The river spat them out one by one.
Isabelle's head broke the surface first. She clawed at the mud, pulling herself up the bank, coughing water until her throat burned. Her hair clung to her face in black strands, her eyes wild and stinging. She turned back just in time to see Isaac drag Ian from the current, one arm hooked beneath his chest, the other reaching, grabbing, pulling with a fury that refused to let go.
Ian's body was limp. His head lolled back, mouth open, water spilling from his lips.
"Help me!" Isaac's voice cracked. He hauled Ian onto the bank, dropped him onto the wet grass, and shoved Isabelle aside so he could slam his palms against Ian's chest.
"Wake up," Isaac hissed. He pressed down hard, once, twice, again and again, each push sharp enough to bruise. Ian's chest lurched. His body stayed still. Isabelle sobbed, clawing at his shoulder.
"Breathe, damn you!" Isaac slapped him hard across the face.
Nothing.
He pressed again. Again. The sound of water squelched from Ian's throat. Then, all at once, Ian convulsed. A rush of river spewed out of his mouth. He coughed and gagged, body arching as if dragged back from the edge of somewhere unspeakably far. His eyes shot open, red-veined and searching. He breathed, ragged and harsh.
Isabelle collapsed onto him, arms tight around his shoulders, sobbing into his chest. Isaac sagged back, panting, face pale with relief.
On the edge of it all, Tomas sat with his face buried in his hands. His body trembled not from the cold but from memory. Not memory as it should have been, but memory unshackled, broken loose from whatever the Church had buried. He saw Leor's face, soft and patient, more brother than blood. He saw Cala's hand, small and warm, tugging him into games he'd pretended to despise but never missed. He saw laughter, promises, fragments of belonging.
And then he saw himself, standing over Cala, telling her she was delusional. Shoving her drawings aside. Mocking her grief.
His stomach turned. Rage rose with the bile. Rage at himself. Rage at the men who had tied him down, beaten him bloody, kept him silent while his friend was taken to slaughter.
Isabelle looked up. Her hair dripped across her cheeks. She pulled herself off Ian and moved to Tomas. She put a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay," she whispered. "You couldn't have known. They erased you just like everyone else."
Tomas shook his head hard. His voice was raw. "They tied me up. They beat me down until I couldn't move. They didn't let me help him. I could have stopped it-I could have changed it-" His throat broke. "This is my fault."
"No." Isabelle's hand gripped tighter. "No, Tomas. You couldn't have fought them. You couldn't have stopped him. You couldn't-"
He jerked away, curling forward, knuckles pressed into his forehead. His body shook with rage he didn't know where to put. For once, there was no smirk, no quick tongue, no shield of jokes to hide behind.
Isaac stood, dripping river water, face pale but steady. "Stop digging holes in yourself," he said. "We can't change what happened. But Cala is still here. She's alive, Tomas. And she needs us now."
Ian, still coughing, pushed himself shakily upright. His voice came hoarse, but it carried. "He's right. Get up. We're not done."
Tomas lifted his head. His eyes were red, bloodshot, and furious. He looked at them-at Ian, pale and soaked; at Isaac, jaw clenched; at Isabelle, face streaked with river and tears. Slowly, with effort, he pushed himself up onto his feet.
And that was when they saw it.
A figure, further down the bank. Standing still, too still.
Isabelle gasped. "Cera."
The figure didn't move. Didn't raise a hand. Didn't blink. Only watched.
Then the voice came. Not from his lips. From inside their heads.
"You walk because I allow it.
You breathe because the silence has not claimed you yet.
Do you think this road is yours?
It was written long before your feet touched it."
The four of them froze. Ian's body went rigid, water still dripping from his clothes. Tomas clenched his fists, teeth bared.
Cera tilted his head, just slightly. The voice pressed harder.
"You want to save her.
But you cannot save what was never meant to stay.
She is already walking the road her brother carved.
One boy fell.
One girl follows.
This is not tragedy.
This is design."
The bell tolled.
It came from further down the river—low, heavy, stretched. The sound carried through the trees, through the bones, as if the air itself bent to let it pass.
The figure of Cera turned and walked. Not into the trees, not onto the path—he simply was further away, each blink placing him farther along the riverbank.
"Keep moving," the voice whispered. "You are almost where you must be."
They walked.
The river beside them grew violent, its current thrashing against stone, foam frothing, spray striking their skin. The sun sagged low in the sky, bleeding orange across the surface. Shadows stretched long.
Cera's voice followed every step.
"Look how small you are.
Children chasing another child into the dark.
You call it love.
But love is a rope that always breaks.
Love is a lie you whisper to dying mouths.
Do you not feel it?
You are too late already."
None of them spoke. The air was heavy with the river's roar and the toll of the bell, closer each time, heavier, cracked with strain as if the metal itself was in pain.
The trees thinned. The ground sloped. The river bent once, twice, and then—the end.
The village's edge.
A sheer cliff face, stone jagged and wet with spray. Below, the forest sprawled in endless green, writhing in the glow of the sinking sun, twisting like an inferno held low to the earth. The river poured itself over the edge in a thunder of white water, swallowed whole by the void below.
And at the cliff's edge,
Cala.
She stood barefoot on the rock, toes curling at the brink. Her ribbon trailed loose from her hair. Her arms hung at her sides.
The bell tolled again. The sound shuddered the stone beneath their feet.
Cala's voice rose above it. "Leor," she whispered. "I can hear him. He's calling."
