The rain never stopped.
It fell harder now, drumming against metal rooftops and spilling down the narrow alley like liquid glass. Riven sat where Azael had left him, soaked to the bone, trembling though the air wasn't cold. The mark on his chest still burned, pulsing with a rhythm that didn't match his heartbeat.
He didn't dare look into the puddles again. Every reflection shimmered faintly, like an eye half-open.
A sound—soft, deliberate footsteps—echoed from the other end of the alley. Riven's head snapped up.
"Azael?" he whispered.
No answer.
Instead, a figure stumbled into view—a woman this time, or what looked like one. Her dress clung to her like wet paper, eyes hollow and mouth twisted into something that was almost a smile.
"Elyon…" she breathed, voice breaking apart into static. "The storm calls you home…"
Riven backed away. "Stay back."
The thing tilted its head, bones cracking with every movement. Behind her, more shapes emerged—half-formed, half-rotted silhouettes of people that shouldn't exist. They crept closer, drawn to the faint golden light bleeding from Riven's skin.
The mark flared again, bright and violent. The air thickened, vibrating with a low hum that felt alive. Riven's vision blurred as light erupted from his palms—wild, uncontrolled, splitting the rain in midair.
The creatures screamed. The light tore through them like fire through smoke, leaving nothing but ash and echo.
When it was over, Riven collapsed onto the wet ground, chest heaving. His hands still glowed faintly.
"What am I doing…" he whispered. "What's happening to me?"
"You're remembering."
Riven turned sharply. Azael stood in the alley's mouth again, the storm curving around him as if afraid to touch him.
"I told you to leave," Riven said, voice shaking.
"I did," Azael replied, stepping forward. "You called me back."
"I didn't—"
"Yes, you did." His eyes softened, silver reflecting gold. "You always do."
Riven stared at him, rain trailing down his face. "Those things—they knew my name. The one you called me. Elyon. Why?"
Azael's expression darkened. "Because that name belongs to something they fear."
He crouched beside Riven, reaching out, fingers brushing lightly against his shoulder. "And because the world remembers what it destroys, even when you do not."
Riven swallowed hard. "You keep talking like you've known me before."
Azael's lips curved faintly. "Because I have."
Lightning split the sky, illuminating the alley in blinding white. For an instant, Riven saw something behind Azael—wings. Not angelic, not demonic, but something older, made of darkness threaded with veins of silver light. Then they were gone.
"What are you?" Riven breathed.
"The same thing you are," Azael said quietly. "Something the heavens tried to erase."
The storm roared above them, and Riven suddenly realized the rain had stopped touching Azael entirely. Each drop evaporated inches from him, hissing softly as if burned away.
"Why are you helping me?" Riven asked.
Azael hesitated, then looked away. "Because last time, I didn't."
The words hung heavy between them.
Riven pushed himself to his feet, unsteady. "You keep saying things that make no sense."
"They will," Azael murmured. "When the rest of you wakes up."
The mark on Riven's chest pulsed again, as if in answer. Azael's eyes flicked to it, concern tightening his jaw. "It's reacting faster than it should. They'll come for you again before dawn."
"Then tell me how to stop them."
Azael's gaze met his—steady, unblinking, intense. "You can't stop what you don't remember being."
Before Riven could respond, a scream tore through the air—a sound not of pain, but of something ancient being summoned. The ground shuddered. Every window around them shattered outward, raining glass.
Azael's hand shot out, grabbing Riven by the wrist. "Run."
They sprinted through the flooded streets, shadows crawling along the walls beside them. The city lights flickered and died one by one as something vast moved above the clouds.
"Where are we going?" Riven shouted.
"Somewhere they can't cross," Azael said. "A place built for what you were."
"And what's that supposed to mean?"
Azael didn't answer. His grip tightened. The world seemed to bend around them—the rain twisting, sound warping. For a moment, everything blurred.
Then they were standing in an old, abandoned cathedral on the city's edge. The air smelled of dust and forgotten prayers. Candlelight flickered along the cracked walls, though no flame burned.
Riven stumbled, disoriented. "How did you—"
Azael turned to face him, silver eyes glowing faintly in the dark. "This is where you fell last time."
Riven's breath caught. "Fell?"
"From grace," Azael whispered.
Thunder rolled again, deeper this time, like a heartbeat in the distance. The candles flared brighter, illuminating faded murals—wings, fire, and a figure that looked eerily like him.
Riven stared up at it, his reflection mirrored in the golden paint. "That's me."
Azael nodded. "The world called you the Eternal One. A bridge between life and death. Light and dark. The first and the last."
Riven shook his head, backing away. "No. I'm not—"
"You are," Azael interrupted softly. "And they remember what you did."
Riven's voice broke. "What did I do?"
Azael stepped closer, his expression unreadable. "You loved something the world forbade. And it cost you everything."
The rain outside intensified, drumming against the roof like a heartbeat. Riven felt his pulse match it, the air around him humming again with that same golden vibration.
Azael looked at him with quiet, aching familiarity. "You swore never to be reborn. But even eternity bends for love."
Riven stared at him, the world spinning slightly, realization clawing at the edges of his mind. "Azael… who were you to me?"
Azael's answer was almost lost in the thunder. "The one who watched you burn."
Silence.
Outside, the silver rain fell harder, and the reflection in the cathedral glass shifted—showing two figures instead of one, standing closer than memory allowed.