[ Unknown POV]
The chamber was silent—eerily so.
A vast throne room carved of obsidian stone and illuminated only by the faint pulse of crimson light that throbbed from the veins in the walls. The air was cold, too still, as if time itself hesitated to move.
On a throne of twisted black metal sat a woman cloaked in shadow, her body still, her expression unreadable. The only thing that moved was her eyes—deep red, like ancient blood—hidden beneath a silver veil.
Then… they opened.
As if sensing something.
As if a long-awaited moment had finally arrived.
A pair of double doors creaked open.
Another woman—tall, graceful, robed in navy silk—stepped in, bowing her head with both reverence and urgency.
"My Lady," she said, voice soft but edged with gravity. "We've found him."
The throne-bound woman's lips curved into a faint smile.
"Are you certain?"
"Confirmed. He passed through the breach. The soul tether is active."
A pause. The room seemed to tense.
The woman on the throne stood slowly, her red eyes burning brighter.
"Then we proceed. No mistakes. Not this time."
The other woman bowed again and vanished, leaving the throne room empty once more.
Only the flicker of red light remained…
And the lingering echo of destiny shifting.
[ Mark's POV]
He wasn't sure when he started feeling again.
At first, there was only nothing—a void deeper than sleep, colder than death. No sound. No light. No sense of time or place. Just an endless weightless drift in silence.
And then… came thought.
And with thought, pain.
Not physical, but something worse. Something heavy and hollow and choking.
Emily…
Mark's eyes fluttered open—or at least, he thought they did. There was nothing around him but gray. Not even gray. Just absence.
He tried to move, but his limbs didn't respond. There was no floor beneath him, no sky above. Just… void.
How long have I been here?
Seconds? Hours? Days?
Or had it been years?
The thought should have terrified him, but all he could feel was a slowly rising ache—not from the void, but from within.
Emily.
The last thing he remembered was her voice screaming his name.
The flash of headlights.
The impact.
And then her face—etched into his mind like a brand. Her blue eyes wide with fear. Her hand reaching for him.
He'd pushed her. Saved her.
But now…
Was she okay?
Was she alone?
Was she—was she crying?
Mark's heart twisted at the thought. He'd seen her cry before—quietly, with a brave smile—but he never wanted to be the reason for it. Never again.
Is she blaming herself? Did she think I left her?
He gritted his teeth. Or tried to. It was hard to tell what his body was doing anymore. Maybe he was just a soul now—adrift in something between life and death.
His thoughts spiraled like a storm, each one darker than the last.
She must be waking up alone.
On our anniversary.
She must be… broken.
I promised her forever.
He could feel it—tears, maybe. Or the soul's echo of them. His chest felt hollow. Like someone had scooped out the best part of him and left behind the shell.
I can't… I can't be without her.
He tried to scream, but the void swallowed the sound.
He tried to reach forward, but there was nothing to touch.
"Emily…" he whispered into the endless dark, voice raw. "I'm sorry."
He didn't know what this place was. If this was death, it was cruel. If it was punishment, it was undeserved.
She's alive. She's alive because I saved her.
And yet… it didn't feel like enough.
What good was a hero's end if it meant she had to carry the weight alone?
She's probably in our apartment. Her sketchbook still lying on the table. My glove still on the counter. And she's sitting there… waiting for me to walk in.
He broke then.
Not in body—but in soul.
All the strength, all the calm, all the peace he had built over the years with her… shattered.
"I can't do this without you," he said, louder now. "You're my reason. My beginning and end."
There was no reply.
No light. No warmth. No arms wrapping around him like they used to when he had a bad day. Just the suffocating weight of absence.
And yet, somehow… he kept thinking of her smile.
That stupid, wonderful laugh when he spilled orange juice on his shirt.
Her voice when she called him "old man."
The soft way she'd kiss his forehead and whisper, "We're a team, remember?"
You promised, he thought. You said we'd grow old together.
I wasn't done yet.
"I want to go back…" he whispered, curling into himself. "I want to see her again. Just one more time. Please."
Still, silence.
Still, void.
Until—
Somewhere distant.
A faint sound.
A flutter.
Then a pulse.
And then… something shifted.
Far, far away—at the edge of the void, a circle of glowing runes ignited.
A ritual long prepared had begun.
The woman with navy silk stared into the summoning pool as Mark's soul trembled, raw and broken.
"He is ready," she whispered. "And so it begins."