The wind changed again.
It wasn't cold this time, or sharp like the ones before. It was warm. Heavy. Like a breath being held across the entire sky.
Coker stood at the base of the black mountain.
It didn't look like any mountain he'd seen in books or drawings back at the village. It wasn't covered in snow. There were no birds flying above. The peak was hidden by clouds, thick and unmoving.
The rock wasn't even gray. It was dark—almost like coal—but smooth, carved by something old. Symbols moved faintly across its surface, glowing every few seconds, like the mountain itself was thinking.
"This is where you died," Lilin said beside him.
She had changed again. Her violet eyes were brighter now, like they had seen something ahead of time. Her hair floated around her like it was underwater. She didn't look like a child anymore.
Coker didn't ask what she meant. He already knew.
He felt it.
The closer he stepped toward the mountain, the louder the memories in his blood became.
Screams. Metal. Fire. Betrayal.
He stopped walking.
Behind him, the soldiers waited at the edge of the clearing. None spoke. Not even the gray-eyed captain.
Only Lilin moved beside him.
"This mountain," she said quietly, "is your grave. And your throne. They tried to erase you by burying both at once."
Coker looked up again. "Then why is it still here?"
"Because you left a part of yourself behind."
He took another step forward.
---
The air grew heavier the higher they climbed.
The slope wasn't steep, but every step felt like dragging a chain. The wind whispered with voices that didn't belong to this time—some calling him a name he didn't remember, others begging him to stop.
The symbols on the rock pulsed faster as he moved.
Lilin walked without effort.
"How far did I fall?" he asked suddenly, unsure if he meant in power or in distance.
Lilin didn't answer directly. "Far enough that even time forgot you."
They reached a ledge.
Below them, the valley stretched wide—red trees, ash rivers, broken temples. The sky above the mountain remained dark, but below it, dawn had returned. And it looked wrong, like the light didn't trust the land anymore.
Coker sat down on a flat rock, his legs aching. "Was I a monster?"
Lilin sat beside him. "Yes."
He blinked at her. "You didn't even pause."
"Because it's true."
"But I don't feel like one."
"You didn't back then either."
That silence again.
Then Lilin said, softer this time, "But you fought monsters. For too long. And you became what you needed to be to win."
Coker looked down at his hands.
"Did I hurt people who loved me?"
Lilin's silence was heavier than any answer.
---
Higher up the mountain, the wind screamed.
They passed the skeleton of a gate. It had once been golden, though the color was faded. On it were words in a language that made Coker's head hurt.
He paused there.
"Here," Lilin whispered, "is where they sealed you."
He stepped forward.
And the mountain responded.
---
A circle of stone surrounded the peak. Inside the circle was a giant door—black, cracked, but still standing. Chains stretched across it, glowing faintly. Around the edges, swords were stabbed into the ground. Hundreds. All facing the center.
Each sword was different. Some curved, some straight. Some heavy. Some delicate. But all carried the same feeling.
Grief.
Coker couldn't breathe for a second.
"What is this?" he whispered.
Lilin knelt beside one of the blades. Her fingers hovered over the hilt but didn't touch.
"These are offerings. From those who couldn't save you."
He walked between them slowly, feeling like a ghost among memories.
At the center, the door loomed.
The mark on his chest pulsed.
His hand rose on its own.
"Wait," Lilin said.
But it was too late.
His palm pressed against the door.
And everything *remembered*.
---
The world vanished.
There was no sky. No air. No sound.
Only memory.
He was standing again on the battlefield.
But not as Coker.
He was taller. Stronger. Clad in armor darker than night. His voice when he spoke shattered the earth. His sword—the one made of stars and broken promises—hung from his back.
All around him, people fought.
Not demons. Not humans.
Something else.
Creatures made of light and void. Faces that flickered. Voices that lied in every word.
He saw himself leading the charge.
And he saw himself fall.
Not because he lost.
Because he *chose* to lose.
Because he had become what he hated.
And the only way to stop it… was to seal himself away.
---
Then the vision broke.
Coker stumbled back, gasping, hands shaking.
Lilin steadied him.
"You saw it."
He nodded. "I didn't want to win. I wanted it to end."
"Yes."
Coker looked at the door again. "If I open this, it'll start again."
"Not unless you choose it."
He stood there a long time.
Then whispered, "I don't know what I want."
Lilin looked at him carefully.
"You're not supposed to yet."
---
They left the circle without opening the seal.
And as they descended the mountain, the wind began to move again.
Not like before. Not heavy. Not cold.
But full of warning.
---
Far away, in a forgotten tower, a bell rang.
A boy with silver eyes looked up from the map he had drawn in blood.
"They found it," he said quietly.
Beside him, a figure of smoke nodded.
"And now the Sky will burn again."
The boy smiled.
"I hope so."
---
Back in the valley, the soldiers had built camp.
Coker sat by the fire, watching the flames.
He wasn't alone. One of the younger soldiers, a girl with one arm and a broken spear, sat nearby.
She looked at him cautiously.
"You really don't remember anything?" she asked.
"Not yet."
She stared at the fire. "I used to follow you. A long time ago. I was nine."
He glanced at her. "Why?"
"Because when the world burned, you were the only one who didn't run."
He didn't know what to say.
So she added, "I hope you don't remember everything."
"Why?"
"Because if you do… you might not come back the same."
He nodded slowly. "Maybe I won't."
She stood. "Then I'll follow you until you do."
---
Lilin watched from the shadows, her expression unreadable.
She whispered to herself, "The stars are moving again. We don't have much time."
Coker didn't hear her.
He was looking at his reflection in the firelight.
Not to see himself.
But to see who else was looking back.