The crowd roared his name.
Aros! Aros! The Knight of Light!
The sound rose like surf, crashing against the square and echoing through the cracked walls of Preta. Flags shimmered under the late sun, the Light reflecting off every polished surface.Aros stood beside Talon on the high steps, his expression polite, almost distant. He had fought too many battles to believe applause could mean anything lasting.
Beside him, Talon spoke of victory, of unity, of the strength that had returned to the people.Aros nodded when expected, raised his hand when asked. To them, it looked like pride.Gemma could see the exhaustion buried beneath it.
She stood among the villagers, her cloak pulled tight. When they cheered, she clapped too.Her palms stung. Not from the noise, but from the hollowness inside her chest.
They had built this moment for him, for Aros, and she was proud. She was. But every shout of his name was a reminder of what she wasn't anymore. No voices in her head. No whispers of light. No flicker of power beneath her skin. Just silence, heavy and dry.
Talon called Aros forward, asking him to bless the people, to speak for the fallen. Aros hesitated a second too long, then smiled faintly and said what they needed to hear:That light had returned, that peace would follow, that faith was stronger than fear.
The square erupted again.Gemma's hands hung by her sides.
When it ended, the crowd began to scatter: children climbing onto the railings, women throwing flowers, soldiers removing the banners. Aros disappeared into the hall with Talon.Gemma turned away.
She walked aimlessly down the market road. The air smelled of hay and metal, the way all temporary peace does. Every face she passed looked full, satisfied, lit from within by the illusion that something had been won.Her boots kicked up dust as if trying to remind her that it had only settled, not vanished.
"Look who's not glowing anymore," said a familiar voice.
Broko was sitting on a low wall, sharpening his knife on a whetstone that had seen better years. His grin was crooked as ever.
Gemma almost smiled. "Guess I'll have to rely on my charm now."
"That's a start." He hopped down and walked beside her. "So what's wrong with you? You look like someone stole your shadow."
She hesitated, then said it simply: "It's gone. The light. Whatever it was. It's just… gone."
Broko whistled. "Well, look on the bright side. Now that you're not a freak, we can finally get along."
Gemma gave him a look that tried to be angry but couldn't hold it. "You're an idiot."
"Maybe. But I'm an idiot who's still alive. You should try it." He nudged her shoulder gently. "You're a good kid, Gemma. Better than most of us here. Powers or no powers, you've got a heart that'd shame the Light itself."
She shook her head. "That's not enough."
"It's all any of us ever had," Broko said, suddenly quiet. Then, forcing a grin, he added, "Now stop brooding, hero. Go punch a tree or something before I start thinking you're human."
He left her there, his laugh echoing down the alley. For a moment, it almost made her believe him.
The sun was low when she found Aros again, standing behind the assembly hall, staring at the banners still fluttering in the evening wind.He looked smaller now, stripped of the noise.
"You looked happy up there," she said.
He didn't turn. "You know that's not true."
"Maybe not," she said. "But it suits you better than me."
Aros exhaled, half sigh, half apology. "Gemma, about what happened..."
"Don't," she interrupted. "Don't say it's all right. Don't tell me it'll come back."
"I wasn't going to." He turned to face her then, his expression worn but soft. "I was going to say it doesn't matter. You don't need the Light to be who you are."
She laughed bitterly. "Then what was the point of all this?"
He frowned. "What do you mean?"
"The point!" Her voice cracked like something breaking open. "What was the point of everything we've done? Of everyone who died? What was the point of Diana throwing herself in front of that blade for me? Of my parents..."She stopped herself, breath sharp in her throat.
Aros's eyes widened slightly. "Gemma…"
"They're dead because of me," she said, her voice shaking now. "Because I didn't understand what I was, because I thought I could control it. Every time someone told me the Light had a reason, that I had a reason...do you know what it cost? How many bodies it took?"
Aros took a step toward her, but she backed away.
