Three months.

Three months of profound silence, a physical presence in my new, irrevocably altered world. I'd found refuge in a quiet coastal town, the rhythmic crash of waves a soothing balm against the persistent echoes of Levi's revolution.

Life here had settled into a fragile rhythm, the local fishermen my new subjects.

News from capital trickled in—hushed whispers of Levi's democracy taking shape, his image gracing screens. Reports of reforms were mixed with undercurrents of unease, of freedoms curtailed for stability. I hadn't heard from Levi directly, the silence between us absolute, yet his presence lingered, a constant awareness of the powerful force that had once centered my world.

I often wondered if our last conversation haunted him as it haunted me.

One sun-drenched afternoon, while sketching a fishing boat, Finn approached. His presence, so far from the capital, sent a jolt of both fear and strange relief. The silence was broken, and I knew, chillingly, it was because of Levi.

Finn looked thinner, with shadows under his eyes, but his familiar warmth remained, etched with concern. He sat beside me on the weathered bench. "Raphael," he said finally, his voice low and careful. "It's... good to see you."

I nodded, my heart pounding. "Finn. What... what are you doing here?"

He hesitated, his gaze drifting to the sea before returning to mine. "He sent me," Finn admitted, the words heavy. "Levi. He needs to talk to you."

The name, spoken aloud after so long, sent a jolt through me—fear and a strange, unwelcome longing.

“Finn. After the movie shooting ended, we still spent time. And you know how terrifying he is. How can I go back to him, after I built something nice for me here?” I asked, gesturing vaguely to my surroundings.

A deep understanding flickered in Finn's eyes. He remembered the intensity of those weeks after filming, Levi’s subtle command, and saw the fragile peace I’d cultivated here. "I know, Raphael," Finn said softly, his voice empathetic. "I see what you've built here. It's beautiful. And I know how much courage it took for you to leave. To face him again... it's asking a lot."

He leaned forward, earnest. "He says... he understands. He knows he hurt you. He says he needs to explain things, to... to try and bridge that gap. He wouldn't send me if he wasn't serious. But ultimately," Finn's gaze softened with genuine concern, "the decision is yours. No one can force you to go back if you don't want to."

“That fucking asshole, calling me to his feet? After three months?” I chuckled, a hollow sound of irony.

A wry, almost bitter smile touched Finn's lips. "Yeah," he said, understanding in his voice. "That's... classic Levi, isn't it? A grand gesture, sending his messenger, but still expecting you to come to him. He probably thinks this is him being... considerate." He watched me, then continued gently, "Look, Raphael, I'm not here to drag you back kicking and screaming. I just told you what he said. He wants to talk. What you do with that information... that's entirely up to you. But I also know Levi. He doesn't usually let things lie. If you don't go to him, he might just... find another way."

“Finn. Be honest, yeah? What would you do if you were me?” I asked, meeting his gaze.

Finn sighed, running a hand through his hair. He looked out at the tranquil harbor. "Honestly, Raphael?" He turned back, his gaze direct. "If I were you? I'd be terrified. Absolutely terrified. He hurt you, deeply. He showed you a side of himself that... that's hard to reconcile.”

He paused, choosing his words carefully. "But... I also know Levi. He's not stupid. Sending me here, giving you the choice... that's not his usual M.O. It suggests... maybe, just maybe, he understands he crossed a line. And if he's willing to talk, to explain... there might be a sliver of a chance for some kind of understanding. Not forgiveness, not necessarily reconciliation, but... understanding." Finn leaned forward slightly. "If I were you, terrified as I would be, I think... I would want to know what he has to say. Not because I owe him anything, but because I would need to understand the full scope of what happened."

“Fine." I quipped. "Also what happened to you? You don’t look so well.”

