Hyura was no longer in the arena. He had vanished, swallowed by a silence so thick it seemed to devour every thought. He stood in a place he could not name: the small courtyard of Lord Arion’s house had dissolved into an impossible illusion. The ground beneath his feet stretched into infinity, a liquid mirror reflecting his image again and again, until it was lost in the void.

  He felt dampness. A thin layer of water covered the surface, cold and transparent. The faint movement of his steps drew ripples that spread outward as if they might shatter the entire world.

  He lifted his gaze. Only darkness.

  An absolute void, without stars or sky, without walls or horizon. A faint circle of light surrounded him, marking him as if he were the only living being in a dead universe.

  The air was dense. It vibrated with a strange force, as if every particle pulsed with a heartbeat not his own. The weight of that place pressed down on him. Every movement was clumsy, heavy, as though he walked beneath an invisible ocean.

  Hyura swallowed, though his throat was dry.

  He did not understand where he was, or how he had come there.

  A chill ran down his spine. The reflection beneath his feet—that liquid mirror that had mirrored his every motion—no longer moved as he did.

  “At last you’ve decided to appear…” said a voice, weary yet sharp and cold.

  “I’ve been waiting years for this moment.”

  The voice came from behind him, though before him and on every side there was only darkness. It was the void itself that spoke. Hyura bristled with fear.

  “Who are you? Where am I?”

  “Where are you? Who are you?” The voice laughed, broken and jagged. “Do you not see where you stand? Do you not see who I am?”

  The reflection on the water fractured. From the ripples rose the silhouette of a man, naked, shrouded in a thick smoke that concealed only what it wished. His hair, disheveled, fell to his shoulders. From his eyes poured the same darkness as the place itself, leaving trails in the air, and on his brow curled a pair of horns.

  “I am the god of darkness, the one they call the Fallen God. My name was erased from songs, erased from memory… but you must remember it. You will make them remember.”

  Hyura trembled. This could not be real. Was he dreaming?

  “I hear your thoughts,” the voice said.

  “I know your pain. I’ve been watching you since the day you appeared. You want to know who you are, you want the wound of your difference to vanish, you want to fly… and you want Vaenia for yourself.”

  “Stop!” Hyura shouted, his face burning. “You know nothing of me! Leave Vaenia out of this!”

  The darkness grew heavier, as if gravity itself had multiplied.

  “Then tell me… what do you want me to do?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The one out there wants to kill you. And I, for now, do not want you dead. Not yet. I am not ready.”

  Hyura frowned.

  “Ready for what?”

  “To be free.”

  The silhouette stepped forward, lifting an arm wreathed in smoke.

  “We have no wings yet. Remember? You must find some.”

  In that instant, a foreign image flared in Hyura’s mind: crumbling columns beneath a crimson sky, a blackened altar, and upon it, withered wings hung like trophies. It was not his memory, yet he felt it as though he had lived it.

  “Well then…” whispered the god. “I’ll ask again—what do you want me to do? Because I’m about to kill them.”

  Hyura’s eyes flew open.

  “What? No, no… I don’t want to kill anyone.”

  The Fallen God tilted his head, as if something invisible called to him from afar.

  “Well… it seems I must go.”

  It all happened too quickly. The void tore open, and suddenly Hyura was back in Lord Arion’s house.

  The scene was different.

  He had Artan by the throat, lifted off the ground, the boy’s eyes bulging for air. Dharion lay on the floor, reeling between blood and bruises. Daoan leaned against a column, her ribs broken, her dress torn and stained with red. Lord Arion, his dented armor still caked with arena sand, watched from the hall, battered. Beside him, Vaenia wept, screaming Hyura’s name in despair.

  The house was in ruins, as if war itself had invaded its walls.

  Hyura dropped Artan, stumbling back in confusion, unable to understand. His own breathing roared in the silence.

  He did not remember how it happened. But it had.

  Dharion staggered to his feet, sword steady in his hand. Blood streamed down his forehead, blinding one eye, but his gaze was clear: cold, resolute. He advanced on Hyura with a single purpose.

  Arion shouted from the hall.

  “Dharion, stop!”

