(Sylas's POV)
The world doesn't go white.
It goes silent.
The moment the grief‑born Guardian's fingers brush Elior's light, the resonance inside my chest snaps taut — then tears open like a wound.
I don't see the grove.
I don't see Rowan's fire.
I don't see Noctis's shadows.
I see nothing.
And then—
I see him.
Elior.
Suspended in a sphere of light so bright it hurts to look at, even for me. His hair floats around him like he's underwater. His eyes are open, but unfocused — staring into something I can't see.
He isn't here with me.
He's somewhere else.
Somewhere older.
Somewhere he's been before.
I try to move toward him, but the light pushes back, like a heartbeat made of force. It pulses against my chest, warning me away.
"Elior," I whisper, reaching out. "Anchor to me. Don't slip."
He doesn't hear me.
His lips move.
A name.
A plea.
A memory.
The resonance inside me trembles violently. I feel his fear, his confusion, his pain — but also something else.
Recognition.
He knows this place.
He's been here.
This is where he died.
The light flickers.
A shape forms behind him.
Tall.
Shadowed.
Broken.
The grief‑born Guardian.
But not the one in the grove.
This one is younger.
Softer.
Alive.
The First Guardian.
He reaches for Elior — not with rage, not with desperation, but with grief so deep it feels like drowning.
"Please," he whispers. "Don't leave me."
Elior flinches.
His breath stutters.
His light cracks.
"No," I snarl, pushing forward. "You don't get to touch him. Not here. Not again."
The light pushes back harder, slamming into my chest. I stagger but don't fall. I can't fall. I won't.
"Elior," I whisper, forcing my hand through the light. "Feel me. Come back."
His fingers twitch.
Just a little.
But enough.
The resonance flares — a spark of recognition.
He knows me.
He feels me.
He's still here.
The First Guardian's echo turns toward me, eyes hollow.
"You weren't there," he says. "You didn't hold him. You didn't feel him die."
"I'm here now," I growl. "And he's not dying again."
The echo's expression twists — grief, rage, longing all tangled together.
"You can't save him," he whispers. "You can't stop the cycle."
"I can break it."
"You can't."
"I will."
The echo lunges.
Not at me.
At Elior.
I shove my hand deeper into the light, resonance burning through my veins.
"ELIOR!"
His head snaps toward me.
His eyes focus.
He sees me.
And the light shatters.
It doesn't fade.
It doesn't dim.
It explodes.
A shockwave of magic tears through the void, ripping the echo apart, ripping the memory apart, ripping the world apart.
And suddenly—
I'm back.
The grove slams into existence around me.
Rowan is on the ground, shielding Elior with his body.
Aeris is gasping, breath‑magic flickering weakly.
Elias is shaking, threads sparking around him.
Noctis is crouched low, shadows wrapped around all of us like a cocoon.
And Elior—
Elior is unconscious.
His light is dim.
His breathing is shallow.
His magic is flickering like a dying star.
I drop to my knees beside him, grabbing his hand.
"Elior," I whisper, voice cracking. "Come back."
Rowan looks up at me, eyes wild. "What happened? What did you see?"
I swallow hard.
Because the truth is worse than any of them know.
"He didn't just remember dying," I say softly. "He remembered who held him."
Aeris's breath catches. "The First Guardian."
Elias's eyes widen. "The grief‑born echo."
Noctis's shadows tighten. "He touched Elior's light."
I nod.
"And it pulled Elior into the memory."
Rowan's grip on Elior tightens. "Is he hurt?"
I shake my head.
"He's not hurt," I say. "He's waking up."
Aeris whispers, "Waking up what?"
I look at Elior's face — peaceful, fragile, glowing faintly with a light that doesn't belong to this world.
"Everything," I whisper. "He's waking up everything."
The grove goes silent.
Even the wind stops.
Because they all understand what that means.
Elior isn't just remembering his death.
He's remembering his purpose.
His origin.
His first bond.
His first heartbreak.
His first Guardian.
And the grief‑born echo?
He isn't done.
He isn't defeated.
He isn't leaving.
He's coming back.
For Elior.
For the cycle.
For the ending he never accepted.
Rowan's voice is barely audible. "What do we do?"
I look down at Elior — the boy born from the Moon's grief, the light that refuses to die, the heart of our constellation.
"We protect him," I say. "From the echo. From the Hollow. From the past."
Noctis's shadows rise behind me like wings. "And if the past comes for him again?"
I squeeze Elior's hand.
"Then we break it."
Aeris wipes his eyes, voice trembling. "He's breathing, but it's shallow. His magic is unstable."
Elias leans forward, hands hovering over Elior's chest. "His threads are tangled. The memory pulled him too far."
Rowan presses his forehead to Elior's temple. "Elior, please… come back."
The resonance inside me trembles again — faint, but present.
"He hears you," I whisper. "He's trying."
Aeris looks up at me. "What did you see in there?"
I hesitate.
Because saying it out loud makes it real.
"I saw the moment he died," I say quietly. "I saw the First Guardian holding him. I saw the world breaking around them."
Elias's breath catches. "The cycle."
Noctis's jaw tightens. "The Haven warned us."
Rowan shakes his head. "The Haven didn't warn us about this."
Aeris whispers, "What if Elior remembering is part of the cycle?"
I look down at Elior — pale, trembling, glowing faintly with a light that feels older than the grove itself.
"It is," I say. "But it's also the only way to break it."
Elias's eyes widen. "You think he has to remember everything?"
"I think he already is."
Rowan's voice cracks. "And if remembering kills him?"
I meet his eyes.
"It won't," I say. "Because he's not alone this time."
Noctis's shadows curl protectively around Elior. "We hold him together."
Aeris nods, wiping his face. "We breathe with him."
Elias steadies his hands. "We guide him."
Rowan presses a kiss to Elior's hair. "We keep him alive."
I squeeze Elior's hand again.
"And when the grief‑born echo comes back," I whisper, "we end this."
The wind stirs.
The trees shiver.
And somewhere deep in the forest…
Something screams.