The Iudex's Lament

The Rain Remembers

Rain had always been strange to Ezekiel.

Most people in Fontaine found comfort in it. Rain was part of the nation itself, as natural as breathing, as ordinary as morning sunlight in other places. It tapped gently against windows, flowed through elegant streets, and wrapped the city in silver whenever clouds gathered overhead.

But to Ezekiel, rain had never felt ordinary. Rain made his chest hurt. That morning, he woke up with tears still wet on his cheeks. For a few long seconds, he simply lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling of his apartment while his breathing slowly steadied. His heart was beating too fast, and his chest felt painfully tight, as though invisible hands were wrapped around it.

Again.

The same dream. The same unbearable feeling. Slowly, he lifted a hand and brushed his fingertips over damp skin, only to confirm what he already knew. He had cried in his sleep.

Again.

The dream was already fading, slipping away no matter how desperately he tried to hold onto it. It always happened like this. The moment he woke, the details blurred and dissolved like mist. Still, a few things remained. Rain. Endless rain. And a man. Tall. Elegant. Silver hair that almost seemed to glow under gray skies. Ezekiel could never see his face clearly. No matter how hard he tried, the man’s features always stayed just out of reach, blurred behind something he could never break through. But he remembered the feeling. It was Sadness. Not ordinary sadness.

It was deep and crushing, ancient and endless, as if the man in his dreams carried enough sorrow to drown an ocean.

And somehow, every single time Ezekiel dreamed of him, he woke up with tears in his eyes and an ache in his chest so sharp it felt unbearable.

Why? Why did he cry for someone he had never met?Why did he wake up feeling as if he had lost something precious? Something irreplaceable? Ezekiel shut his eyes and pressed a hand over his chest, trying to calm the strange pain.

Nothing made sense.

A loud knock suddenly shattered the silence.

“Ezekiel! Are you awake?”

He let out a tired sigh.

Charlotte.

Before he could answer, the door swung open.

Charlotte walked into his apartment carrying breakfast in paper bags, her sharp eyes landing on him immediately. Her expression changed almost instantly.

“You cried again.”

Ezekiel groaned and dropped his arm over his face.

“Good morning to you too.”

Charlotte ignored his sarcasm and walked closer, studying him with narrowed eyes.

“You had that dream again.”

It wasn’t a question.

Charlotte had known him long enough to notice things others missed.

Ezekiel slowly sat up, running a hand through his messy hair.

“…Yeah.”

Charlotte crossed her arms.

“The same dream?”

“The same one.”

Rain.

That silver-haired man. That strange, crushing sadness. Charlotte sighed heavily and sat at the edge of his bed.

“This is honestly starting to scare me.”

“You say that every time.”

“Because it is scary.”

Her voice softened slightly.

“You’ve been having this dream since you were a kid.”

Ezekiel knew.

That was the strange part. This wasn’t something recent. It had followed him for years. Ever since childhood, he had dreamed of rain, silver hair, and a grief so overwhelming it made him cry in his sleep. Sometimes there were fragments beyond that. A hand resting gently on his head. A deep voice speaking softly. Warmth. And pain. Always pain.

Charlotte snapped her fingers in front of him.

“Earth to Ezekiel.”

He blinked.

“What?”

Charlotte lifted one of the paper bags.

“Eat first. Suffer later.”

Despite himself, Ezekiel let out a quiet laugh.

That was Charlotte—sharp, loud, impossible to ignore, yet strangely comforting in her own way. Working with her at The Steambird had taught him one thing very quickly: Charlotte never slowed down. As one of Fontaine’s most well-known reporters, she chased stories with terrifying determination, dragging everyone around her into the chaos whether they liked it or not.

Unfortunately for Ezekiel, that included him.

Unlike Charlotte, Ezekiel preferred working behind the scenes. He was good at writing, good at noticing details others missed, and far better at organizing interviews than chasing dramatic headlines through the streets of Fontaine. It was why Charlotte often dragged him along whenever she dealt with important stories.

Which explained why she was now sitting on his bed, eating breakfast in his apartment like she owned the place.

As they ate, Charlotte suddenly pulled a folded document from her bag and slid it toward him.

Ezekiel frowned and picked it up.

His expression changed almost instantly.

Palais Mermonia.

Interview request.

Chief Justice Neuvillette.

Charlotte smiled, clearly pleased with his reaction.

“You’re coming with me tomorrow.”

Ezekiel immediately frowned.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

He glared at her. Charlotte glared back without blinking.

“You are absolutely coming.”

Ezekiel groaned and dropped backward onto the bed.

“I hate formal interviews.”

