I was on my knees, blade buried in the ashes of Caelum's ruin. His body had not fallen; it had simply unraveled, pulled apart by the same chaos he'd once wielded. I had not emerged untouched. My hands were scorched. My ribs ached like they were shattered. Blood—divine, tainted, ancient—dripped from my jaw.
But I was alive.
Barely.
"I did it," I rasped, though no one stood near enough to hear.
Or so I thought.
A whisper drifted from the blackened edge of the realm. Not in words. In sensation. A cold knowing. Like something exhaling behind the veil.
Then I heard it.
A name.
Not screamed. Not spoken.
Breathed.
Athena.
I staggered upright, my sword grating against broken stone as I pulled it free. My shadow moved oddly too fluid, too detached and I realized with a chill that it no longer belonged solely to me.
Caelum's corruption had clung to something inside me. And it had opened a gate.
"I know you," I whispered to the void, even though I didn't.
