Silence hung heavy between them, deeper than any mortal grief.
The void pulsed faintly — each breath of its darkness echoing with Illyria's ragged heartbeats. She still knelt before Azeriel, her hands trembling, her face wet with quiet tears that glimmered in the faint gold light of his eyes.
She did not know how long they remained like that — father and daughter, god and creation, two broken beings bound by pain.
Finally, she whispered, "Tell me… why me? Why was I made to suffer this much? Was I born just to become someone's weapon?"
Azeriel lifted his head. His gaze, tired yet infinite, held her like the soft edge of a storm.
"Illyria," he said, his tone gentle, "you have always asked the right question, but never at the right time."
Her lips parted, confusion darkening her eyes.
"Look," he said quietly. "Look at yourself now."
Before she could speak, the void rippled — and around her body, faint golden sigils began to bloom like reversed constellations.
Chains — spectral and luminous — coiled from the distance and circled her body. They were the same ethereal bindings the humans once used to control her, forcing her to become the Spiritless Queen, the tool of their sins.
Illyria gasped, instinctively stepping back. "No… not again…"
But Azeriel raised a chained hand. "Wait."
The light around them dimmed, and for the first time, the void's silence cracked. The chains shuddered — then turned.
Their direction shifted — no longer binding her wrists and ankles, but circling outward, facing away from her, like serpents bowing before their master.
Illyria's eyes widened. The luminous sigils burned brighter.
She could feel it — her blood humming with ancient rhythm, her magic awakening from centuries of slumber.
The voices that once commanded her were silent now.
Instead, her own will filled the void.
"I—" She fell to her knees, trembling. The golden light bled into her silver hair, cascading like a crown of starlit threads. "They're not… controlling me?"
Azeriel's voice was soft, almost fatherly again. "No. They no longer own you. You've taken back the reins of your existence."
She raised her hand, staring at the faint blue glow pulsing beneath her skin — the resonance of Spirit and Destruction both.
Her illusion magic, once suppressed, stirred awake within her. The air shimmered faintly — and for a heartbeat, the broken Spirit Kingdom flickered before her eyes, as if projected from her memories.
Her heart clenched. "My magic…"
"All of it has returned," Azeriel said. "Your essence, your father Kaelus' mantle — the power of Destruction itself. You have become what you were always meant to be."
But his voice softened at the end, a note of sorrow threading through. "Yet… power has its cost."
Illyria looked up. Her expression changed — wonder turning into fear. "What do you mean?"
Azeriel closed his eyes, his lashes trembling as he whispered, "When the ritual was undone, your soul began to pull back all the fragments you lost — memories, strength, spirit. But Illyria… not everything can return. Some things were taken long ago, sealed away by your own will. The more power you regain, the more of yourself you lose in exchange. You were not meant to forget — and yet you are forgetting."
Her breath hitched.
She touched her chest — and for a fleeting instant, her heart echoed with something missing, something nameless and hollow.
"What… am I forgetting?"
Azeriel didn't answer. He only looked at her with the gaze of someone who already mourned what could not be saved.
---
Then he extended his chained arm — and the air before him shimmered like molten gold. From that light emerged a tiny creature — soft, white, and almost childlike.
Its fur glowed faintly with the seven hues of emotion, its eyes like drops of liquid sapphire. Two feathered ears flicked atop its head, and it let out a gentle whine as it fluttered its small wings.
Illyria blinked through her tears. "What is that…?"
Azeriel smiled faintly. "His name is Velis. The Seed-Bearer."
The little creature hovered toward her, circling her gently, its tail leaving faint streaks of light.
"He will serve as your companion," Azeriel said. "His task is to plant the seeds of emotion — anger, envy, despair, greed — among humans. Through him, you will gather what I once sought to balance. You will become their vessel, their purifier, their judge."
"Gather… negative emotions?" Her voice trembled. "You want me to become like you?"
"No." Azeriel shook his head. "I want you to surpass me. To balance what I could not."
As he spoke, another object materialized before her — a slender wand, black as night, its surface etched with runes that glowed with faint crimson light. At its end gleamed a shard of broken crystal, pulsing like a fragment of her own soul.
"When this wand fills with the essence of human emotions," he said, "it will bind to you. Through it, you can regulate your spirit core — keep your powers stable. It will protect your mind from tearing apart under divine pressure."
Illyria stared at the wand, then back at him. Her eyes were glistening — anger and sorrow mixing like storm and rain.
"So this is my new fate?" she whispered. "To collect human misery and live like a warden of their sins?"
Azeriel's expression softened. "It is not a punishment. It is survival. Your power has awakened completely, but your body is still fractured. If you don't absorb the negative energy to balance yourself, you will—"
"—die," she finished bitterly. "Then what's the difference? You've just replaced one cage with another."