"Cala, wait!" Isabelle cried. She stepped forward, hand out. "Please, come back from the edge."
Ian lunged, but Isaac caught his arm, dragging him back. "She's too close to the edge, you'll fall with her."
"Cala—" Tomas's voice cracked. He stepped forward, voice raw with guilt. "I remember now. I remember you. I remember Leor. I'm sorry. I should have been there for you. I should have been there for him. I'm sorry."
Cala didn't turn. Her gaze stayed fixed on the abyss.
"Wait!" Ian shouted.
She took another step. Her toes clung to the edge. A single breath of wind could tip her.
"He didn't forget me," she said. Her voice was clear, almost serene. "I'm here, big brother. I'm right here."
The bell tolled. It sounded broken, strained, as if each swing ripped metal apart.
And then, from the trees behind them—Cera's voice, soft and near.
Look at her.
She is still.
She is ready.
Do not call this terror.
Call it peace.
She knows what you refuse to learn.
Return to nothing, little spark.
From nothing you came.
To nothing you belong."
"DON'T!" Ian broke free of Isaac's grip and sprinted. His feet hammered the stone. His hand stretched—
Too late.
Cala stepped forward.
The cliff took her.
Her body fell, hair snapping in the wind, arms wide, swallowed by the green glow below.
Ian reached the edge. He looked down—and saw no forest. No trees. Only a vast, gaping mouth, wide and endless, the canopy twisted into teeth of flame, the void beneath like a throat swallowing light.
The ledge crumbled under his feet. The ground gave way. His body pitched forward into the abyss—
"IAN!" Isabelle screamed.
Tomas lunged, caught Ian's wrist, dragged him back with every shred of strength. Stone cracked and fell into the inferno below. Ian clung to him, panting, wide-eyed.
Behind them, the laughter.
Cera's laughter, quiet, steady, echoing off the trees. It faded slowly, until only the roar of the waterfall remained.
And below—
Cala fell.
The roar dissolved.
The cliff was gone.
The forest was gone.
There was no ground.
There was no sky.
Only the stretch of endless green flame, folding, turning, eternal.
"Leor?
I hear you.
I finally found you."
"You have always been calling.
And I have always answered,
even when you did not know it."
"I knew you wouldn't forget me."
"Forget?
I keep every piece of you.
You are mine to remember,
even when the world lets you go."
"Brother?
Please—take my hand.
It's so dark.
I can't see where to go."
A voice wrapped around her like a blanket.
Too warm. Too close.
"It is not dark.
It only feels that way.
There is light here—
a light that never ends.
Step closer. I will guide you."
"But…I'm scared.
What if I fall?
What if you're not really there?"
"Fear is for those left behind.
You are not left behind.
You are with me.
You will never be alone again."
Shapes bled through the abyss,
half-formed, unraveling as soon as she reached for them:
a jar leaking light like water through cracks,
a ribbon untied before her fingers touched it,
a crown of weeds falling apart mid-air,
petals rotting, stems twisting,
becoming dust before they landed.
"They said you were gone.
Everyone said you were gone."
The voice came from everywhere—
from behind her teeth,
from under her skin.
"I was not gone.
I was waiting.
I am always waiting."
The shapes bent, overlapping,
the jar becoming the ribbon,
the ribbon becoming weeds,
the weeds becoming hands,
hands reaching for her throat,
pulling back into the dark.
"You…you don't sound the same."
"No.
You hear me now as I truly am.
Not as the lie you tried to love."
The voice pressed close, soft as breath,
as if he were kneeling beside her,
as if the jar still glowed between them.
It thrummed low in her ribs,
familiar and wrong at once.
"Will you stay with me?
Don't…don't leave me again."
A pause, like a sigh.
Then the answer came, steady, tender:
"I will never leave you.
Not now.
Not ever.
Even if everything else fades,
I'll remain.
Even if the world forgets,
I will remember.
You'll be safe inside me.
Always."
Her breath caught.
"…Leor?"
The voice warmed, coaxing,
a smile she could almost see.
"Say it again.
Say my name.
Say it until there's nothing left but us."
Her chest grew warm.
Heavy.
Like something alive had slipped inside her,
curling, coiling,
wrapping itself tight around her heart.
Each beat no longer hers—
each thud echoing back as if answered from outside her body.
"I'll stay with you.
Always."
The voice deepened, delighted.
"Yes.
Your spark is mine now.
I see it.
I taste it.
It flares against the dark—
and it knows where it belongs.
It shines.
It burns.
It begs,
little one,
begs to be swallowed."
Her breath hitched.
The warmth inside her chest began to sear.
"…Leor?"
The reply came smooth, tender, patient.
"Call me what you must.
Brother.
Savior.
End.
I will answer them all.
I will answer,
until you have no need of names."
The void rushed closer.
The edges of her thoughts flickered, broke apart,
like moth wings pulled into flame.
Her lips trembled.
Her voice, the last thing left, reached into the abyss.
"Brother?"
…
…
At first, only stillness.
But the silence shifted.
It was not empty.
It pressed in.
It leaned closer.
It breathed without breath.
Not silence—
a mouth.
Not silence—
a hand, closing.
Not silence—
a hunger older than words.
Her voice dissolved into it.
Her name unraveled inside it.
Her spark bent, cracked,
then folded like wet paper.
The last word dangled a moment,
then fractured:
"Bro——ther?"
"B—rother?"
"Br…oth…er—"
"…Bro—"
"…B—"