"You... are a traitor, Eiden."
The words tremble through the dying air, thin and frayed, as if spoken by a world on the edge of collapse.
Eiden lies on his back in the dead grass, eyes closed, the earth beneath him brittle and cold. His black robe is torn in long, uneven slashes, the fabric clinging to his brown skin, while his cloak—burned at the edges—remains curled and stiff from divine heat. His white hair spreads across the ground like strands of pale fire, streaked with ash and dust. His grey eyes remain shut, refusing to acknowledge the ruin around him.
The battlefield is silent except for the ragged breathing of another dying being.
Eiden forces his eyes open. The sky above is a dull, broken gray, smeared with drifting smoke that moves like torn cloth. The air tastes of metal and burnt earth. His body refuses to obey; every muscle is heavy, every bone feels cracked, and his vision swims, darkening at the edges.
But the voice comes again.
"You… betrayed… us."
Eiden turns his head with agonizing effort. Uzak'me lies only a few steps away. The Celestial. The God of Dominion. The one who matched Eiden blow for blow. The one he killed—and the one who killed him in return.
Uzak'me's appearance is deceptively mortal. He looks young, barely in his twenties, a face far too youthful for a being older than kingdoms, older than the sky itself. His skin is pale, drained of all warmth, and long black hair spills across the ground in tangled waves, dark as ink against the dead grass. His features are sharp and striking, almost unnaturally perfect, but now they are smeared with blood across his cheek and jaw. His eyes—deep gold that once held unshakable command—flicker weakly, dimming with every struggling breath.
His cloak, once a mantle of white and gold, is torn and burned, its edges crumbling into dust. He looks like a fallen sovereign, a ruler brought low, a god dying in the body of a young man.
Uzak'me's fingers twitch against the parched earth. "You… betrayed… all of us…" His voice cracks, barely more than a ghost of a breath.
Eiden watches him, unable to speak, unable to rise, unable to change the final thought Uzak'me will ever hold. His grey eyes reflect the dying god beside him—the rival who once respected him, the god who was once a friend.
Uzak'me's dark gold eyes dim. His chest rises once more, then falls. His final breath escapes in a faint, jagged whisper: "Traitor…"
Silence returns.
The sky begins to dissolve into a blinding white. The dead grass turns to drifting ash. The battlefield melts away as Eiden's consciousness slips. His body grows colder. His vision narrows. His breath weakens. The last thing he sees is Uzak'me's still body; the last thing he hears is the condemnation of the friend he betrayed.
Eiden's chest rises shallowly. His lips part. With the last strength left in his fading soul, he gathers his breath to chant a final spell.