I lay there in bed staring at the ceiling remembering the times with Caleif.
Her face is what I remember most clearly. Not the power she wielded or the way she moved with that strange, otherworldly grace, but her expressions. The slight furrow between her brows when she was worried. The way her bluish-red eyes would shift colors with her emotions. The rare smile that transformed her entire face when she let her guard down.
Five thousand years in Hell burned most human emotions out of me, but whatever Caleif awakened can't be so easily dismissed. It sits beside the hellfire in my chest, a different kind of warmth that makes this alien room feel even more isolating.
I wonder if she's looking for me. If time moves differently between realms, she might still be standing in that arena, watching the tear in reality close around me. Or perhaps days have passed for her too, and she's already moved on, accepting my disappearance as just another cosmic casualty.
The thought stings more than it should.
A sound from outside my window draws my attention—music drifting up from the Night Market below. Not the haunting harmonies of the Shepherds, but something more celebratory. Drums and strings and voices raised in what might be a local festival or simply the normal nightlife of the Crossroads Quarter.
I push myself up and move to the window, watching the multicolored lanterns sway in the evening breeze. The crowd below has grown, beings of every conceivable form mingling in what appears to be a spontaneous celebration. Even from this distance, I can sense the energy—joyful, chaotic, alive in a way that makes my isolation feel suddenly unbearable.
Five thousand years alone in Hell, and somehow this single night in a comfortable room feels worse.
Before I can reconsider, I'm reaching for my cold iron knife and heading for the door. The ring on my finger pulses with warmth, as if warning me against this impulsive decision, but I ignore it. If I'm going to be trapped in this realm indefinitely, I might as well understand what I'm dealing with.
The hallway outside my room is quiet, most of the Threshold's other guests either already out enjoying the festivities or wisely keeping to themselves. I make my way downstairs to find the common room transformed. Tables have been pushed aside to create a central space where several patrons dance to music provided by a trio of musicians whose instruments defy easy classification.
Marius stands behind the bar, those too-wide eyes immediately finding me as I descend the stairs. He nods once, a gesture that might be approval or simply acknowledgment of my decision to join the world of the living.
"The Spring Convergence Festival," he explains as I approach the bar. "Happens when the dimensional barriers are at their thinnest. Good night to be among friends rather than alone with memories."
His perception is unsettling as always. "I didn't realize I was so transparent."
"Not transparent," he corrects, sliding a glass of that same amber liquid toward me. "But familiar. Most of us carry someone in our memories when we arrive here. Someone left behind."
I accept the drink but don't comment on his observation. "What exactly is this Convergence?"
"Astronomical phenomenon unique to this realm," Marius explains, his too-fluid movements barely noticeable as he serves other patrons without breaking our conversation. "Three moons align while passing through a dimensional weak point. Creates a temporary thinning of barriers between adjacent realms."
"Adjacent realms?" Hope flickers in my chest—not the hellfire kind, but something more human. "You mean travel between dimensions is possible during this alignment?"
His expression turns cautious. "Theoretically. But not in the way you're hoping. The barriers thin, allowing energy transfer and sometimes communication, but physical passage is extremely rare. And never controlled."
The hope dims but doesn't extinguish completely. "But it happens."
"Once every few centuries, perhaps. And rarely with the traveler arriving intact or at their intended destination." He studies me with those unsettling eyes. "The Citadel's libraries have records of past Convergences if you're interested. But I wouldn't recommend building plans around such astronomical odds."
I down the drink in one swallow, feeling it burn pleasantly all the way to my stomach. "I've beaten worse odds."
"I'm sure you have," he concedes. "But consider this—even if you found a way to tear through the dimensional barriers during Convergence, without precise navigation you'd likely end up in yet another random realm. Not back where you came from."
He's right, of course. Dimensional travel without proper navigation is cosmic Russian roulette. But the mere possibility that the barriers thin regularly in this realm is valuable information. Something to research further when I visit those libraries.
A commotion near the entrance draws both our attention. A group of newcomers has arrived—beings that even in this diverse gathering stand out for their unusual appearance. Their skin shimmers with what appears to be embedded crystals, and their movements have a synchronized quality that suggests some form of group consciousness.
"Crystal Collective," Marius murmurs. "Rare to see them at social gatherings. They usually keep to themselves in the Resonance District."
The new arrivals move through the crowd with eerie grace, eventually forming a perfect circle in the center of the dancing area. The other patrons give them space, watching with expressions ranging from curiosity to wariness.
Without warning, the crystalline beings begin to sing—if "sing" is the right word for the harmonic resonance they produce. The sound ripples through the air, creating patterns of light that dance across the ceiling and walls. It's beautiful in an alien way, complex harmonies that seem to physically affect the environment.
"Convergence offering," Marius explains, noticing my interest. "They believe the thinning barriers allow their song to reach their home realm. A way of letting their collective know they still exist."