Charlotte shrugged.

“Too bad.” Then she smirked.

“Besides, every person in Fontaine dreams of meeting Monsieur Neuvillette.” Ezekiel stared at the paper. The name stirred something strange inside him. A faint ache. Small, but sharp enough to make him pause.

—

That same evening, rain poured endlessly over Fontaine.

At the edge of the city stood a mansion where silence had long replaced warmth.

Inside his study, Neuvillette sat behind a polished desk, purple-shaded slit eyes lowered to the documents before him. His posture remained straight, calm, and composed as always, but the silence surrounding him felt heavy. The mansion had become too quiet. No footsteps echoing through the halls. No laughter. No warmth. Only silence. Once, this place had felt alive. Now it felt like a grave. Neuvillette turned a page, though his thoughts had long drifted elsewhere.

There were nights when he found himself listening. Listening for footsteps that would never return. It was foolish.

He knew that, and yet some part of him still betrayed him. He Still listened.

A knock broke the silence.

The door opened.

A young woman stood there.

Silver-blue hair framed her calm expression, and her features carried traces of both her parents. Yet the most striking thing about her was her eyes.

Golden.

The exact same golden eyes Neuvillette had spent years trying and failing to forget.

Their daughter.

She stood at the doorway with careful posture.

“Father.”

Neuvillette lifted his gaze.

“You are still awake.”

She stepped inside.

“I could say the same.”

His expression remained unreadable.

“The staff informed me you missed dinner.”

“I was occupied.”

Silence followed.

She lowered her gaze briefly before speaking again.

“You should rest.”

Neuvillette looked at her for a moment.

There was something painfully familiar in the way concern softened her expression.

Something that tightened the old wound in his chest.

He looked away first.

“I will.”

Her voice softened.

“It is raining heavily tonight.”

Neuvillette’s hand stilled.

Rain.

Always rain.

He said nothing.

After a moment, she gave a small nod.

“Goodnight, Father.”

“Goodnight.”

She left.

The door closed quietly behind her. Neuvillette lowered his gaze to the documents, though the words no longer registered. A memory surfaced without warning. A Warm laughter, golden eyes shining with amusement, a teasing voice. You work too much.

His fingers tightened, the memory vanished. He closed his eyes, pain no longer came in waves.It lived inside him now.

Time had not healed him.

It had only taught him how to survive.

—

The next day, rain still covered Fontaine.

Ezekiel stood beside Charlotte outside the office of the Chief Justice, trying to ignore the nervousness building in his stomach. Even though he worked at The Steambird and had interviewed important people before, this was different.

This was Neuvillette.

The Chief Justice of Fontaine.

A man known throughout the nation for his terrifying calm and unreadable nature. Even standing outside his office made the air feel heavier.

Charlotte, on the other hand, looked perfectly confident as usual.

“You look nervous,” she said.

Ezekiel frowned.

“I’m not.”

Charlotte raised an eyebrow.

“You are.”

Before he could argue, the assistant opened the door.

“You may enter.”

Charlotte walked in first.

Ezekiel followed.

The office was exactly what he expected.

Elegant. Organized. Cold.

Everything about it reflected the man sitting behind the desk.

Neuvillette.

Silver hair framed his calm expression, and his sharp purple-shaded slit eyes were lowered to the documents before him. Even sitting still, his presence alone made the entire room feel quieter.

Intimidating.

Ezekiel immediately understood why so many people feared him.

Charlotte stepped forward professionally.

“Monsieur Neuvillette, thank you for agreeing to this interview.”

Neuvillette lifted his gaze.

His eyes landed on Charlotte first.

Then shifted.

To Ezekiel.

Everything changed.

The transformation was so sudden that even Ezekiel noticed it.

Neuvillette froze completely. The pen slipped from his hand and struck the floor with a sharp sound that echoed across the silent office.

Charlotte stopped speaking.

Even the assistant looked startled.

Neuvillette’s eyes remained fixed on him without blinking.

The silence became uncomfortable almost instantly.

Charlotte glanced between them in confusion.

“Monsieur Neuvillette?” There was no response.

Ezekiel stood frozen under that intense stare, his thoughts immediately spiraling.

Did I do something wrong?

Did I break some rule?

Was standing there wrong?

Did he accidentally offend the Chief Justice somehow?

He quickly searched his memory.

No.

He had said nothing.

Done nothing.

Then why was Neuvillette looking at him like that?

For the first time, Ezekiel noticed something impossible in the Chief Justice’s expression, Neuvillette as shock. But It disappeared almost as quickly as it came, but not before everyone in the room noticed. After what felt like an eternity, Neuvillette finally stood. His movements were slow and controlled, but something about him felt different now. It was Unstable but not outwardly. But something beneath the surface had clearly shifted.

