The world was quiet.
No screams.No broken glass.No gods whispering from the dark.
Nameless woke to the sound of wind moving through grass — soft, green, and real. His hand twitched against the earth. It wasn't cold marble or mirrored stone anymore. It was soil. Warm. Breathing. Alive.
He sat up slowly. The crimson glow in his eye dimmed, fading into a dull ember. The world around him stretched endless and bright — a meadow under golden skies. The air smelled of rain and wildflowers. For a long time, he just stared, as if his mind refused to believe in stillness.
And then he heard her voice.
"Did you finally decide to sleep?"
Nameless froze.That voice was sunlight. Familiar. Impossible.
He turned — and the world tilted.
Elara stood at the edge of the meadow, barefoot, her hair caught in the wind. She wore no armor, no sigils, just a white dress that fluttered as if the air itself adored her. Her smile was soft, teasing. And her eyes — those endless gray eyes — looked at him like she had never died.
For a moment, the universe forgot to breathe.
"Elara…" The name left his lips like a wound reopening.
She walked closer, kneeling beside him. Her touch was warm — gods, it was warm — as she brushed the dirt from his cheek. "You always sleep like you've been fighting ghosts."
He said nothing. He couldn't.
Her laughter was quiet, musical, cruelly human. "It's alright now. It's over." She leaned in, forehead against his. "You kept your promise, didn't you? You came back."
Something inside him shattered.
His blade was gone. His sigil dim. The rage that had kept him alive for eternity was silent — smothered under the weight of her voice.
"I…" He swallowed. His throat burned. "You died."
Elara smiled sadly. "Did I? Or did you just refuse to wake up?"
She stood, extending a hand to him. "Come on. There's something you need to see."
He followed. Not because he believed, but because he wanted to.
They walked through the meadow until it opened into a village — small, peaceful, alive. Children ran between houses. Bells rang in the distance. Ryne sat at a table outside a tavern, laughing with strangers. Even Tianlong was there, massive but calm, coiled around the mountain, eyes half-closed in rest.
Nameless stared. "This isn't real."
"Does it matter?" Elara asked, voice soft as she intertwined her fingers with his. "If the peace feels real, isn't that enough?"
He looked at her, truly looked. There was no hint of deception in her face. No shadow of the Hall. Just love. Pure and unbearable.
For the first time since his creation, he felt something like peace.
But peace… was the cruelest illusion of all.
Later, as the sun sank, they stood before a river of light. Elara leaned against him, her head on his shoulder. "You don't have to fight anymore. You've done enough. Rest, Nameless. Stay."
His body wanted to believe. His heart already had.But his soul — that cursed, unrelenting flame — whispered otherwise.
He looked down at the river. Its reflection showed not the meadow, but glass. Beneath its surface, he saw them — thousands of people trapped in mirrors, whispering, screaming, begging for release.
And among them, his own reflection smiled back — twisted, feral, mocking.
"You almost fooled yourself," the reflection whispered. "Almost."
The illusion flickered. The sky cracked. The meadow began to bleed light.
Elara's grip tightened. "Don't. Please. If you break this, you'll lose me again."
He looked into her eyes. They were no longer gray — they were mirrors.
"I already did."
He drove his hand into his own chest. His fingers found the sigil branded there — Elara's mark — and tore it open. Light and shadow burst from him like a dying sun. The illusion screamed as the false sky collapsed.
When the world reformed, he stood once more in the Hall of Echoes. The meadow was gone. The warmth was gone. Only shards of mirrored grass remained, floating like dying fireflies.
And in their glow, Lianxu's voice drifted like smoke.
"Mercy," the god whispered, his tone a blend of amusement and admiration. "Even I forgot how tempting it could be."
Nameless's eye blazed crimson again, a quiet fury returning.
"If that was your mercy…" he muttered, gripping his blade, "…then your cruelty must be divine. Though i wish to know what my past was really like, I don't want to face it just yet"
The voice laughed, soft and knowing. "Oh, it is divine, and you will remember everything real soon. At least the part where you have finally turned into The Nameless."
The laughter faded, leaving only silence — and a faint glimmer of Elara's smile, lingering in the shards.