CHAPTER 413: ’FLORIAN.’

Heinz turns around, his eyes widening when he came face to face with—

"Florian." He breathed the name like it had been caught in his throat.

Standing amidst the flowers was Florian, smiling gently at him. But even with the smile, Heinz could see it—the sadness in his eyes, deep and quiet, like something he was trying hard to hide.

Florian was dressed in a deep green coat embroidered with silver vines and small flowers. Purple and white blossoms decorated his shoulders and chest, blending with the garden around him.

The fabric shimmered slightly in the light, elegant but soft, almost like something out of a fairytale.

"Heinz."

The way Florian said his name—soft, bittersweet, almost reverent—sent a sharp ache straight through Heinz’s chest.

’That voice... it’s his, but it’s not him. No... it is him.’

"Or... shall I say, Your Majesty?" Florian added with a sad smile, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes.

Heinz’s breath caught. He stared, stunned, unmoving.

"You’re..." His voice wavered. "You’re not him."

Florian’s smile faltered, replaced by something more hollow. He let out a laugh—dry, wounded.

"That hurts."

Heinz immediately stiffened, the weight of guilt coiling deep in his gut. "I... didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that you’re—"

"Florian," he interrupted gently. "I’m Florian."

He stepped closer. Heinz didn’t retreat, but every inch of his body tensed, caught between instinct and memory.

"You’re finally looking at me."

The real Florian.

The one from his past life.

The realization hit Heinz like a slow-moving arrow—painful, piercing, impossible to ignore. This wasn’t the dream-like shell or the fragile version crumbling under trauma. This was him.

He hadn’t expected this.

He hadn’t prepared for this.

"Hm? Why are you suddenly silent, Your Majesty?" Florian teased lightly, but his voice trembled at the edges. "Heinz

?"

The sound of his name, spoken like that, laced with both longing and pain, made Heinz’s heart clench.

"You’ve been here... the whole time?" he asked, keeping his tone even, but even he could hear the crack under the surface.

Florian tilted his head, hands lacing behind his back as he glanced around at the endless purple-and-green blooms swaying gently in a nonexistent breeze.

"It’s beautiful, right?" he murmured. "This place... it was made for me. Calm. Still. Untouched by pain. Of course, sometimes I still feel it—what he feels. But most of the time?" He smiled faintly. "Most of the time, I sit here. Peacefully alone."

"Peacefully alone doesn’t sound too promising," Heinz remarked quietly.

That earned a chuckle.

"Is that concern I hear? That’s new." Florian looked at him, eyes glinting with something unreadable. "Usually, you don’t care about what I have to say."

The words landed like a slap, not cruel—just true.

And Heinz had no defense.

’Because I didn’t. Not back then.’

His silence was answer enough. Florian laughed again, but it was quieter this time.

"Now, don’t look at me like that," he whispered, stepping forward. "It’ll break my heart."

His hand lifted, gently reaching for Heinz’s. Fingers brushed against his, soft and cold and familiar. Heinz didn’t pull away.

The contact sent a jolt up his arm, something more emotional than magical.

"Come," Florian said, tugging him gently. "You’re looking for him, right? Let me guide you."

Heinz allowed himself to be led, feet moving almost automatically.

He didn’t know what to say.

Didn’t know if he had the right to say anything at all.

’I never expected this. Never thought I’d see you again—not like this. Not remembering everything.’

Before, he had convinced himself that if he ever saw this version of Florian again, he would walk away. Ignore him. Pretend the past was buried and gone.

But he hadn’t accounted for regret.

Hadn’t accounted for how it would feel to see the real Florian—the one he had failed.

And somehow, now, it mattered.

More than it ever had before.

Florian led him down a winding path blanketed in violet and emerald blossoms, their petals brushing softly against their legs as they passed.

Heinz’s gaze remained fixed—not on the flowers—but on Florian’s back, on the gentle sway of his shoulders as he walked in silence, his hand still loosely holding Heinz’s.

It was quiet, save for the faint rustle of unseen wind through the trees. The garden stretched on like a dream, impossibly vast, endlessly blooming.

And then—

Heinz’s steps slowed.

Up ahead, beneath the shade of a massive tree with silver leaves and roots tangled deep into the earth, sat a figure.

He was curled up tightly, knees pulled to his chest, head buried in his arms.

Even from the distance, Heinz recognized him instantly.

’It’s him.’

He was dressed almost identically to the one guiding him—same regal style, same intricate embroidery—but instead of green, the colors were deep violet. Shadows clung to him like a second skin.

The closer they came, the more Heinz could see the tremble in his shoulders, the quiet sobs muffled by his arms, the sheer vulnerability of him.

His entire body was folded in on itself, like he was trying to vanish.

’He’s crying...’

They were almost near when Florian—the one holding his hand—stopped walking.

He let go.

The absence of his hand was immediate, almost jarring.

Heinz glanced down, then back at him.

"Don’t go near him," Florian said softly, his voice calm but firm.

Heinz blinked. "Why? For him to return, I need to talk to him."

"I know. But you won’t be able to do anything."

Florian’s voice didn’t waver.

"I was the one who pulled him here," he added.

That made Heinz whip his head toward him. "You pulled him?"

Florian nodded.

"You’re... the reason he’s been unresponsive?"

"Yes."

The admission settled over Heinz like a lead weight.

"Why?"

He tried to keep his voice even, but there was an edge to it—something raw and confused.

Florian didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped forward, crossing the last bit of distance between him and the trembling boy under the tree.

He crouched in front of him, the flowers parting around them like water.

And gently, tenderly, Florian ran his fingers through the other Florian’s hair.

It was a slow, soothing motion. Protective.

"How much do you know about him?" Florian asked without looking back.

Heinz opened his mouth.

And then closed it again.

What did he know?

That this Florian was gentler? Smiled more easily? Trusted too quickly? That he was softer... and perhaps braver in some ways?

But that was it.

He didn’t know where his fears came from. What kept him up at night. What scars he carried beneath that sweet exterior.

And so—he said nothing.

"Judging by your silence, you don’t know a lot," Florian murmured, continuing to stroke the younger version’s hair. His voice remained soft, but there was no accusation—only fact.

"And do you?" Heinz asked, unable to stop himself. His tone wasn’t sharp—it was earnest.

Curious.

Because Florian’s gaze, the way he looked at the other version of himself... it was almost loving.

"I do," Florian said simply. "More than you. More than he knows."

Finally, he turned to face Heinz again—his green eyes no longer smiling. They were soft, yes, but weary. The kind of weariness that came from carrying too much for too long.

His expression was no longer light or teasing. It was still. Somber. Like the silence that settles after a storm has torn through everything in its path.

"Let me tell you what I can say," Florian murmured, his voice low and steady.

Then, slowly, his features shifted—something darker crept into his gaze, into the curve of his lips.

"But first..." he said, tilting his head just slightly, "let’s talk about the past."