Azareel knelt, his bare knees pressing into the cracked stone, ash smearing his fingertips as he touched the ground.
"…He was part of this place," he murmured, his voice barely audible, his silver eyes tracing the desolate ruins. "Or this place was part of him."
Sylvara nodded behind him, her amber eyes softening.
"His soul was knotted into every stone," she said, her voice a quiet acknowledgment of the destruction they'd wrought.
"We unraveled it," Nyxsha said, her voice low, her golden eyes still averted, her tail twitching with a mix of pride and guilt.
Azareel turned back to them, rising slowly, his silver eyes steady but filled with a quiet awe.
"You turned into monsters to protect me," he said, his voice soft, carrying a weight that made the garden's hum falter.
They didn't speak, the silence stretching, the blooms pulsing faintly as if waiting for his judgment.
Then Azareel smiled—just faintly, his silver eyes warm despite the ash-dusted ruins behind him.
