The storm over the Western Empire had finally passed. For days, thunder rolled and rain carved rivers through broken streets, but now the skies cleared, leaving only silence in their wake. Markets opened again, soldiers drilled in courtyards, and commoners tried to stitch back a life that felt as fragile as glass.
But for Richerd, Victoria, and Alex, the storm had not ended. Their survival came at a price: Rudra, lying unmoving, his breath shallow, his fate uncertain.
A week had slipped by since that night.
The healers of the city had done what they could. Herbs, chants, sacred oils — all had been poured into his body. The divine touch Nastya and Dashra once gave him had saved him from death's door, but ordinary hands could only carry the burden so far. His chest rose and fell weakly, the rhythm of a body alive, but his spirit wandered elsewhere.
Blue flames, once wild and untamable, now lay dormant, caged within him, yet their echo lingered. Sometimes his skin glowed faintly at night, like embers refusing to die.
Victoria rarely left his side. She sat beside his bed as though bound by invisible chains, eyes locked on his face. The world outside no longer mattered. Richerd and Alex moved in and out, carrying the weight of duties, but they too found themselves drawn back to this chamber, standing in silence before the boy who had nearly been consumed.
---
The Flicker
It was noon when it happened.
The chamber was quiet, lit by thin shafts of sunlight slipping through a cracked window. The scent of herbs and oil clung to the air. Victoria sat still, her hands folded in her lap, eyes tracing the curve of Rudra's face. She had never thought she could feel this way about anyone — not with such sharp, unguarded intensity.
Then his lips moved.
A faint murmur escaped, fragile as broken glass:
"Mom… Mom…"
Her breath caught. Her eyes widened. For a moment, she could not move — and then the sound repeated, weak but desperate. His hand twitched, and a flicker of blue flame sparked across his skin.
"Rudra…" Victoria whispered, her own voice shaking. She grasped his hand, ignoring the faint heat, tears already gathering in her eyes. "I'm here. Don't worry. You're safe."
But his body trembled. Flames crawled up his fingers, faint yet threatening. His lips quivered, repeating the word like a prayer.
"Mom… take me in your arms…"
Victoria pressed a damp cloth against his skin, trying to smother the fire before it consumed him. Her throat burned. To see him fight so violently against shadows unseen — it was unbearable. She bent closer, whispering again and again:
"You are not alone. You are not abandoned. Please, come back to us…"
---
🌑 Inside Rudra's Consciousness
Meanwhile, Rudra walked.
The void stretched endlessly around him — no sky, no ground, only darkness. His bare feet scraped against nothing, every step heavy, his body hollow. His hair hung tangled across his bruised face. His chest rose in shallow, pained breaths.
For what felt like hours — or days — he wandered, searching for something, anything. But the horizon never shifted.
At last, his strength gave way. He collapsed onto the unseen ground, lying flat, staring into the void above. His lips parted, and the same broken murmur spilled out:
"Mom… Mom… take me in your arms…"
The words echoed through the darkness, swallowed by silence. His eyes blurred with tears. His heart ached so sharply it felt as if it were splitting apart.
Then — a voice.
Soft. Familiar. Almost too distant to be real.
His mother's voice.
At first, he thought it was only memory. But it grew clearer, wrapping around him like warmth he had long forgotten. With it came fragments of light — flashes of his childhood in Indica. His mother's laughter as she fed him. Her hand brushing his hair aside as she told him stories. The way she carried him on her back when his legs grew tired.
His chest convulsed. His lips parted in a broken cry.
"No… Mom… don't leave me! Don't leave me behind! Moooooom!"
---
Two Worlds, One Struggle
Outside, his body thrashed. The flames flared brighter, and his grip clamped tightly around Victoria's hand. Tears streamed down his face, wetting the pillow beneath him.
Victoria gasped, her own sobs spilling free. She leaned close, pressing her forehead against his.
"Rudra! You're still here… I can feel it. Please, don't give up! Come back!"
Her tears soaked his hand. Her voice cracked, breaking on the weight of her desperation.
Richerd entered quietly, his boots halting at the doorway. He froze at the sight — the boy convulsing in flames, Victoria clinging desperately to him. His jaw tightened. He had seen warriors die on battlefields, but this struggle — one of soul against oblivion — was fiercer than any war he had witnessed.
---
The Voice
Inside, the voice came again.
"Are you sure you have been left behind?"
Rudra's head snapped up. His eyes widened, his voice trembling.
"Mom? It's you! I know that voice! Where are you? Why can't I see you?"
The voice repeated, calm and gentle:
"Are you sure you are left behind?"
His fists clenched. His throat tore open with anger.
"Yes! If I wasn't, why are you gone? Why did Father die? Why am I the one left to suffer this agony?!"
The voice pressed on:
"Are you sad because you face hardship… or because you believe you were abandoned?"
"Both!" Rudra screamed. His tears streamed faster. His voice cracked into raw despair. "If you had let me die that day, I wouldn't have to bear this torment!"
His sobs echoed in the void. He collapsed again, curling into himself, hands clutching his chest.
---
And then — from the darkness — a radiant hand emerged.
It rested gently on his head. Soft. Warm. Real.
The voice asked:
"Do you know why this place is so dark?"
Rudra shook his head weakly. His lips trembled.
"No… I searched… but I can't find the way out."
The hand stroked his hair tenderly.
"This darkness is yours, Rudra. It is born of the anger and rage you carry. Once, it was meant to be your strength — but you let it chain you. You doubt others. You doubt yourself. And so… you are trapped in the prison you created."
---
Cliffhanger
Outside, Victoria's tears dripped onto Rudra's face. His convulsions slowed for a moment, his hand trembling in hers. His body shook violently, torn between life and shadow.
"Don't leave us, Rudra!" she cried. "You are not abandoned! You never were!"
Inside, Rudra's voice broke.
"Then what am I supposed to do?!"
The void shuddered. The hand on his head glowed brighter.
"Then listen… and remember."
The darkness cracked — light piercing through like blades. Rudra lifted his head, eyes wide, as a vast golden door appeared before him, shining through the shadows.
His lips parted, breath caught in his throat.
The voice whispered:
"It is time to choose."
And the door began to open.