When he finally spoke, his voice was calm as always.

“The interview is canceled.”

Charlotte blinked.

“…I’m sorry?”

Even the assistant looked stunned.

Neuvillette did not look away from Ezekiel.

His gaze remained unreadable.

Cold again.

Yet strangely heavy.

“I am unavailable for the remainder of the day.”

Charlotte frowned. “Monsieur Neuvillette, if there is a problem, we can reschedule—”

“That will be all.”

His tone remained polite, but final, no room for discussion.

The assistant hesitated. “Monsieur—”

Neuvillette turned away.

Without another word, he walked toward the inner chamber of his office, his posture as composed as ever.

As though nothing unusual had happened.

As though he had not just shocked everyone in the room.

The door closed behind him and silence swallowed the office. Charlotte stared at the closed door in complete disbelief. Even the assistant seemed unable to process what had happened.

Ezekiel stood motionless.

His mind was a mess.

What just happened?

Because no matter how much he replayed the scene in his head, he could not understand it.

He had done absolutely nothing.

So why had Monsieur Neuvillette reacted like that?______

The atmosphere at The Steambird was terrible.

The moment Charlotte and Ezekiel returned, word had already spread.

The interview with Chief Justice Neuvillette had been canceled.

Just like that.

The biggest opportunity The Steambird had received in months was gone. Questions spread quickly, some worker blame Ezekiel.

Ezekiel noticed it almost immediately. Their eyes lingered on him for too long. Their Conversations stopped the moment he walked past. Whispers followed behind his back. Near the newsroom, two workers stood by the coffee machine, speaking in hushed voices they clearly thought were quiet enough.

“What even happened?”

“I heard Monsieur Neuvillette canceled the moment he saw Ezekiel.”

“That’s strange.”

“Maybe Ezekiel said something offensive.”

“But he barely even spoke.”

“Then something must’ve happened.”

“The whole interview was ruined because of him.”

“He cost us a huge opportunity.”

Ezekiel kept walking, pretending not to hear, but every word reached him clearly. By evening, his thoughts were a complete mess. He sat at his desk staring blankly at unfinished papers, replaying the meeting over and over in his mind. He entered the office. Charlotte introduced them.

Neuvillette looked at him.

Then everything went wrong.

That was it.

That was literally all that happened.

Ezekiel frowned harder.

Did he do something wrong?

Did he unknowingly break some formal rule?

Was his posture rude?

Should he have bowed differently?

Did he stand strangely?

The more he thought about it, the more confused he became.

Nothing made sense.

He sighed and dropped his head onto the desk.

Charlotte walked over and placed a cup of tea beside him.

Unlike everyone else, she didn’t blame him.

She simply looked thoughtful.

“You really don’t know him?”

Ezekiel lifted his head. “What?”

Charlotte crossed her arms. “I’m serious. You’ve never met Monsieur Neuvillette before?”

Ezekiel frowned. “Never.”

Charlotte narrowed her eyes.

“Then why did he look at you like that?”

Ezekiel stared blankly at his papers for several seconds.

Thinking.

Thinking harder.

Then, very seriously, he looked up.

“I think he hates my face.”

Charlotte stared at him.

“…What?”

Ezekiel sat up straighter, suddenly sounding weirdly confident in his conclusion.

“It makes sense.”

Charlotte blinked.

“No, it doesn’t.”

Ezekiel ignored her.

“Think about it. I walked in, he looked at me, immediately hated what he saw, canceled the interview, and left.”

Charlotte’s face went blank.

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve heard all day.”

Ezekiel frowned.

“But it’s possible.”

“No.”

“What if my face reminds him of someone he hates?”

Charlotte pinched the bridge of her nose.

“You’re unbelievable.”

Ezekiel slumped back in his chair.

“Then explain it.”

Charlotte opened her mouth.

Then stopped.

Because honestly , she couldn’t. That was the worst part. Nothing about today made sense. Charlotte looked at Ezekiel again, her expression turning thoughtful. No matter how much she replayed that scene in her head, one thing remained clear. Monsieur Neuvillette’s reaction had not looked like anger.

Nor disgust, nor hatred. It had looked like something else entirely. Something heavier. Something painfully human.

Something that should not have existed in the cold, untouchable Chief Justice of Fontaine.

Charlotte frowned.

She didn’t know what Monsieur Neuvillette saw when he looked at Ezekiel.

But whatever it was, it had shaken him deeply.