CHAPTER 464: ’A STORY UNTOLD.’

"I know it is hard to believe," Hendrix said quietly, his voice laced with a strange mixture of resignation and urgency. "Especially... you are in love with him."

He ran a hand through his hair, fingers tangling slightly in the dark strands as if trying to collect his thoughts.

"However, it is true. That vision... it’s a deep memory. One that still lives inside you—whether it’s your soul, your body, or both."

Florian blinked, slow and deliberate, forcing his expression to stay still. Controlled. His features were calm, but his eyes—he made sure they reflected disbelief, confusion. Perfectly believable reactions.

Even though, deep down, he wasn’t just pretending anymore.

’Honestly, Florian was also genuinely surprised because it seemed Hendrix was exactly like Heinz.’

The revelation hit harder than he expected. Both brothers remembered.

They were both regressors.

But something didn’t add up. Heinz had been upfront—he knew that a god had helped him turn back time. That same god had guided and manipulated his journey.

But Hendrix?

Hendrix made no mention of divine intervention.

So how did he remember?

’Did the God also do that?’

’If yes, then why?’

’Why Hendrix?’

"You and I... we met at the palace garden," Hendrix said, eyes softening as his voice dropped lower, as if speaking directly to that moment from long ago. "I saw you crying."

He glanced down, his fingers curling slightly at his sides as if holding something fragile between them—his memories, maybe.

"I was also... very down. I had tried approaching my brother. I asked for his help. I even gave him the will that I showed you earlier."

’This Heinz told me about.’ Florian thought, staying still as he watched Hendrix.

’Where Hendrix asked Heinz to forgive his mother.’

"I did so because... I wanted him to forgive my mother," Hendrix continued. His voice was calm, but there was a tension to it now, a quiet strain. "I wanted him to stop tormenting her kingdom."

Florian’s eyes widened.

"Tormenting... her kingdom?"

That, Heinz had never mentioned.

Hendrix still wasn’t looking at him. His gaze was locked to the floor like it grounded him. Like if he looked away, the truth would unravel.

But he nodded.

"I had told you this as well," Hendrix said softly, "but my mother... she was a princess from a poor kingdom. A place our father visited when he was still a young prince. He... he always liked helping unfortunate lands. And he met my mother there."

There was something painfully reverent in the way Hendrix spoke about his mother—like every word was a prayer of remembrance.

"He asked her to come to Concordia. Not as queen, but as his concubine. In exchange, her kingdom would prosper under Concordia’s protection."

Now, this was interesting information.

"My mother... she was grateful to him. Eternally so. She agreed, knowing what she was giving up. But of course..." Hendrix exhaled shakily, finally lifting his gaze to meet Florian’s again, "that caused the late Queen Anastasia unimaginable pain."

Florian knew where this was going. The tension in his chest told him before Hendrix could even say it.

It led her to—

"She took her life," Hendrix whispered, barely audible.

There was a beat of silence, heavy and respectful.

"I understood why he hated me," Hendrix said, his tone still low. "My brother... I truly understood. To him, my mother and I were the reason for her death. The root of his grief. His rage. That’s why... when he killed our father and rose to the throne... I didn’t fight him. I voluntarily left the palace. I banished myself and my mother."

’He willingly banished himself?’ Florian thought, stunned.

"I didn’t mind," Hendrix continued. "We had a manor. It wasn’t extravagant, but... we were at peace. Somehow."

Then his voice cracked—just faintly, but it was there.

"Until a few years later. My mother received a letter... that her kingdom was dying. The people were starving."

The fury and sorrow in Hendrix’s voice curled together, a barely contained storm beneath the surface.

"Nobody wanted to trade. No one would help. Their land was failing. Their harvests cursed. The nobles shunned them. And it was all because of my brother. He punished them—for her, for what she was."

He swallowed, his fists curling tightly in his lap.

"My mother gave me the letter my father had written to her—the one promising that she’d never have to fear for her kingdom again. She never wanted me to see it. Never wanted me to know I was meant to be king. She... she liked our quiet life."

His eyes shimmered with unshed pain as he looked at Florian.

"But she loved her people more."

He exhaled through clenched teeth, trembling slightly.

"She was going to be the one to deliver the letter. To beg for mercy. But what kind of son would let his mother do that?" he asked bitterly, shaking his head. "She already carried so much. She knew she had made a mistake. But I was the result of that mistake. So I went instead..."

Hendrix let out a bitter laugh, the kind that held no humor—just old pain buried too deep for words.

"I didn’t know what I expected," he said, shaking his head slightly. "He hated me... and he despised my mother even more. Of course, he didn’t hear me out. He never intended to."

His gaze dropped to the floor again, his voice dipping lower, weighed down by memory.

"He threatened to have me and my mother thrown into the dungeons if I kept showing myself..."

’That’s...’

Florian’s chest tightened. He inhaled slowly, carefully, trying to maintain composure even as his stomach turned.

He knew Heinz had once been cruel.

But this?

’...Horrendous.’

"I didn’t want to give up," Hendrix continued, almost like he was confessing something shameful. "I really didn’t. But I had no choice. No matter how many doors I knocked on, they all stayed shut."

He paused, shoulders tense.

"I ended up leaving the ball that night," he said softly. "I remember walking through the halls, just needing to breathe. I wanted to stop by the garden one last time..."

His eyes lifted again, slowly meeting Florian’s.

"Where my father, mother, and I would often spend our happiest days."

There was a long silence between them—thick with something unspoken, something Hendrix seemed to be holding onto with everything he had left.

"And as I mentioned..."

His voice was almost a whisper now.

"That’s where I met you."