"I need it to mean something," she said quietly. "Otherwise it's just... death."
He didn't answer. He looked at her the way people look at a wound they can't treat.The silence stretched between them, long, unbearable, holy in its cruelty.
Finally, Aros said, "Maybe meaning isn't given. Maybe we make it. You taught me that."
Gemma wiped her eyes, angry at herself for crying. "Then make something of this. Because I can't."
She turned and left him there, the banners whispering behind her.
Aros stood until the last of the light faded, and when it did, he realized the crowd's cheers had already begun to sound like eulogies.
That night, the wind carried a strange hum through the streets of Preta.Gemma woke suddenly, her breath sharp, her chest tight. The silence she had grown used to was gone.
The voices had returned: not as whispers this time, but as cries. Urgent. Distant. Calling her by name.
She sat up, heart racing. Gemma… Gemma… come…
The sound wasn't inside her head anymore. It filled the air, trembling through the floorboards, vibrating through the windowpane. She rose, pulled on her cloak, and stepped outside.
The night was pale and swollen with fog. The village slept, yet she felt watched. The voices drew her forward, past the empty market, past the church where the banners still hung heavy from the day's celebration. They led her to the gates of Preta, the same road where they had first entered, the same place where her silence had begun.
And there, standing in the middle of the dirt path, was Jori.
The night pressed close, thick with fog.Gemma's steps slowed when she saw him.
Jori.
The name alone made her stomach twist. He stood in the middle of the road, where the pale lanterns flickered and died in the mist. There was no blood this time, but there didn't need to be, she could still see it. The bodies. The light that burned, the screams swallowed by brilliance.
"Stay where you are," she said. Her voice was steadier than her hands.
Jori tilted his head, a faint smile ghosting across his face. "You remember me."
"I remember everything." Her palms lit for a second, weak, trembling, but the memory of power was still there. "You murdered people. Dozens. Don't take another step."
"I'm not here to hurt you."
"Then what the hell are you here for?"
He looked thinner, paler, like something hollowed out by its own glow. "Because you need to understand what you are."
Gemma laughed once, harsh and small. "You think I'll stand here and listen to you preach after what you did?"
Jori's smile didn't fade, but the light in his eyes wavered. "You think I wanted that? You think I had a choice? The Light doesn't ask, it takes. It used me just like it used you...I can see it, you have hurted, you have killed with the power of Light"
Her throat went dry. "Don't you dare compare us."
"I don't need to." His tone sharpened, almost desperate. "You've felt it, haven't you? The silence? The hunger underneath it? It's not peace, it's what happens when the Light forgets you. And it's coming back."
Gemma's instinct screamed to leave, to run and wake Aros, but something in his words pinned her there. That single phrase: the Light forgets you.
"I don't need your help," she said.
Jori took one step forward, slow enough to show restraint. "No. But you need answers. There's another like us, a devourer. He's feeding on what's left of the Light, and every time he does, people like you fade. That's why you can't feel it anymore."
Gemma's pulse pounded in her ears. "You expect me to believe you?"
"I expect you to want to."
The words hit her harder than any threat could have.
Jori's voice softened, nearly breaking. "I'm not asking you to trust me, Gemma. Just listen. I can show you where he is. Help me stop him, and maybe you'll find out what the Light really is."
She stared at him, at the calm, too-human expression on the same face that had once smiled through blood.For a moment, the fog seemed to hold them both in place, the silence stretching so thin it could break.
"Why me?" she asked.
"Because he'll come for you first."
The mist swallowed his shape. His last words were barely a whisper, softer than the breath of the Light itself.
"And when he does, you'll wish you had listened."
Then he was gone.
Gemma stood frozen, the air around her vibrating with a sound that wasn't sound at all, just her name, spoken again and again in the quiet...a female voice...
Gemma… Gemma… come…
She pressed her hands to her ears, but it didn't stop. And somewhere inside that terror, a single thought rose like a spark:What if he's right?