  But the guardian did not halt.

  Before his blade could reach Hyura, a thunderclap of wings split the air. Vaenia surged forward with impossible speed, swifter even than the colossus bearing down on them. She shoved Hyura aside in desperation and threw herself between them.

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  Dharion’s blade struck her right wing. The cut was clean and brutal. The limb snapped with a sharp crack, scattering white feathers that fell like blood-stained snow.

  Vaenia did not scream.

  The pain was unbearable, but she did not show it. She only embraced Hyura, wrapping him with what remained of her wings, ready to die there if she must.

  “Vaenia…” Hyura’s wide, tear-filled eyes locked on her, his soul breaking.

  At last Arion reached Dharion and seized his arm.

  “Enough, Dharion! It’s over!” he roared. “He is himself again.”

  “I must kill him!” Dharion’s voice thundered with blind faith. “He is evil incarnate, he is darkness itself. Aetherios is my guide, and I must obey his will!”

  “I said STOP!”

  Lord Arion’s voice resounded with a strange, foreign power. It was no plea nor request—it was a command. A command impossible to resist. Guardians were bound to their Lynhes, and when that bond of respect was broken for sheer will, no force could oppose it.

  Dharion froze, sword half-raised, trembling like a broken statue. His eyes still burned with fanatic fire, but his body no longer obeyed him.

  Daoan watched, her face tense and wary; Artan, still on the ground, stared with doubt tearing at him.

  The silence that followed was unbearable.

  “I’m sorry, Vaenia…” Hyura whispered through tears.

  “I failed you.”

  He clung to her desperately, burying his face in her shoulder.

  Vaenia wept without end. She held him with her only intact wing, trembling as she pressed him close.

  “It’s all right, Hyura. I’m here. You’ll never be alone again. I’m the one who’s sorry… I should never have left you. You’ve suffered so much…”

  Arion finally released Dharion’s arm and watched in silence. The Guardians glanced at each other, confused, awaiting an order that never came.

  “Vaenia…” Arion spoke at last. “You’re wounded. If we call a healer, we’ll have to tell them what happened here. That… will not be good for Hyura.”

  Vaenia shook her head, lips tight.

  “I’m fine… I can heal on my own.” But her voice trembled, and her broken wing hung useless at her side.

  Arion turned to his Guardians.

  “Listen… I don’t know what just happened, but I want to help them. I can’t stand by while they suffer. I know what I’m asking… but you’ve seen it yourselves. This doesn’t mean Hyura is a Valdori. There is something inside him, something possessing him. And now we know that with Vaenia beside him, he can resist it. We must find out what it is, how to remove it… and above all, we must remain discreet.”

  He faced Hyura and Vaenia.

  “Come inside. Hyura, Vaenia, go with Daoan. She’ll tend your wing as best she can.”

  Daoan stiffened at the order. Her expression hardened, but she did not protest. She stepped toward Vaenia, avoiding Hyura’s gaze.

  “Come, little one…” she murmured, one hand pressed to her bruised ribs. “Let’s see what we can do for that wing.”

  Hyura followed close, until Daoan halted suddenly, her eyes stabbing into him.

  “Arion, I’ll obey you…” she said, voice tight, almost reproachful. “But I’d like to be alone with Vaenia. Unless you mean to impose your will on me as well.”

  The words struck deep. Arion met her gaze, a silent apology in his eyes. He nodded.

  “Hyura, come with me.”

  Then he turned to Dharion.

  “Forgive me…”

  The guardian still stood rigid, sword in hand, fury blazing inside.

  “I think it’s best I leave you to yourselves,” Arion added, glancing toward Artan as well.

  The boy, unsteady but upright, nodded silently.

  Lord Arion led Hyura down a side corridor, away from the Guardians’ eyes. Their steps echoed on broken marble, walls still trembling from the battle unleashed moments before.

  They stopped in a small chamber, lit only by an oil lamp. Arion closed the door behind them, silent for a long moment as he studied the boy.

  Hyura could not stop trembling. He still felt the heat of the darkness on his skin, as if it had not fully left him.

  “Hyura…” Arion’s voice was deep, almost paternal. “Tell me the truth. What happened in there?”

