The world that greeted Lyrium was quiet.
Not the silence of death.
But the silence before birth.
A field stretched endlessly, silver grass swaying beneath a twilight sky.
No sun.
No moon.
Just a smear of stars, like smeared oil paint across a cracked canvas.
He was barefoot again.
But this time, he bled nothing.
No wounds.
No runes.
No weight of past sins carved into his bones.
Just… stillness.
He walked, not knowing why.
Not caring where.
With each step, the field shifted.
Memories rippled in the blades of grass.
A boy laughing, holding a spellbook too large for his arms.
A girl, Margaret, training beside him, mock duels that ended in breathless laughter.
A teacher praising his sigils.
A friend giving him their last meal.
All of it…
Gone.
Ghosts playing on loop across the land of might-have-beens.
"I don't deserve peace,"
Lyrium whispered.
And yet, the world gave it anyway.
That was the worst part.
He didn't earn this.
This calm.
This blank reset.
