The silence stretched too long. Her light pressed all around me, bright and suffocating, like she wanted to end the conversation and burn it from existence at the same time.
I swallowed the knot in my throat. "If that's the truth, then what do I do? How do I stop Mora?"
Her glow shifted, sharp and cutting. "You presume to stand against the Abyss itself? Bold. Or stupid."
I snorted, wiping sweat from my brow. "Probably both. But if I'm already caught between you and him, I don't exactly have a choice."
The light quivered, almost like a shiver of amusement. "Choices exist, mortal. Even when you are too blind to see them. You could kneel. You could drown. You could let yourself be devoured."
"Not happening." My voice cracked, but I forced it steady. "If I give up, then I was never really alive in the first place."
Her silence pressed again. Then she said, softer, like venom wrapped in silk:"Stubborn. Irritating. Human."
The Beacon pulsed in my hand, warm, steady, as if agreeing with me. I lifted it a little, staring at its light. "You say this thing chose me. Or clings to me. Then maybe that means I'm not as worthless as you make me out to be."
Her aura flared—too sharp to be denial, too quick to be pride. "Do not mistake a tool's grip for destiny. The Beacon obeys Me. It serves My will."
"Yeah?" I said. "Then why did it listen to me when I threw it at your enemy?"
The silence that followed was almost funny. For the first time since I met her, she didn't have an instant answer.
I almost smiled. Almost.
Finally, her voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Do not test Me, Chad Michael. You survived because I allowed it."
"Sure." I muttered, half under my breath.
Her light sharpened, dangerous, but then—faded back. She didn't press the threat. She could've. She didn't.
Instead, she shifted the topic, her tone hard again:"Mora will come. That much is certain. He covets what lies between your soul and your flesh. A wound where you were torn from one world into this. He will press his eyes into that crack until he owns it—or until it breaks you."
My skin crawled. "You mean he can still reach me?"
"He already has." Her glow dimmed, almost somber. "Why do you think you dream of him? Why do whispers claw at the edge of your hearing? The Abyss does not wait politely at doors. It seeps."
The memory of those eyes—countless, watching me in the dark—made my stomach twist. I tightened my grip on the Beacon. "Then I'll fight it. Him. Whatever it takes."
"You'll fail." Her tone was cold, final. Then, after a long pause: "Unless…"
I looked up. "Unless what?"
Her light tilted, like a queen lowering her chin. "Unless you keep walking. Unless you sharpen yourself until not even the Abyss can consume you. That is the path you refuse to admit you crave. The path of struggle, of clawing tooth and nail until even gods must acknowledge you."
Her voice boomed like a verdict, but under it, I caught the smallest trace of… something else. Not pity. Not kindness. Something sharper. A dare.
I set my jaw. "Then I'll take it."
The light pulsed, brighter, for just a moment. And though her tone snapped back to cold perfection, I heard the slip.
"See that you do, mortal. I would not suffer My Beacon to be wasted on a coward."
And just like that, the glow started to fade. The floor beneath me solidified. My legs wobbled, suddenly heavy again. My body reminded me I was exhausted, bleeding, half-dead.
Her final words lingered, echoing in the chamber of light:"The Abyss watches. Defy it—or drown."
The light broke apart. Darkness rushed in.
And I fell back into myself.