Her laughter broke halfway — a sound fragile and hollow. "Even when you try to make up for what you did, you still tie me down with responsibility. I thought I was free, but I've never been free, have I?"
Azeriel lowered his head, the golden chains around him rattling faintly, as if mourning her words. "You were free once," he said softly. "Those younger years when you smiled without reason. But freedom rarely lasts forever, Illyria. Not for beings like us."
"Then why give me life?" Her voice cracked. "If all I was meant to do was carry burdens that aren't mine, why didn't you just let me die with my people?"
"Because," Azeriel said, his eyes burning faintly through the shadows, "you are proof that even ruin can create something worth saving."
Illyria froze.
He smiled faintly — a sad, tired smile. "You are my greatest sin and my only salvation. You deserve to live, even if living comes with pain."
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "You're cruel."
"I know," he said quietly. "But even cruelty can carry love, if it's born from regret."
For a long time, neither spoke. The void trembled softly around them, as though listening to two broken pieces of the same melody.
Finally, Azeriel raised his hand — light flowing from his fingertips into her chest. The sigils around her body flared with faint silver-blue energy, stabilizing her aura.
"You have only two years," he said solemnly. "If you fail to absorb the essence you need, your soul will fade completely. But if you succeed, you may become something greater — not bound by god, spirit, or mortal law."
"Two years…" she whispered. "So I'm still on borrowed time."
He nodded. "Aren't we all?"
She looked down at the small creature Velis, who now sat by her feet, watching her with eyes too innocent for the weight of her fate. Then she turned to Azeriel — her expression softening for the briefest moment.
"Do you think," she said quietly, "that I'll ever be happy again?"
His eyes shimmered — and for the first time, a single tear fell from the god of emotions.
"I pray that you will," he said. "Even if I am not there to see it."
The light in his body began to fade, his form blurring with the void as cracks of divine energy spread along his skin. The chains around him pulsed one last time.
"Azeriel…" Her voice trembled,
Azeriel looked at her one last time — his fingers trembling as though even the air around her burned. The weight of centuries pressed into his eyes; the kind that only a god could bear and only a father could grieve.
"You shouldn't have come this deep, Illyria," he whispered, his voice echoing like a sigh through water. "This place… isn't meant for the living."
Illyria blinked slowly. Her body was faintly transparent now, light shimmering around her form like dissolving glass. "I don't understand," she murmured. "You said I must listen, that I have to learn the truth. Then why—"
He stepped closer, his hand hovering near her face but never touching. "Because what stands before me is not the real you," he said softly. "You are only a fragment — a piece that broke free from your vessel while your true self sleeps. If you linger too long, you will forget what warmth feels like, what breath is. You will drift... and I will lose you again."
Her lips parted, and for a heartbeat, all the bitterness, the hate, the fragile yearning that had filled her seemed to tremble into silence. "So… this is just a dream?"
"No," Azeriel said, his voice heavy with contradiction. "Dreams are kind. This is memory — and memory is cruel."
A faint light began to rise from the void beneath her feet, curling like mist around her ankles. Her translucent body flickered, each pulse slower than the last. Azeriel reached out, his expression fracturing between love and despair.
"I want to hold you longer," he said, his tone raw, almost breaking. "But if I do, you will fade. You must return to your vessel before your soul forgets where it belongs."
Illyria shook her head, tears slipping silently through her fading cheeks. "There's still so much I need to ask—"
"Then ask me when you're awake," he said. "You still have time. Two years. Two years to live, to hate me, to forgive me, or to curse me — whatever you choose. But now… go."
He raised his hand. The void rippled, and the black expanse behind him bloomed into a storm of light. The wind roared like waves breaking upon forgotten shores.
For a single moment, she saw his expression clearly — sorrow carved deep, as though he'd rehearsed this goodbye a thousand times across eternity. Then the light swallowed her.
"Live," his voice echoed as her vision blurred, "even if it's not for me."
Illyria's world collapsed inward — her body spun, her consciousness stretching between shadow and flame. The next instant, she gasped awake, her chest heaving, the soft hum of the dream-space surrounding her. Her fingers twitched; her pulse returned.
And somewhere far away, in the dark where gods dwell, Azeriel's voice faded to nothing.
The last thing she saw was his eyes — weary but full of love — watching her as she vanished.
---
When she opened her eyes, she was lying once more in the dream space — the fractured mirror of her mind.
The chains that once bound her were gone.
In her hand, the wand pulsed faintly.
And beside her, Velis curled up, breathing softly.
Illyria sat up, the faint taste of tears still on her lips. She looked up — and through the cracks in the dream sky, she saw distant golden feathers drifting down.
She whispered, "Father…"
But no one answered.
Only the silence of dreams — and the faint heartbeat of a god who once loved her too much to save her.