The void greeted Cipher with silence. Not the silence of peace, but of distance—like the pause between two heartbeats, stretched too long. He stood in it, scythe resting across his back, the afterimages of firelight and ash still clinging to his senses.
Red's trembling courage. Gretel's twisted resolve. Two girls, two stories, two outcomes. Both lingered like weights on his chest.
Cipher closed his eyes. Was that truly salvation? Or only delay?
He thought of Red clutching her cloak, whispering not this time. He thought of Gretel, her eyes burning with a hunger that wasn't hers until it was. Both had looked to him as though he were more than he was. More than a man with a blade. More than a teacher.
A faint hum stirred against his collar. The Automaton's small, luminous eyes blinked open, its voice carrying like soft chimes.
"You are restless, Teacher."
Cipher exhaled through his nose. "Don't call me that."
"But that is what they called you."
"Names aren't crowns. They're weights."
The machine tilted its head, gears shifting with a soft click. "Do you tire of carrying them?"
His jaw tightened. For a long moment he said nothing. Then, quietly: "I don't tire of carrying. I tire of wondering if I'm leading them where they need to go—or where I want them to."
The void rippled faintly, as if responding. A shard of crimson fabric fluttered past, dissolving into motes of light. Then a fragment of sugar-glass cracked under invisible pressure and vanished. Echoes of stories. Echoes of choices.
The Automaton's glow dimmed, thoughtful. "You altered their fates. Perhaps you preserved them. Perhaps you only delayed them. Yet… you stepped in where no other hand reached."
Cipher looked upward. The void had no sky, but he stared into it anyway, as though daring the gods to answer.
"Is that all this is?" he asked aloud. "Delay after delay? Buying time until the story finds another way to devour them?"
For a heartbeat, there was nothing. Then—like a draft cutting through stone walls—came a whisper, not sound but impression.
Not every tale wishes to be saved.
Cipher stiffened, hand brushing the scythe's hilt. The Automaton's gears whirred uneasily, its glow brightening as though recording every syllable.
Some will curse you for interfering. Some will break rather than bend. The teacher cannot shield every student.
The voice was gone as quickly as it came, leaving the void heavier than before.
Cipher's breath left him slow, controlled. "So even the gods admit it."
The Automaton peered at him. "Will you stop, then?"
He gave a short, humorless laugh. "No. A teacher doesn't stop just because not every student listens. If one of them does… if even one learns to stand, then it's worth the rest."
The void stirred again. A faint path stretched ahead—thorny, jagged, alive with shadows. An invitation, or a warning.
Cipher adjusted the strap of his scythe, shoulders straightening. The weight hadn't lessened, but it had found its balance.
"Let's go," he murmured. "Someone's waiting, even if they don't know it yet."
The Automaton settled against him, voice low and curious. "And if they don't wish to be saved?"
Cipher stepped forward into the dark, eyes sharp. "Then I'll teach them anyway."
The void swallowed the last of his words, carrying him onward.