A quiet scene revealing Zephyr's private thoughts about Isaac… and Irithel.
The night sky of the floating dimension glowed with slow-drifting constellations.
Elder Zephyr sat alone on the high arch of the Ancient Sky Gate, wind gently tugging at his robe.
He closed his eyes.
Zephyr (muttering):
"So. It truly has begun again."
He looked downward to the camp where Isaac slept soundly, Kael snored like a demon buffalo, and Helena used her warm magic to keep them from freezing.
"Isaac… Child of the Rift."
Zephyr's eyes softened with rare melancholy.
"I sense the echo of another within you. A soul I hoped never to encounter again."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Irithel… Demon Lord of the Boundless Blades.
Storm Sovereign.
Riftwalker."
Zephyr's hand tightened slightly.
"We were allies once.
Warriors against the Void.
Then you grew hungry for destiny. Hungry for dominion."
The wind around him trembled.
"Irithel, you were brilliance and ruin woven together.
And now your echo lives inside a frightened human boy who does not understand the weight in his veins."
He sighed deeply.
"This Isaac…
He is not you.
Thank the skies."
A pause.
"But fate… fate is cruel.
And if he awakens everything you left behind…"
Zephyr looked out across the horizon—where rifts shimmered like scars in the dawn.
"…then he will inherit both your power…
and your enemies."
He rose, letting the wind push him aloft.
"I will guide him."
A firm whisper.
"And pray the storm inside him learns mercy."
The wind carried his final words into the clouds:
"Isaac…
Please…
be better than Irithel."