"Even gods bleed where the heart remembers." — Old Dominion Proverb
Darkness had weight.
It pressed against Kaen's chest, thick as water, cold as grief. He floated in it—no breath, no body, no sound—only the echo of his heartbeat, slow and distant.
Then a voice reached him. Soft, trembling, familiar.
"You shouldn't have followed me, Kaen…"
The dark rippled. He opened his eyes and saw Liora standing barefoot on a surface that looked like water, though it didn't move. Her white hair drifted like smoke in the still air. The wound in her chest was gone, but a faint light pulsed there, steady and sad.
Kaen tried to move toward her, but every motion felt slowed—like time itself was resisting him."Liora…" His voice cracked. "I didn't mean to—"
She shook her head gently. "You never do." Her smile was soft, almost forgiving. "That's why it hurts so much."
He dropped to his knees, the surface rippling outward with each tear that fell. "You died because of me."
Liora knelt with him, their faces inches apart. "No," she whispered. "I died because I chose to stand with you."
The world shimmered—light bleeding into shadow. Her eyes flicked toward something behind him.
Kaen turned.
A tall figure stood beyond the haze, robed in night. His hair flowed silver, eyes glowing faintly like moons seen through fog. Every breath he took bent the air around him.
Erevos.
The name came unbidden, a thought not his own.
"You are not alone," the god said quietly. His voice carried both warmth and sorrow. "Her light did not fade—it became part of your silence."
Kaen's throat closed. "Why me?"
"Because the world needed balance," Erevos murmured. "And balance demands a wound."
Liora touched Kaen's hand. Her touch was weightless, yet real enough to make him tremble. "When you wake… don't let them make you their monster. Promise me."
"I don't even know who I am anymore."
Her smile deepened—melancholy and radiant. "Then start there."
She leaned close, whispering,
"The Source may abandon you, Kaen… but I won't."
Light burst through the water's surface like dawn breaking glass.Kaen reached out for her—but his fingers caught only shadow.
He woke gasping.
The world came back all at once—stone ceiling, cold air, the weight of his body returning like punishment. He was lying on a rough cot, wrapped in blankets that smelled faintly of herbs and damp moss.
When his hands rose to his face, he froze.
Something was different.
His reflection in the polished metal basin beside the bed stared back with eyes that were no longer brown—they burned a deep, ocean blue, catching the torchlight like glass over water. His black hair now carried a white streak running through the front, sharp and natural, like moonlight frozen in shadow. His body had changed too—still lean, but carved now with subtle definition, strength where there had once been only fragility.
And on his back, beneath the linen wrap, he felt the faint warmth of a black ring tattoo—a perfect circle inked into his skin, cool to the touch, yet humming faintly with life. The mark of Erevos, god of silence.
He drew a shuddering breath. Whatever he had become, he wasn't the same boy who fell asleep three days ago.
Aelis sat beside him, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. For a long time, she didn't notice he was awake. Her shoulders rose and fell slowly, the rhythm of exhaustion and effort.
"You're awake," she finally whispered, her voice trembling like something fragile.
Kaen tried to sit up, but pain rippled through his ribs. Aelis pressed a hand against his shoulder. "Easy," she murmured. "You're safe now."
He studied her face. The last thing he remembered was Liora's voice—and the light dying in her eyes. "Where… are we?"
"A rebel sanctuary," she said softly. "Elyra brought us here. You've been asleep for three days."
Kaen blinked slowly. "Three days…" His voice cracked. "Liora…"
The name shattered Aelis's composure. She looked down, her lips trembling, and tried to swallow the grief—but it slipped through anyway.
"I told myself I couldn't cry," she whispered, shaking her head. "You needed me to be strong. But gods, Kaen… I lost her. I lost them both."
Kaen turned toward her, his expression hollow. "You mean Rellan."
Her eyes closed. "He's alive," she said. "But the light in him is gone. The boy I raised is gone." She covered her face, fingers digging into her skin. "I don't know how to forgive him for what he's done… but I can't stop loving him either."
Kaen's voice came quieter. "Do you hate him?"
Aelis wiped her eyes and exhaled shakily. "No," she said. "He's still my child. Lost. Broken. But still mine."
Kaen hesitated. His next words came softer still. "Do you hate me?"
Aelis looked up at him—really looked—and in that gaze was grief, exhaustion, and fierce, unshakable love. Then she reached forward and pulled him into her arms.
It wasn't gentle—it was desperate. A trembling, wordless embrace that spoke of everything left unsaid.
Kaen stiffened at first. Then the dam inside him broke. He clung to her like a boy to a fading light and sobbed into her shoulder. The sound that escaped him wasn't divine—it was human, raw, and small.
Aelis held him tighter, her own tears falling silently into his hair.
When his sobs finally quieted, the silence between them wasn't empty. It was shared.
"I didn't want to wake up," he whispered.
"I know," she murmured. "But I'm glad you did."
Bootsteps echoed down the tunnel, a steady rhythm cutting through the quiet.
"Good," a voice said. "Because the world doesn't stop while we grieve."
A man stepped into the chamber. He was tall, lean, with long dark hair tied loosely back, a calm wind seeming to follow him wherever he went. His worn leather armor bore faint cuts from battles long past, and the sword at his hip gleamed faintly in the light.
Cael.
His expression was unreadable, yet his presence filled the room. "So," he said evenly, "you're the one Elyra risked everything for." His gaze swept over Kaen, assessing without judgment. "You don't look like a god. You look like someone who's seen the end of the world and came back with questions."
Kaen's lips twitched faintly. "Maybe I did."
Cael nodded once. "Then maybe you'll fit in."
Aelis exhaled slowly, rising beside Kaen but never letting go of his shoulder. "What happens now?"
Cael's hand brushed the hilt of his blade, his eyes never leaving Kaen.
"Now," he said quietly, "we find out if the Death God still remembers how to be human."
"The dawn does not forgive the night—it only remembers it softly." — Verse from The Hymn of the Hollow Sun