Solis

  Disappointment has a sound. It is not loud. It is not shouted. It is quieter than that. It lives in silence, in the way people look at you and then look away.

  I have heard that silence often in the past two days.

  My father did not shout. That would have been easier to bear. Instead, he simply stood in the great hall of the hell, his arms folded across his chest, his expression carved from stone.

  “You yielded,” he said.

  Not angrily. Just… factually.

  “As the son of the commander of the warrior legions… you yielded.”

  I held his gaze. “Yes.”

  The silence that followed was heavier than any blade.

  The King of the Warriors had been present as well. His disappointment had been even quieter.

  “You were trained to win, Solis.”

  “I know.”

  “You had the advantage.”

  “I know.”

  “And yet you allowed another man to claim the weapon.”

  I did not answer that. Because explaining it would not have changed anything. They would never understand.

  Caelum had been worse.

  My cousin had been one of the participants in the trials as well, though he had fallen earlier. When he saw me, he laughed.

  “You gave it away,” he said.

  “I didn’t give it away.”

  “Then what did you do?” he asked. “Because from where the rest of us were watching, it looked very much like you handed victory to him.”

  I did not answer.

  There are truths people are not ready to hear.

  Instead, I left the hall and returned to the only place I have spent my time since the trials ended—Phoenix’s chamber.

  She has not woken yet.

  The room is quiet except for the slow rhythm of her breathing.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Azrith sits beside her bed. He has not moved from that chair since he carried her out of the abyss.

  I watched it happen.

  Watched the impossible unfold.

  The abyss had been silent for hours after Phoenix fell. Most of us believed she was gone. Even I had begun to accept it.

  And then the darkness below the arena moved.

  Azrith climbed out of the abyss.

  The Primordial Blade burned in his hand, its fire lighting the stone walls of the Citadel.

  And in his arms—

  Phoenix.

  Unconscious. Alive.

  He did not say a word to anyone. Not to the Devil. Not to the rulers watching from above. Not even when Hell erupted into celebration.

  He simply carried her past all of them.

  Straight here.

  The Devil held a feast that night in his honor—a celebration for the champion of Hell.

  Azrith did not attend.

  He never left this room.

  He sits beside her now, his hand wrapped tightly around hers, his head slightly bowed as if watching her breathe is the only thing holding him together.

  I stand near the far wall. Far enough that I do not intrude. Close enough that I can see her.

  That has been my place for the past two days.

  Watching. Waiting. Loving her quietly.

  Tonight, Azrith finally notices me.

  His eyes lift. They are darker than before the trials—not with anger, but with fear. He looks like a man who has fought monsters and survived, but is losing a battle he cannot fight.

  “You’ve been standing there for hours,” he says, his voice rough. “You should rest.”

  I shake my head. “So should you.”

  He lets out a quiet breath and looks back down at Phoenix.

  “She’s not waking up.”

  His fingers tighten around hers. The fear in that small movement says more than his words.

  I step closer. For a moment we stand in silence, both looking at her.

  Then I speak.

  “She will wake.”

  Azrith does not look up. “You don’t know that.”

  I allow myself a faint smile. “Yes, I do.”

  Now he looks at me. “Why?”

  I look at Phoenix—the woman who threw herself into an abyss rather than allow someone she cared about to lose.

  “Because the woman I love is not a quitter.”

  The words leave my mouth easily.

  Azrith studies me for a moment. Then he nods slowly.

  “I figured.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “You figured?”

  “You didn’t fight like a man trying to win,” he says quietly. “You fought like a man protecting something.”

  For the first time in two days, something like understanding passes between us. Not rivalry. Not resentment.

  Respect.

  “You love her,” he says.

  “Yes.”

  Azrith nods once and looks back down at her hand in his.

  “So do I.”

  The honesty in his voice is simple. Unapologetic.

  Strangely… I find that I do not resent it.

  We stand there for a while longer. Two men. One woman. One truth neither of us can change.

  And then Phoenix’s fingers move.

  Azrith freezes.

  Her eyelids flutter. Slowly, painfully, she opens her eyes.

  Azrith’s breath catches. “Phoenix.”

  Her gaze drifts across the room—first to him, then briefly to me.

  In that single moment, I see everything. Relief. Confusion.

  And something softer when her eyes return to Azrith.

  I understand.

  Of course I do.

  Azrith pulls her gently into his arms. She clings to him weakly. Their foreheads touch.

  Then they kiss.

  Soft. Careful. Like two people who almost lost each other forever.

  That is my moment to leave.

  I turn quietly and walk toward the door. No one stops me. No one calls my name.

  Outside the chamber, the corridor is empty.

  For a moment I simply stand there, listening to the silence.

  I already knew this would happen. Somewhere inside me, I had known it the moment she fell into the abyss for him.

  Still…

  Knowing something will hurt does not stop it from hurting.

  I walk slowly down the corridor, their image still in my mind—the way she looked at him, the way her hands held onto him like he was the only thing keeping her in this world.

  I have seen that look before.

  Just never meant for me.

  A quiet laugh escapes me. Not bitter. Just… tired.

  So this is how it feels.

  To stand right there. Close enough to see everything. Close enough to know what it could have been.

  And still not be the one she chooses.

  I stop near the balcony of the Citadel. Far below, the fires of Hell burn endlessly. I lean against the cold stone railing.

  For a moment a thought crosses my mind.

  What if I had fought harder?

  What if I had refused to yield?

  What if—

  But the thought dies as quickly as it comes.

  Because deep down, I know the truth.

  Even if I had won the weapon…

  I would have still lost her.

  Some things cannot be fought for.

  Some hearts choose their own battles.

  And hers…

  chose him.

  I close my eyes for a moment, then push myself away from the railing and begin walking again.

  It is strange how someone can still mean everything to you… even after you realize you were never meant to be their everything.

  But that is alright.

  She is alive.

  She is smiling again.

  And somehow that hurts a little less than losing her completely.

  I smile faintly.

  Not bitter.

  Not angry.

  Just… understanding.

  Some people are meant to be loved from a distance.

  And some battles are not meant to be won.

  I step into the quiet hallway and keep walking.

  Because if she is happy—

  Then that is enough.

  For me.