The Weeping Expanse wasn't on most maps.
It didn't want to be.
The land was a vast sweep of silver grass and black stone, cut by rivers that changed course when they pleased, and mountains that wept clearwater tears only at night. It was the land the gods forgot, or perhaps the one they feared—a place where memory became mist and dreams walked on two legs.
It was perfect for hiding.
Or dying.
Ael led the group at a careful pace. The boy walked beside him, quiet but alert, absorbing the world with the curiosity of someone who hadn't just survived apocalyptic soul-forging… but was starting to live.
Vel kept rear guard, her flames flickering faintly at her palms, adjusted for heat but ready for war. Nirra floated between the two, muttering incantations under her breath, her scrolls reacting to the terrain in jittery pulses.
"Everything here is alive," she said after the first few miles. "Not breathing. Not sentient. But emotionally awake."
Ael nodded. "This place is where broken emotions go when they die. Or when they're too strong to fade."
The boy looked around. "It feels... heavy. But also soft. Like the air is listening."
Vel glanced toward a nearby tree that shimmered faintly under the morning light. Its leaves whispered, even without wind.
"It is listening," she said. "The expanse doesn't just watch you. It tests you."
—
By midday, the mists rolled in.
They always did.
Thick and low, hugging the ground like a crawling tide. The moment they touched the group's boots, Ael raised a hand.
"Stay close. The mist doesn't blind the eyes—it blinds the heart. It feeds on what you repress."
Nirra scribbled furiously. "So if someone's bottling guilt—?"
"They'll live it," Ael said. "Until they break or pass."
Vel raised her eyebrow. "And what if someone's completely open with their feelings?"
Ael smirked slightly. "Then they'll be annoyed by how whiny everyone else is."
"Perfect," she muttered. "Guess I'm the emotional babysitter now."
The boy clutched Ael's sleeve as they stepped deeper.
"I don't want to forget how I feel."
Ael looked down at him, then ruffled his hair gently. "That's why we're going through this place. You'll learn how to hold your feelings—even when they scream."
—
It began with the river.
They came upon it near dusk—a wide stream of silver-blue water that flowed uphill, fed by invisible springs. No bridges, no stones to cross. And no obvious depth.
But that wasn't the challenge.
It was the reflections.
The water didn't show the present.
It showed the past you most wanted to ignore.
Ael stepped close, peering in—and saw his old self in golden armor, sitting on a mountain of bones.
Expressionless.
Triumphant.
Alone.
He flinched but said nothing.
Nirra looked, and saw a child version of herself, watching as an arcane fire consumed her family's house—her eyes wide and dry.
Vel refused to look at all.
And the boy… the boy saw himself.
Not the god.
Not the wound.
Just a smaller version of what he was now.
Crouched in a dark room.
Whispering:
"It's safer to feel nothing.Feeling makes you hurt."
He dropped to one knee.
"I said that," he whispered. "Before I met you all."
Ael crouched beside him. "Do you believe it now?"
The boy stared into the water.
"No. I don't want to go back to being safe."
With that, he stepped into the river.
—
He didn't sink.
He walked.
Each step scattered his reflection, until all that remained was sky and rippling courage.
Ael followed. Then Vel and Nirra. And together, they crossed.
The mists parted briefly on the other side.
And in that breathless stillness, a voice greeted them.
High.
Childlike.
Not a boy. Not a girl.
Just familiar.
"You're not supposed to be here yet," it said.
They turned.
Standing at the edge of a ring of pale stones was a figure dressed in patchwork white and gray robes, face hidden by a wooden mask shaped like a teardrop.
The boy tilted his head.
"I know you."
"I know you, too," the figure replied. "You're the one who left."
Vel raised a hand toward her blade. "Who are you?"
The masked figure spread their arms.
"I am the emotion you left behind."
The wind howled suddenly, stirring grass in every direction.
The boy stepped forward.
"Which one?"
The figure's head tilted gently.
"Hope."