals, nor by slaves.

Vanessa felt a sorrow he could not explain.