"What kind of nonsense is this?" I muttered, irritation curling in my voice as I thumbed through the brittle pages of the tome—an Aeonlord's account of Keralos, though the author's name was lost.
Strands of white hair slipped across my shoulders, catching the lamp's glow. My eyes, deep and blue as a midnight sea, moved over each word with deliberate calm. Yet beneath the stillness, my patience was fraying.
Then I found it. A line so absurd it made my chest tighten—not with sorrow, but contempt.
"I miss Keralos with all my life."
A harsh laugh scraped from my throat, colder than steel. "Miss me? He could not even keep his promise." My lips curled, my voice sharp enough to cut. "This book is nothing but lies. If I ever saw him again, I would kill him without mercy."
I closed the tome slowly, pressing my palm against its cover as though to quiet the falsehoods written within. But bitterness clung, heavy as ash in my throat. My gaze shifted toward the shadow lingering in the corner.
"Are you going to keep staring into nothingness, Aeonthys?"
He leaned lazily against the wall, his cloak stitched from broken constellations. Time itself seemed to unravel inside its folds—hourglasses spilling, starlight falling apart. His eyes locked onto mine, galaxies collapsing inward, and for a moment I saw myself reflected across countless lifetimes.
His reply was calm, as if my question had turned back upon me.
"Perhaps you should ask yourself, Vorthalon. How long will you sit with that book, when the gathering waits?"
A sigh slipped from me—not defeat, but weariness. Too many truths twisted into lies had left me tired. With a smooth motion, I shut the tome and stood. My steps carried authority, though I spoke none.
At the door, I paused, voice cutting clean through the stillness, neither harsh nor soft.
"What are you waiting for?"
Aeonthys tilted his head, shadows rippling like waves of night across his form. His answer was simple, final.
"You go ahead. There's something I must tend to first."
I studied him for a moment, then let it go. A nod, nothing more. The heavy doors closed behind me with a sound like fate itself, sealing my exit.
But silence never holds forever.
Behind me, the book stirred. Pages fluttered in an unseen wind, stopping on words not inked, but carved in shadow:
A man who brought light into darkness, saving countless mortals—yet could not save himself from the shadows.
Another line bled through, darker still, whispered like an omen:
The Dread Force has returned…
The tome slammed shut with a sharp thud, silenced by Aeonthys's hand. His galaxies-for-eyes shimmered with something more dangerous than rage. His voice was calm, but it carried a weight heavier than steel.
"No one must ever know."
The words hung, quiet as a death sentence.
In the lowest depths of the underworld, where darkness itself has weight, a figure sat upon a throne carved from shadow. His form was so black it seemed to glow against the void. From that seat, he watched timelines unravel—echoes of pasts he wished he could rewrite.
A broken vow.
A soul he failed to protect.
A bond he never understood.
A void he could not fill.
All gone. And so he watched instead—scenes of other realities where his promise had held, where he had stood beside the one who mattered.
The silence broke with a voice—deep, tired, almost scolding.
"You're watching again? How many times must I tell you—go to him. He has returned, just as you wished."
The voice wavered, then softened, almost hesitant.
"Why cling to what you were? He's back… and still, you refuse to be."
The shadowed figure did not move. His form was formless, his silence unreadable. When he spoke, it was with a voice stripped of life, flat but heavy with inevitability.
"What's done cannot be undone. No matter how many lives pass, he will not forgive me."
Silence pressed again. Then the voice returned, sharper now, with no hesitation left.
"One day, he will face you. You can't hide forever. Skipping every gathering just to avoid him—it won't last. Prepare yourself, Obrythos."
And then it was gone, leaving Obrythos alone in the endless dark. He sat unmoving, unreadable as the void. But within, something shifted.
He would not allow them to meet. Not yet. Not ever.
Because if they did, he feared he would shatter the fragile peace of Keralos's new life. Better to be forgotten—erased entirely—than to poison what little light remained.