The child stood motionless in the hollow of the world, surrounded by mirrored shards of agony—his eyes two voids where light had fled and never returned.
His voice echoed without breath, without sound, without time.
"You left me."
Vel stepped forward instinctively, her flames guttering at the edges, wary.
"Who left you?" she asked softly.
The child's gaze locked on hers, ancient and small all at once.
"Everyone."
Ael could feel it now—not just sorrow or rage. It was something older. Something deeper. This child was not merely the origin of silence. He was its cause. Its wound. Its will.
A living scar.
Born in a time before kingdoms, before soul magic, before even the concept of emotion was understood.
He had been forgotten by gods, then remembered by the world in fragments—fragments that had later become Third Souls, like the one Ael and Vel had reclaimed.
"I think I understand now," Ael whispered. "You're not just the first silence. You're what was left behind when divinity fled."
The boy blinked.
"They made me feel. And then they vanished."
Vel crouched slowly, her voice firm but not unkind.
"And you wanted to make sure no one ever had to feel that pain again."
The child gave a single nod.
"So I became the wound."
"And then… I became the silence."
—
Nirra stepped closer, her aura weaving memories gently, like petals scattered on a lake.
"If we had known… maybe we could have reached you sooner."
The child tilted his head.
"You couldn't. You weren't whole.Only the unbroken can enter this place.Only those who remember love and loss."
Ael's heart pounded in his chest.
The fusion he and Vel had undergone—the acceptance of the Third Soul—it had allowed them access to this forgotten origin. But what had once been only shadow and void was now flesh and soul.
This child.
This thing.
It wasn't just a remnant.
It was a choice that had lingered too long.
—
"Why now?" Ael asked. "Why reveal yourself now?"
"Because you're strong enough to make the decision I couldn't.To unmake me."
"Or to become me."
Vel's eyes hardened. "That's not the only path."
"Isn't it?"
The child gestured to the fractured field.
All around them, pain pulsed from each shard—echoes of kings betrayed, daughters forgotten, lovers abandoned, cities destroyed by mercy twisted into cruelty.
"This is your world," he said.
"This is what feeling does."
"This is why I tried to end it."
—
Ael turned to Vel and Nirra.
He didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
They understood.
The three of them had walked through death, soul-bond, and silence.
But now came the real choice:
They could destroy this wound, unmaking the child and cleansing the pain—but at the cost of forgetting the lessons grief had taught the world.
They could become the silence, embracing numbness as truth and ending suffering forever—at the cost of life's beauty.
Or…
Ael stepped toward the child.
The boy tensed.
Ael reached out his hand.
Not with magic.
Not with anger.
With compassion.
And whispered, "Come with us."
—
The boy flinched as if struck.
"What?"
"You don't need to be erased," Ael said. "You need to be held."
Vel joined him, her hand resting on the boy's shoulder. "We carry the flame again—not to burn away pain, but to light the way through it."
Nirra knelt beside the child, her voice trembling with emotion. "I'll remember for you. Every wound. Every name. And I'll dream new ones into healing."
The boy stared at them.
For the first time, his hands trembled.
"What if it hurts?"
Ael smiled gently. "Then we'll hurt together."
—
A wave of gold light surged from the child's chest.
Not destructive.
Not chaotic.
Whole.
The shards rose into the air, fusing into a crown of memory above them—each piece no longer a blade, but a story.
A truth.
The child wept.
But his tears didn't fall in silence.
They sang.
—
As the mirrored world began to dissolve, the tree's hollow closed behind them, sealing the wound—not by force, but by acceptance.
The First Silence was no more.
But he was not lost.
He was reborn.
Not as a god.
Not as a weapon.
But as a boy walking beside them—quiet, uncertain… and finally free to feel.