It was like a nightmare.

Bright crimson blood that glistened wetly splattered the walls of the narrow cockpit. It would have looked like a macabre painting that could have only been the creation of a morbid mind except for the body that was sprawled across the pilot's seat like a broken doll. The once pristine white uniform was dyed scarlet with the blood that oozed freely from the terrible wound that had been self-inflicted.

The cold glint of metal caught his eye, drawing his glance to the gun on the cockpit floor. The image of the weapon flashed across his mind, falling, slipping from her nerveless hand. Why? He could not help but question even though she had already told him the answer before she took her life.

He had been detached, taking everything in without fully realizing the implications until now. She killed herself… The stark, brutal fact jolted him into reality.

This was not a dream.

The blood that left his hand with a sticky sanguine stain was warm and so was the barrel of the gun that had ejected the single bullet. Her face was ashen, all color of life bled away. His shadow threw a sad ethereal cast on her pale features. Already she looked like a spirit who had departed the world of the living.

He fell to his knees beside her, gathering her body into his arms, oblivious to the blood that smeared his clothes and hair. There was only pain and a sorrow he never thought he would feel again yet there was no denying the anguish that was overwhelming him. He cradled her in his arms with the infinite gentleness she would never know and whispered her name.

" Areya... "

He stood by the bed and watched it's still and silent occupant with tortured eyes. His heart was heavy and constricted, shrouded too tightly by remorse and guilt. This was not the first time he had watched her and contemplated as she lay before him but everything had changed. Five hundred years… five centuries I've lived yet here I am, repeating the mistakes I have made time and again…

Krelian touched her face, his fingers lightly tracing the midnight wings of her brows. He had never really taken a good look at her before, acknowledged her presence in his life. She was just an afterthought that hovered beyond his regard, a shadow that dwelled at the back of his mind. Resting his hand against her cheek, Krelian wondered for the first time in his life what she meant to him.

Reya's revelation had hit him like a bolt out of the blue. Krelian would have easily accepted hate from her but the truth had turn out to be the opposite. She had even forgiven him for his betrayal of her trust. Father… that was what she called me... ... Father… The word rang like an accusation.

She had loved him as a father.

But it had been so much easier to think of her as another experiment, another one of his projects, just like his other creations like Igraine and Kahr. She had came to him, frozen in stasis as a barely developed fetus and he had awakened her with the intention to use her as a control with regards to Igraine. Krelian had not realized her potential until the Gear incident and he had changed his mind swiftly. She would become his weapon, a hidden card in his hand to deal with any obstacles hindering his plan to resurrect Deus.

Reya was a tool to meet his ends, nothing more. She was not truly human thus she could not feel. This was what he had rationalized and the lessons he had put her through were to mould her into an empty automation obedient to his commands. She gave him what he wanted; burying her despair and guilt deeper within until it finally broke her.

Krelian touched her hair, her beautiful raven dark hair that slipped through his fingers like precious silk. She looked so unreal, more like a fragile porcelain doll than a woman of flesh and blood. If not for the slight rise and fall of her breast that showed her to be breathing, he could have been touching a corpse.

She was barely alive, hanging on to life by a thread. He had done everything possible to save her after carrying her out of her Gear. She had shot herself in the head and despite his best efforts; she was still in a coma and had been for months. Krelian knew the damage to her brain had been extensive and there was the high chance that she might never wake but he had to try. He owed her too much to give up.

He could have prayed for her to open her eyes but his lips could not form the words. He had forsaken his faith and humanity five hundred years ago. God was deaf to him. Krelian was by her side all the time. Perhaps it was just a vain attempt on his part to give her the attention she had long deserve and an effort to reduce the heavy burden of guilt that he borne on his shoulders.

He realized too late that before him was a unique woman who should have had her own life and dreams. Yet he had shattered every single dream she had. It was not her hand, which held the gun to her head and pulled the trigger, it was his. Krelian knew that he was the one ultimately responsible for pushing her onto this path of no return.

Turning away, his eyes fell on the object that was lying on the small table beside her bed. It was a palm-sized piece of metal that had been badly scorched. A faint emblazon of a stylized red fox was however still distinguishable. Krelian closed his hand over the piece of metal, feeling the rough edges keenly as they pressed into the fresh of his palm. It was a piece of him, another piece of his past.

This was all that remained of another woman who made the mistake of loving him. Krelian had forgotten her until he saw the color of Reya's eyes for the first time. They were a clear emerald green just like hers have been. Reya was her namesake, a living reminder to not let another love him. This was another reason why Krelian had tried to crush any emotions that Reya might have. Krelian could understand hate but love had always been and would remain beyond him.