The forest was quiet again.
Too quiet.
After the golden chariot vanished into the clouds and the winged woman fled like smoke in the wind, the air seemed to pause. The flames no longer roared. The wind stopped mid-breath. Even the black stream behind them froze like it feared to flow.
Coker stood in the center of the silent chaos, surrounded by stone warriors who had just awakened.
They were real.
Breathing.
Some still had blood on their armor, old blood from a war that didn't exist anymore. Others looked at him with awe, like they were seeing a god, not a boy.
He didn't speak.
He couldn't.
Inside him, the mark burned again—slow and steady—like a heart that remembered every death he had caused, and every one still to come.
---
Lilin stood beside him, staring at the sky.
"It begins again," she said softly.
Coker looked at her. "What does?"
"The Fall."
She turned toward him, her violet eyes unreadable. "Last time, you couldn't stop it. This time, maybe you can."
Coker frowned. "Stop what?"
She didn't answer.
Instead, she held out a piece of folded cloth.
He took it and opened it slowly. Inside was an old armband, woven from black thread and bone.
"This was yours," she said. "They used to call you General before you were a god."
"I'm not wearing that," he said, stepping back.
But the armband moved on its own. It rose slowly and wrapped itself around his wrist like it remembered him.
Coker stared at it, chest tight.
Something deep in him whispered: *"Welcome back."*
---
They walked again, deeper into the woods, which now bent around them like the world was watching.
The trees had eyes now—small golden ones blinking from inside the bark. None dared stop him.
Coker looked ahead and saw a cliff rising in the distance, high and jagged.
Lilin spoke again. "That's where you were sealed. At the top."
He nodded. "And now?"
She pointed. "Now, we go there again. But not to lock you away. To remind you of what was taken."
---
As they walked, the soldiers followed—some limping, others silent. None spoke unless spoken to. They marched like they were in a dream.
One of them, a tall man with gray eyes and a scar across his mouth, stepped beside Coker.
"My lord," he said with a rough voice.
"Don't call me that."
The man bowed. "Forgive me… but you need to know. The Sky Watchers already sense your pulse. They will come."
"Let them."
The man nodded once. "As you wish, Devourer."
Coker closed his eyes and whispered, "I'm not him."
But the wind disagreed.
---
At the base of the cliff, an old cave waited.
Its entrance was covered with carvings—spirals, hands, and a giant eye with a sword through it.
Coker stood at the edge, heart pounding.
"I know this place."
"Yes," said Lilin. "This is where you lost everything."
They stepped inside.
The cave walls were covered with stories—burned into the rock, not painted. Each one flickered faintly with red light, as if they were still alive.
One showed a child standing before a great black storm.
Another showed that same child alone in a burning city.
Then, in the final carving, the child had no face—only flame—and sat on a throne made of bones.
Coker looked away.
"I don't want this."
"But it wants you," Lilin said.
He turned. "Why are you helping me?"
She didn't speak right away.
Then: "Because last time, I didn't."
---
At the back of the cave was a stone door, sealed with seven locks.
Coker didn't touch it.
He stared at it.
"You want to open it," Lilin said.
"No," he whispered. "I want to understand why it calls to me."
He turned his back to it. "Let's go."
---
When they exited the cave, the sky had changed again.
No longer red. Now a deep blue-black, like night had come early.
A star fell.
Then another.
Then five more.
Coker looked up. "Why are the stars falling?"
Lilin looked pale. "Because the sky is trying to rewrite itself. You've changed the story."
A booming sound echoed across the valley.
Not thunder.
Something heavier.
The ground trembled.
The soldiers around them shifted into position without needing to be told.
Then came the scent—burnt iron and old blood.
The kind of scent no one forgets once they've smelled it.
From the edge of the forest, a beast emerged.
It was massive—twice the height of the trees. Its skin was cracked stone, glowing from within like molten lava. Chains wrapped around its arms, dragging behind it, each one thicker than a man.
Its head was made of bone. No eyes. Just a hole where its face should be.
Coker stepped forward.
"What is that?"
Lilin's voice was almost a whisper.
"A Fate Warden."
The beast roared—a sound that shook birds from the sky.
The soldiers drew their weapons.
But Coker raised a hand.
"Let me."
---
He stepped alone into the field.
His mark burned hot.
The beast growled and charged, every step shaking the earth.
Coker didn't run.
He planted his feet, lifted his arm, and clenched his fist.
The power inside him surged like a black ocean.
When the beast reached him, jaws wide open, he released it.
A wave of dark energy burst out, slamming into the monster like a hurricane of silence.
The beast stumbled, crashed to its knees, and roared again—this time in fear.
Coker walked forward.
He pressed his hand to the monster's forehead.
"Sleep."
And it did.
Instantly.
The beast collapsed with a massive thud that shook the cliff.
Dust rose.
Silence followed.
Then the soldiers cheered—quietly, as if they were afraid to be too loud.
Coker looked at his hand.
It was glowing again.
But not just with power.
With memory.
---
Back at the village, Mina sat outside their broken house, staring at the sky.
She had seen the stars fall.
She had felt the wind change.
Her hand rested on her chest, where the necklace Coker gave her used to be.
Now it was just string.
Behind her, the old woman from the bakery stepped outside.
"You feel it too?" she asked.
Mina nodded.
"He's further away," she whispered. "But louder."
The old woman sighed.
"Then it's starting again."
Mina looked up. "Will he come back?"
The woman didn't answer.
She just looked at the stars.
And one more fell.