  The boy lifted his tearful eyes and shook his head.

  “I don’t know… I don’t remember well… there was an empty place, a mirror, and… someone spoke to me.”

  Arion frowned, stepping closer.

  “Someone?”

  Hyura swallowed.

  “He said… he knew me. That he’s been inside me all along. He said… he was a god. A fallen god.”

  The air in the chamber grew colder. Arion clenched his jaw, but said nothing.

  “He called me by name. Spoke of my pain, my desires. He knew things I never said aloud. And he showed me…” Hyura’s hands clutched his head, trembling. “A temple, ruins, and wings hung like trophies. I don’t know if it was a memory… or a warning.”

  Arion’s eyes never left him. There was compassion in his face, but also a shadow of fear.

  “Listen carefully, Hyura,” he said firmly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You are not that thing. Whatever it is that dwells in you, it is not your master. You decide who you are. Do you understand me?”

  The boy nodded, though his tears fell freely.

  Arion drew a long breath.

  “From now on, no one must know of this. Not the Guardians, not the healers, not the Council. If word reaches the High Council, I’ll have no power to protect you.”

  Hyura stared at him, terrified.

  “And if it happens again?”

  “Then,” Arion said, determination flashing in his eyes, “we’ll find a way to contain it. Together.”

  Silence filled the room again, heavy but strangely warm. For the first time since awakening in this world, Hyura felt he was not completely alone.

  Daoan opened the door and ushered Vaenia inside. The young Lynhe’s face was twisted with pain, though she tried to hide it. Her injured wing dragged, leaving smears of fresh blood across the floor.

  “Sit,” Daoan ordered, pointing to the bed.

  Vaenia obeyed, breathing in sharp gasps. Daoan fetched a clean cloth and a basin of water, her movements quick, almost mechanical. She never met Vaenia’s eyes.

  The silence was suffocating. Only the crackle of a candle broke the sound of Vaenia’s labored breaths.

  When Daoan finally bent over her, her hands paused for an instant above the torn wing. The wound was deep and ugly, yet Vaenia had not uttered a single cry.

  “Why are you doing this?” Daoan asked, voice low and harsh.

  Vaenia blinked at her.

  “What?”

  “Risking yourself for him. Throwing yourself between Dharion and that…” She bit back the words, swallowing them with anger. “You can’t deny what we saw. Something dark inhabits him.”

  Vaenia gritted her teeth as the cloth touched the open flesh, but she held Daoan’s gaze.

  “Because he’s Hyura. And I know him better than anyone. He is not that thing.”

  Daoan sighed, her back curving with weariness.

  “I hope you’re right, little one. But blind faith can be more dangerous than darkness itself.”

  Vaenia lowered her eyes, tears falling onto her bloodied hands.

  “It’s not blind faith…” she whispered, her voice breaking. “It’s what I feel.”

  She trembled for a moment, then the words burst forth, as if tearing her heart open.

  “I love him. I love Hyura.”

  Her eyes met Daoan’s, wet, vulnerable, yet firm.

  “He has always been there in the moments that mattered. When no one else dared to look at me, he was there. When I was a child and felt invisible, Hyura reminded me I existed. When my body changed and everything felt strange and alien, he didn’t judge me—he treated me as if nothing had changed. When I cried for reasons I couldn’t explain, he never asked why; he simply stayed with me in silence.”

  Her breath came uneven, her voice more and more broken.

  “He has always cared for me, even when he was the one who needed help most. He made me feel valued when I doubted myself. How could I not love him?”

  Daoan froze. Her bloodstained hands stilled on the bandage.

  Her lips parted, as if to speak… but she said nothing. A shadow crossed her face—fleeting, restrained melancholy that did not belong in this conversation.

  At last, she spoke softly:

  “The heart knows nothing of rules or reason. Yet it is the only thing that gives us strength to endure.”

  In her gaze was hardness, but also an unexpected empathy, as if for an instant she had seen herself reflected in Vaenia.

  The candle sputtered in the gloom, illuminating the two women: one confessing her pure, reckless love, the other guarding a secret she would never speak aloud.