Blue's Pov
Fuck! I can't believe we're walking through the hospital corridors with me on his back! It's like a 10 year old piggy riding and it's ridiculous.
"Can you walk a little bit faster?" I whisper as I burry my face in his neck, hiding the face of shame.
"Just chill. You don't want us to tumble down" I think he's enjoying all this cause he's super chilled.
Finally we are out of the damn hospital. We head towards the packing lot, where his polished red porshe car is packed.
Slowly, he helps me enter the car, one arm behind my back, the other steadying my legs as though I'm made of porcelain. His touch is surprisingly gentle. Too gentle for someone like him.
I sink into the passenger seat, the leather cold against my skin. The door shuts with a soft click, and the sound echoes strangely in the silence between us. He circles around to the driver's side, his boots tapping against the wet pavement. The sky above the hospital is an overcast gray, heavy with clouds that threaten to break any second.
Grey slides into the seat beside me, his jaw tight, his profile sharp against the faint glow of the dashboard lights. For a long moment, neither of us speaks. The faint hum of the car engine fills the quiet, blending with the steady rhythm of the rain that has begun to fall.
He glances at me, just once. "You good?"
"Define good," I mumble, turning my gaze to the window. My reflection in the glass looks pale and exhausted — a stranger wearing my skin.
He exhales softly, putting the car in gear. "Then I'll take that as a no."
We drive.
The hospital fades into the distance, its lights swallowed by the darkness of the city outskirts. The streets are almost empty, slick with rain, the reflections of passing lamps rippling like melted gold. I let my head rest against the cool window, my mind still replaying the washroom — the mirror, the blood, the thing with horns. The fear claws its way back into my chest like a cold hand.
"You remember what happened?" he asks suddenly, his voice low, careful.
I hesitate. "Not all of it."
Lie.
But I can't tell him the truth — not about what I saw, not about the darkness I felt pressing against me like it wanted to swallow me whole. He wouldn't understand. No one here would.
"Hmm," he murmurs, glancing briefly in my direction. "You looked terrified when I found you."
I force a faint laugh. "Guess the mirror didn't like my face."
He doesn't laugh. His fingers tighten slightly around the steering wheel, knuckles pale. The wipers scrape across the windshield, rhythmic, almost soothing.
For several minutes, the only sounds are the rain and the soft hum of the tires on the road. Then, without warning, the car jerks to a stop at a red light.
Grey sighs quietly, running a hand through his hair. The silver strands catch the faint city light, shimmering briefly. He looks tired — not just physically, but something deeper. Like he's carrying a weight he doesn't know how to set down.
"I meant what I said, you know," he says, eyes fixed on the road ahead. "About being sorry."
I don't reply at first. The words hang in the air between us, thick, awkward. I don't know what to do with them — where to put them, how to respond.
"I know," I say finally, my voice softer than I expect. "And I meant it too. It's fine."
He turns to look at me, something unreadable flickering behind those jade-green eyes. "You don't sound like you mean that."
"I do," I say quickly. Maybe too quickly. "You apologized. That's enough."
"It's not," he says quietly, almost to himself. "Not after what I did."
His words hit harder than I expect. I glance at him — the tension in his jaw, the guilt that lingers in his expression — and for the first time, I realize he's not just trying to make peace. He's… haunted.
"Then prove it," I say before I can stop myself.
He blinks, startled. "Prove it?"
"Yeah," I mutter, crossing my arms. "You want me to believe you're sorry? Then show me. Be better."
For a second, silence. Then something shifts in his face — not anger, but resolve. "Alright," he says finally, nodding once. "I will."
I didn't expect him to agree so easily.
I turn back to the window, hiding the confusion twisting in my chest. The city blurs by in streaks of light and shadow. The rain thickens, tapping harder against the roof.
He drives carefully, slower than usual, as if he's afraid to jostle me. Every few minutes, his gaze flickers toward me, quick and subtle. It makes my skin prickle.
"Stop staring," I mutter under my breath.
"I wasn't—"
"You were."
He smirks faintly. "Maybe I was making sure you're still breathing."
"Sure," I say dryly, "because I look so dead right now."
"You kinda do," he teases lightly, and for a second, the tension lifts just a little.
The drive continues, winding through quiet neighborhoods where every house looks asleep. I feel the exhaustion tugging at me, heavier than before. The fever hasn't completely left, and every bone in my body aches like I've been fighting something I can't see.
At some point, my eyelids grow heavy, and the motion of the car lulls me. My thoughts blur. I hear him say something — maybe my name — but it fades into the rhythm of the rain.
When I open my eyes again, the car is still.
We're parked in front of my house. The porch light glows faintly through the mist.
Grey's turned toward me, elbows on the steering wheel, watching quietly.
"You drooled on my seat," he says, voice low, teasing but gentle.
I blink, mortified. "I— what?!"
He chuckles, soft, the sound pulling an unwilling smile from me despite myself. "Relax. Just a drop."
I swipe at my mouth anyway, glaring half-heartedly. "You're such an ass."
"I've been called worse."
The silence that follows is oddly comfortable. For once, his presence doesn't feel heavy or suffocating. Just… there.
"Thanks," I say quietly.
He looks at me, eyebrows raised. "For what?"
"For finding me," I admit. "For… not leaving me there."
His gaze softens. "You'd have done the same."
I don't answer. Maybe I would have. Maybe I wouldn't.
He steps out of the car first, coming around to open my door like some old-fashioned gentleman. I roll my eyes but don't argue. The night air hits me — cool, damp, carrying the scent of rain-soaked earth.
