Kael, despite that strange, lingering sensation, felt as if he had stepped out of Hell.The landscape around him… unknown.Since leaving the portal, the illusion had already wrapped around him—without his power to resist.
And yet… the sight before him seemed to promise some kind of freedom.Almost.
But there was a problem.Where was Thana?
I called her.Out loud.In a whisper, inside my mind.
Nothing.The void.Complete silence.
That was the first sign something was wrong.The second… this malaise, persistent, rooted beneath his skin.
Against his better judgment, he tried to convince himself there was a logical reason.Maybe they had been separated.
But the moment the thought formed… he knew it was false.His link to her would have told him instantly if she was near or far.Her state of mind. Her energy. Everything.
Here… nothing.Something was very wrong with this place.
For now… better to analyze the environment.And keep searching.
Dying before finding her would be idiotic.Knowing her… she'd curse him for it.
Before him: a rocky desert.A few gullies.Steep cliffs.
Not a single trace of water.
In short… a hell without flames.
He sighed.Tired of walking.
Then, staring at his shadow cast by what looked like twin suns, a thought crossed his mind:Umbra could not leave him.Not like Thana.
But the shock hit immediately.The truth pierced through him.
He had never left.
Umbra wasn't there.No energy.No return.
Not even a reaction—good or bad.And that… wasn't like him.
He decided to set out,but before his first steps marked the sand, he saw something troubling on the horizon.
In the distance… something had emerged where moments ago there had only been desert.
A platform.
Black, smooth, unmoving.Too precise to be a rock.Too… constructed.
He narrowed his eyes.The heat shimmered in the air, warping the edges.
As he advanced, details sharpened.The structure was not empty.
Something stood at its center.A tall, slender shape, carved as if from a single block.
Each step tightened the vise in his chest.It couldn't be.
Then, only meters away, the truth locked into view.And his body reacted before his mind could understand.
A shiver rippled his neck.His muscles tensed.His hands trembled, as if remembering some forgotten pain.
And only then did the image impose itself:
The temple platform.And at its heart… the prison of obsidian glass.
Impossible.It couldn't be here.Not in this desert.Not now.
A brutal pulse exploded behind his temples.As if something tried to force his thoughts away.
He stepped back… then again.The pain surged, sharp, invasive, ready to split his skull.
No.He would not yield.
His fingers clenched, nails tearing into his palm.His knees bent, but he stayed upright.He wanted to keep looking.To carve this vision into memory as proof against her.
The prison pulsed, breathed.Each beat sent a stronger wave, more consuming.
He bit his lip until blood came.As long as he held… she wouldn't win.
Then, a white flash ripped through his mind.A muffled cry escaped him.His legs gave out.
And the world collapsed into liquid black.
Light returned suddenly.Too soft.Too stable.
He breathed… and the air carried that familiar scent, a mix of clean linen and polished wood.
— Kael…?
He turned his head.She was there.
Lyana.Kneeling beside him, her hands brushing his shoulder.A small smile, shy yet tinged with a hint of teasing.
— You fainted… only a few minutes.You kept talking about… Thana, and a temple.I admit, I didn't understand all of it.
Her voice was gentle.Too gentle.
She went on, seeking his eyes.
— I was worried… you even whispered you had to "find her," before falling.You know, you should stop pushing yourself like this.
He nodded slowly.His lips curved in a slight smile, as if he drank in her every word.
But inside… everything screamed.
Every word she spoke, he weighed.Every gesture, he replayed backward.If she tilted her head to look tender, he noted the stiffness in her neck.If her hands seemed soothing, he sensed their calculated stillness.
Outwardly, he was the attentive, reassured brother.Inside, he was a blade searching for the flaw.
Her words kept flowing, but he no longer truly listened.He maintained the role—measured nods, just enough eye contact for her to cling to.
Then… something blurred in his peripheral vision.A warm sensation, faint, almost imperceptible, on his left cheek.
He glanced down, barely.A tear.
Outwardly, his expression didn't change.He let the droplet run its course, like an echo of relief.For her, it was credible.Reassuring, even.
But inside… he probed the enigma.Why?Where had it come from?He felt no warmth, no grief, no joy.Just this involuntary motion, a fragment of himself no longer obeying his will.
And the deeper he searched, the clearer it became:this tear wasn't his.
The more he forced himself to trace its origin, the less control he had over it.As if the drop wasn't overflow, but fracture.
Not a flood of emotion.The consequence… of refusal.
A refusal to express something.Something buried so deep even his thoughts avoided it.
Outwardly, he stayed composed, playing the calm brother.Inside, he felt the tear as intrusion.A broken code.A message his own body sent, one he couldn't yet read.
And as he dug deeper, the truth emerged.
This tear didn't belong to the illusion.It came from him.
It carried the weight of everything he had repressed:The guilt.The apologies never spoken.The failure to protect.The broken promise to always be there.
It wasn't calculation, nor fleeting weakness.It was the silent reminder of every time he left her to face what he should have borne.
And in this too-perfect room, before this face he knew was false…this tear, at least, was real.
And suddenly, he dropped all distance.
His hand rested on her shoulder.The other on her waist.He pulled her close and held her.Tight.As if years of silence could be erased in one gesture.
Words poured out.Everything he hadn't said while she was conscious.Everything he had buried under anger, fear, and lies.
Unfiltered.Uncalculated.He spoke of his failures.His shame.The crushing weight of breaking his promise.The night he hadn't been there.Every moment he should have stood between her and the world… and hadn't.
His voice shook, but he didn't stop.It wasn't for her.It was for him.
As if laying this naked truth before her could shed his sins.As if confession could redeem the irredeemable.
He knew it wasn't true.Too easy—far too easy to unburden himself so cheaply.
But still… the feeling of having spoken to Lyana.Of having said it all.
It lightened him.Freed him from part of the weight he clung to…as punishment.As if suffering in silence could balance his faults.
And now… for the first time in years, the burden no longer dragged him as low.
After a long silence, he loosened his hold.Just enough for a scant handspan between his eye and hers.
He locked his gaze into hers…No.Not hers.
Behind.
Where he knew you were hiding.Where, crouched in shadow, you watched each heartbeat, each fracture of his mind.
His iris caught yours like a blade sliding under flesh.He wanted you to feel his presence.His anger.
— Stay right where you are…You who've played me so well all this time.
His voice dropped, but each word vibrated with a promise you'd understand.
— I just thanked you… properly.Wait for me.I'll be coming… for you.
A strange heat rose in his chest, pulsing into his heart.And then he felt it: the system reactivating.
He smiled, never breaking eye contact.
— Oh… perfect.
The Eye of Nyx opened in his iris, and through Lyana's gaze, he saw you.He carved your presence into the mark.
— You are marked.Don't bother running.There's nowhere to go… you won't escape me.
— See you soon…