The room he was in was modest. The walls were smooth, unadorned stone, and the only piece of furniture was a narrow bed with clean but rough sheets.
A tiny window, high and out of reach, let in a sliver of light that was useless to him. For Erian, there was no day or night, only darkness.
He ran his hands along the walls, slowly moving over the stone, as if searching for something that could confirm he was still in the land of the living.
There were no sounds in the room. No creaking wood, no footsteps beyond the door, not even the distant murmur of prayers. There was no smell of incense, nor of damp. Nothing.
Without any sensation, time became eternal. For a moment, Erian thought he might already be dead, that everything had ended the instant Nalia was taken away.
Since the priestess had left him there, he had received only one brief visit, from someone without a face or a name. A woman's voice told him that the next day the preparation rituals would begin. She told Erian to rest. And nothing more.
Then, silence again.
Erian stepped away from the wall and let himself fall to his knees on the floor. The stone was cold, but at least it confirmed he could still feel. He covered his face with his hands.
Why had the God of Ruin chosen him? Was it because of his prayer? Because of his sacrifice? What would happen to him?
But he didn't take long to find the answer to that last question. It was obvious… he would die.
Then the door opened with a faint creak. The room filled with a familiar scent, freshly cut wood, clinging to the clothes and skin of the newcomer.
Erian lifted his head, frozen for a moment.
"Malric…" he whispered.
He stood immediately and moved without hesitation, guided by the scent he knew by heart. Upon finding him, he threw himself into his arms. Erian clung to him, burying his face in his neck, breathing in the scent that had guided him there. Malric held him with the same urgency.
"We have to go," Malric said against his ear.
"What?"
"There's no one watching you. They think you can't escape because you're blind, and that gives us an advantage. I have everything ready. A cart with supplies, hidden at the edge of the forest. Nalia is waiting for us."
Erian's heart leapt. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine it: him, Nalia, and Malric far from the village, somewhere no one knew them. A small, simple house, but full of peace. No priests, no punishments, no hungry gods. A different life.
But the image lasted only a second. It vanished as quickly as it had come. Because it was just a dream. Because he couldn't allow himself that. Because he had made a deal…
The God of Ruin had accepted his prayer. What would happen if he didn't keep his part? If he ran away, after being accepted as the Dusk Flower?
"And your fiancée?" Erian asked, trying to dissuade his friend.
Malric let out a click of annoyance, pulling back just enough to look at him, even knowing Erian couldn't return the gaze.
"She doesn't matter."
Erian shook his head, stepping back.
"We must think of the others, too. Your parents. My mother. The village. If I leave… if the sacrifice isn't carried out, the God of Ruin…"
"For once in your life, stop thinking about others!" Malric interrupted, gripping Erian's forearms tightly. "If you stay here, you're going to die!"
"I know." Erian's voice was barely a whisper. "I volunteered knowing that. I'm not naïve enough to believe this would end well for me."
Malric trembled with helplessness.
"Then do it for Nalia."
Erian lowered his head.
"I am doing it for her. To save her."
"Then…" Malric's voice cracked, his fury turning into a desperate plea. "Do it for me."
Erian raised his head, confused.
"For you?"
And then Malric, unable to contain himself any longer, shouted:
"Because I love you, damn it!"
The impact of the confession hit Erian, but not like an unexpected blow, more like something that had always been there, waiting to be acknowledged.
Deep down, Erian had always known. He had felt it in the gestures, in the words, in the way Malric protected him. But Erian had ignored it because he didn't feel the same way.
For him, Malric had always been like a brother.
"Say something," Malric demanded. "For the gods' sake, Erian… say something to me."
"I don't know what to say," he murmured.
Malric tensed, his voice breaking with a mix of anger and pain.
"Then tell me I disgust you… tell me it repulses you that a man loves you."
Erian smiled sadly.
"You don't disgust me, Malric…," he said gently. "But I don't…"
"Don't you dare!" Malric interrupted, stepping back as if Erian had struck him. "Don't say that. I'd rather you hate me than hear you say you don't love me. That… that would hurt more."
Minutes passed without either of them speaking. Erian, his face tilted toward the ground, thought Malric might have left, but then he felt it.
Malric's arms, once again, wrapped desperately around his waist.
"If I can't have your love," Malric whispered against his neck, "if you won't run away with me… then at least let me have your hate."
His lips brushed Erian's forehead. Then they moved down to his cheek, and further, to his neck.
Erian tensed at the feeling of Malric's lips on his skin, warm and heavy with pain.
"No…" Erian murmured, pushing him gently. "Please, don't…"
Then Malric kissed him.
It was a clumsy kiss, more desperate than desirous. Erian trembled at the touch. He tried to pull away, but Malric's hands were already holding his face, moving down his neck, clutching his back as if to stop him from vanishing.
There was anger in his touch, but also pleading. It was a desperate act, the blind gesture of someone who knew he was about to lose everything.
"Please…" Erian whispered through tears. "Don't do this. Not you…"
Malric pushed Erian onto the bed, his hands already slipping beneath Erian's tunic, desperately touching places even Erian himself had never touched.
The memory of that morning returned to Erian, of the merchant, the rough hands on his skin, and the emptiness that followed… all of it came rushing back.
But this was different. It hurt more. Because it wasn't a stranger hurting him.
It was Malric, his best friend.
"Stop… Please…" he pleaded in a thread of a voice when Malric freed his mouth. "I care about you, Malric, as a friend, but I do care… you can't do this to me… Not you…"
Malric stopped.
The weight of those words seemed to push him back, as if he finally understood the chasm opening between them.
He moved away from the bed as if struck. His lips trembled with words he couldn't find with apologies that perhaps were already too late.
"I… I'm sorry…" he murmured, but even he didn't seem convinced it was enough.
Erian sat carefully on the edge of the bed, his fingers gripping the mattress. His ragged breathing filled the silence for a moment.
"I didn't mean to hurt you…" Malric said. "I just… I didn't know how to stop…"
And without waiting for another word, Malric backed toward the door and ran out like a thief.
Erian was left alone, his body half-exposed, hugging his knees, trembling like a candle about to go out.
For the first time since he had been chosen as an offering, he wished with all his soul that the ritual would come soon.
So that everything… would end.