He offers his hand. "Come on."
"I can walk," I mutter, though when I try to stand, my knees nearly buckle.
"Yeah," he says dryly, "sure you can."
Before I can protest, he slides an arm around my waist, steadying me as we make our slow way up the driveway. Each step sends a dull ache through my back, but I grit my teeth and keep going. The porch creaks beneath our weight.
Lacey must've fallen asleep waiting — the living room light is still on, but the curtains are drawn. A faint warmth pools in my chest at the sight.
Grey stops at the door, glancing down at me. "You good?"
I nod. "Yeah. You can go now."
He hesitates. "I'll stay until you're inside."
"Suit yourself," I mutter, fumbling with the keys. My hands shake slightly, but I manage to get the door open. The faint scent of home — vanilla and old books — greets me.
"Blue?" he says softly as I step inside.
I turn back to him.
"Get some rest," he says. "And… don't go near mirrors for a while."
My heart stutters. He couldn't know what happened. He shouldn't. But the look in his eyes — like he's seen something he shouldn't — makes my throat tighten.
"And you're lighter than you look" he adds with half a teasing grin.
Before I can say anything, he turns and walks away, his silhouette vanishing into the rain.
I close the door slowly, my fingers still trembling.
His words echo in my head, cold and sharp.
Don't go near mirrors.
_____________
Vard realm
Hoffman wore a light smile as he averted his gaze from Areane. He looked at the flickering golden light that was slowly turning dark.
"Any father would have done something even worse to protect his own child."
Areane didn't respond. His expression was distant — cold marble over a storming sea. The silence that settled between them was thick, almost sacred.
The golden luminescence of the realm flickered again. For the first time in centuries, the divine air felt thin. The light that usually hummed through the walls of Areane's palace — the song of the Celestial Vein — was faltering.
A low vibration tremored through the floor. The chandeliers above dimmed, their crystal flames flickering weakly.
Areane turned slowly, his sharp gaze lifting to the vaulted ceiling.
"The flow…" he whispered, his brows drawing together. "It's unstable again."
Hoffman's face tensed. "Since when?"
"Since the last dawn," Areane murmured, extending his hand. Threads of faint golden energy rose from his palm, but they trembled violently before fading into nothing. "The vein is rejecting me."
Hoffman stiffened, his knuckles tightening around his scepter. "That's not possible."
"It shouldn't be." Areane's jaw clenched. "My bloodline is the Vein. Its light has never faltered under a Vard's watch. Unless—"
He stopped mid-sentence, his breath catching in his throat.
Hoffman turned toward him, voice cautious. "My lord… unless what?"
Areane's eyes met his — calm on the surface, but burning beneath. "Unless something connected to my bloodline was… disturbed."
The word lingered like poison between them.
A silence settled, heavy and knowing.
Hoffman's throat tightened. He turned away slightly, as if the air itself was suffocating him. "You think it's him," he said quietly.
"Blue," Areane breathed, and for the first time, his voice cracked.
He closed his eyes, the weight of guilt pressing down on his chest. The decision he'd made — the one that haunted him each night. Sending his son to the mortal realm, without the protection that made him divine.
He felt Hoffman's gaze on him but didn't turn.
"I made sure he'd be safe," Areane whispered, almost as if to himself. "He couldn't be found… not by them. Not even by us."
The words made Hoffman's grip tighten around his scepter.
"I remember," he said softly. "You ordered me to hide it. To lock it away where no one — not even the gods — could find it."
A pause.
Areane's gaze darkened. "And you did?"
Hoffman nodded once. "I sealed his powers in the Hollow Sanctum. Bound by your blood and mine. Not even the Council could sense it."
For a long moment, Areane said nothing. But the faint light of the palace continued to flicker — weaker now, almost dying.
Then, softly, the god whispered, "Then how… is it breaking?"
Hoffman froze.
A sudden chill swept through the room. The torches dimmed, and for a fleeting instant, the golden sky outside the window turned black.
Areane lifted his gaze, staring into that darkness.
"Hoffman," he said slowly, voice low and hollow, "did you feel that?"
Before Hoffman could answer, a whisper slid through the air — so faint, so quiet, that it could've been mistaken for the wind.
"Your locks are breaking… old friend."
The two gods froze.
Hoffman's blood ran cold. That voice — he hadn't heard it in eons. Not since the War of the Realms.
He turned sharply to Areane, but the Vard Lord's eyes were already wide open, gleaming with shock and recognition.
"…No," Areane whispered. "It can't be."
The marble beneath their feet fractured in a single sharp crack. Golden dust drifted upward like dying fireflies as the sound of a slow heartbeat echoed faintly through the palace walls.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
And then, through the floor of divine marble, a small pulse of light — dark, almost blue-black — crawled upward like veins beneath skin.
Hoffman's voice trembled. "That's the seal."
Areane's gaze locked on the light. "Someone's trying to open it."
Hoffman's scepter glowed faintly in response to his panic. "But it's not possible — it's locked beyond time, beyond reach—"
The palace shook violently, cutting him off. A roar of energy surged through the ceiling, splitting the divine glow into shards.
Areane took a step forward, eyes burning gold. "Blue…" He then turned to Hoffman, "Atlas..he's out"
The echo of that name carried far — across the golden clouds, through the Celestial halls, and into the farthest corner of creation.
And somewhere, in a place no god could see…
a faint blue light flickered in the dark, pulsing weakly.
Then it blinked out.
_______________