A wry smile touched Finn's lips. "Let's just say navigating the early days of Levi's 'democracy' has been... interesting. Lots of long nights, lots of tense meetings, trying to make sure things don't completely fall apart while he's busy being the visionary leader." He shrugged, weariness evident. "Plus, you disappearing like that... it worried a lot of people. Me included. I wasn't exactly sleeping soundly knowing you were out there, possibly on your own. So, a few less late-night drinks, a few more worried thoughts. Nothing a good night's sleep won't fix... hopefully after I deliver my message." He offered a small, reassuring smile, deflecting his own discomfort.

“So you wanna be a politician, now?” I asked, a slight smirk playing on my lips.

A genuine laugh finally escaped Finn, easing some tension. "Gods, no, Raphael. The thought makes my skin crawl. Politicians... all that backstabbing and maneuvering? Give me a quiet bar and a decent drink any day."

“Why are you with him, still? I don’t understand.” I asked, genuinely puzzled.

Finn's laughter faded, replaced by a more serious expression. He looked out at the harbor. "It's complicated, Raphael," he said, softer now. "He's... a force of nature. You know that better than anyone. And right now, that force is reshaping the world. Someone needs to be there, not necessarily to agree with everything he does, but to try and temper the extremes."

“So, Finn… You want me to meet him, and remind him of the human cost. Is that it?” I asked, a dawning realization in my tone.

A small, sad smile touched Finn's lips. "Something like that, Raphael," he admitted. "He needs to hear it from you. He needs to see the impact his actions had on someone he... cares about. Someone who isn't swayed by power or ambition." He looked at me, eyes pleading. "I know it's asking a lot. But maybe, just maybe, your voice can reach him in a way that no one else's can. Maybe you can remind him of the man he used to be, before the revolution consumed him entirely. And maybe... just maybe... that can make a difference." Finn's fragile hope was palpable.

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“I understand. I am better now, you don’t have to be worried about me. But, I am not going to his feet, he is coming here.” I stated, a newfound resolve in my voice.

A slow smile spread across Finn's face, a genuine expression of relief. "You always were the stubborn one, Raphael," he chuckled softly. "And maybe... maybe that's exactly what he needs." He nodded, hope in his eyes. "I'll tell him. I'll tell him you're doing well, and that if he wants to talk, he knows where to find you." Finn stood, his weariness slightly lessened. "Thank you, Raphael. For considering it. For being you." He gave me a final, grateful look before leaving.

...

The three months following my farewell to Levi in his penthouse were a strange confluence of endings and tentative new beginnings. I remained in the capital until the final scenes of the Aethelgard drama were shot, a surreal experience of inhabiting a fictional world while my own had fractured so irrevocably. Finn, Maya, and even Julia, their faces etched with concern, respected my need for distance, though their worry was palpable. Midst the lingering tension of the revolution’s aftermath, we found solace in each other’s company. Stripped of her noble title and the accompanying artifice, Julia revealed a surprisingly grounded side, her presence a welcome, unexpected warmth.

Then came the escape to this secluded beach house. The relentless rhythm of the waves became the soundtrack to my grief. Days bled into weeks, marked only by the ebb and flow of tears, the suffocating grip of sobs, and the recurring horrors that played out behind my eyelids. Nightmares of the council chamber, of Levi’s cold authority, haunted my sleep. But as the relentless tide of emotion began to recede, a fragile stillness emerged. The sharp edges of my pain softened, replaced by a dull ache, a weary acceptance of the new reality. The visceral storm had passed, leaving behind a landscape scarred but, perhaps, capable of new growth.

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of fiery orange and soft violet. The familiar scent of salt and damp sand filled the air. I sat on the porch of the small beach house, the rhythmic crash of the waves a constant, soothing presence. Three months. It felt like a lifetime and no time at all since I had last stood in the penthouse, the echoes of our final words still resonating within me.

Finn's visit had stirred the fragile peace I had found. The thought of Levi coming here, to this sanctuary I had carved out for myself, was unsettling. Yet, a part of me, a small, stubborn ember that refused to be extinguished, felt a flicker of something akin to anticipation. Not hope, not exactly, but a need for closure, a desire to understand the chasm that had opened between us.

The twilight deepened, and the first stars began to pepper the inky sky. I thought of Levi, of the man I had loved, and the man he had become. The ruthless revolutionary, the architect of a new Ascaria. Could those two men coexist? And more importantly, could I ever reconcile them within my own heart? The answer remained elusive, lost somewhere in the crashing waves and the whispering wind. All I knew was that the fragile peace of the last three months was about to be tested. The tide was turning, and Levi was coming.

The next few days were a blur of quiet anticipation. The rhythmic crashing of the waves, once a source of solace, now seemed to amplify the nervous energy thrumming beneath my skin. I found myself constantly gazing down the empty stretch of beach, each distant figure a potential harbinger of his arrival. The familiar routines I had established – painting in the morning light, long walks along the shore – felt strained, overshadowed by the looming uncertainty.

Finn had sent a brief message: "He's on his way."

That was all. No indication of when, no hint of his state of mind. Just a simple confirmation that the inevitable was approaching. The waiting was the hardest part, allowing my anxieties to spiral, conjuring images of a cold, imperious Levi demanding my presence, or a wounded, pleading Levi seeking forgiveness. Neither scenario felt entirely plausible, yet both kept me on edge.

When he finally arrived, it was as understated as his revolution had been swift. No grand entourage, no imposing vehicles. Just a car pulling up quietly at the end of the sandy track leading to the house. He emerged alone, a solitary figure against the backdrop of the setting sun. There was a weariness in his posture, a lack of the usual commanding aura that had always surrounded him. As he began to walk towards the house, his silhouette growing larger with each step, I felt a strange mix of fear and a reluctant curiosity. The confrontation I had subconsciously been bracing for was finally here.

He stopped a few feet from the porch, the distance feeling both vast and insignificant after all that had transpired. The setting sun cast long shadows, obscuring his features, making it difficult to read his expression. He simply stood there for a moment, as if taking in the sight of me, of the simple beach house that had become my refuge.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and carrying on the gentle sea breeze. "Raphael." It was just my name, spoken softly, without any hint of command or manipulation. It sounded almost... tentative.

The sound of his voice, after so long, sent a tremor through me. It was familiar, yet tinged with an unfamiliar quality. The Levi I knew always spoke with a certainty that brooked no argument. This voice held a vulnerability I had rarely, if ever, heard.

I remained seated on the porch, my hands clasped tightly in my lap, my gaze fixed on him. The fear was still there, a knot in my stomach, but it was mingled now with a hesitant curiosity.

He took a slow step closer, and the fading light finally allowed me to see his face more clearly. The lines around his eyes seemed more pronounced, and there was a weariness etched onto his features that mirrored the exhaustion I had felt in the months since we last spoke.

"Thank you for agreeing to see me," he said, his voice still low, almost hesitant. "Finn told me you weren't coming back to the capital."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the small beach house, then back to me. "This is... peaceful," he observed quietly.

Another silence stretched between us, broken only by the relentless rhythm of the waves. It was a different kind of silence than the tense standoffs in the penthouse. This felt heavier, laden with the weight of unspoken apologies and unacknowledged pain.

Finally, he took another step, closing the distance further. "Raphael," he began again, and this time, his voice held a note of something akin to pleading. "We need to talk."

I finally found my voice, the sound a little rough from disuse. "Yes, Levi. We do." I remained seated, unwilling to cede any perceived ground. The peace I had found here felt fragile, and I wasn't about to let him encroach on it without him making an effort.

He nodded slowly, understanding my unspoken demand. He didn't try to close the remaining distance, respecting the space I had created. Instead, he gestured to the small wooden steps leading up to the porch. "May I... sit down?"

The simple request, devoid of any expectation or command, surprised me. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes. Perhaps Finn's words had had some effect. Perhaps the weight of the past three months had shifted something within him.

"Yes," I conceded, my voice barely above a whisper.

He ascended the steps slowly and sat down on the edge of the porch, leaving a significant space between us. The setting sun had almost completely disappeared now, casting the beach and the house in the soft, muted tones of twilight. The only sounds were the rhythmic crash of the waves and the distant cry of a seabird.