Something about their performance strikes a chord in me. The longing in their harmonies. The hope that somewhere, someone is listening. That they haven't been forgotten.
I understand that feeling all too well.
The music from the crystal beings grows more intense, their bodies glowing brighter as they pour more energy into their song. The air in the common room seems to thicken, reality itself vibrating in response to their harmonics.
And then I feel it—a subtle shift in the dimensional fabric around us. Not a tear or rupture, but a thinning, just as Marius described. The barriers between realms becoming temporarily permeable, allowing energies to flow where they normally couldn't.
The ring on my finger grows suddenly hot, pulsing with warning. Whatever the Crystal Collective is doing, it's affecting the magical disguise, putting additional strain on enchantments already stretched to their limits.
I should leave. Return to my room before the ring fails completely and reveals my true nature to a room full of strangers. But something keeps me rooted in place—the same something that drove me from my isolation upstairs. A need to connect, to understand, to be part of something beyond my own torment.
The crystal beings reach what appears to be the climax of their performance, their harmonics building to a crescendo that makes the very air shimmer with dimensional energy. For just a moment, I swear I can see through the thinned barriers—glimpses of other realms flickering like mirages around the edges of my vision.
None of them are the Academy. None of them contain Caleif.
The song ends abruptly, the crystal beings falling silent in perfect synchronization. The dimensional energies linger for a few seconds longer, then dissipate like morning fog under sunlight. Normal reality reasserts itself, leaving only a faint resonance in the air.
The crowd erupts in appreciative sounds—not just applause, but various expressions of approval specific to different species. The crystal beings acknowledge this with a synchronized bow before moving to a corner of the room, their performance apparently complete.
"Impressive, isn't it?" Marius says, refilling my glass without being asked. "They only perform during Convergence. Something about the alignment allowing their harmonics to achieve proper resonance."
I nod, still processing what I just witnessed. "The dimensional thinning—it was real. I could feel it."
"Of course it was real," he replies, as if this should be obvious. "Why do you think the Citadel was built here, of all places? This location experiences more dimensional phenomena than anywhere else in this realm. Tears appear more frequently. Barriers thin more regularly. It's why so many of us end up here."
This is valuable information—the kind that might eventually lead to a way home. "How long does the Convergence last?"
"Three days, typically. Tonight is just the beginning." His too-wide eyes study me carefully. "But I should warn you—while the barriers thin, they also become more unstable. Unpredictable energies flow more freely. For beings of significant power, this can be... problematic."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning your little disguise there—" he nods toward the ring "—will be under considerable strain during Convergence. More likely to fail at inconvenient moments. Something to keep in mind if you plan to explore the festivities further."
As if to emphasize his point, the ring pulses with heat against my finger, the disguise flickering momentarily before stabilizing. I can feel the hellfire in my chest responding to the dimensional energies still lingering in the air, pushing against the magical suppression with greater force than usual.
"I should probably return to my room," I concede reluctantly.
"Probably wise," Marius agrees. "Though if you're determined to experience Convergence, I might suggest an alternative solution." He reaches beneath the bar and produces a small metal box, sliding it toward me. "Something more suited to the current circumstances."
I open the box cautiously to find what appears to be a simple bracelet made of interlocking metal segments. Unlike the ring, it carries no obvious magical signature that my enhanced senses can detect.
"What is this?"
"Dimensional dampener," Marius explains. "Physical rather than magical. It won't change your appearance, but it will suppress your energy signature. Make you less likely to interact with the ambient dimensional forces during Convergence."
I pick up the bracelet, examining it more closely. The metal is unfamiliar—not cold iron or silver or any alloy I recognize. It has a strange weight to it, as if it's somehow more present in reality than normal matter should be.
"Why would you give me this?"
Marius's expression turns serious. "Because Convergence is dangerous enough without having a being of your particular... resonance experiencing containment failure in the middle of public festivities. Consider it insurance for all of us."
In other words, he's trying to prevent me from accidentally revealing my true nature and causing a panic. Pragmatic, as seems to be the standard in this realm.
I slip the bracelet onto my wrist, and the effect is immediate. The hellfire in my chest doesn't diminish, but it seems somehow more contained, less likely to flare beyond my control. The ring's disguise stabilizes, the fluctuations I've been feeling since the crystal beings' performance subsiding to manageable levels.
"Better?" Marius asks, though his expression suggests he already knows the answer.
"Better," I confirm. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet," he warns. "The dampener has limitations. It won't hold against extreme emotional states or deliberate use of your abilities. And it has side effects—diminished sensory perception, slower reflexes. Trade-offs for stability."
I can already feel those side effects setting in. My enhanced senses, while still beyond human norm, have dulled slightly. Sounds from the crowd seem more distant, scents less distinct. A small price to pay for avoiding catastrophic exposure.
"I'll keep that in-" My sentence is cut off by a gasp from behind, I turn and see an old woman staring at me. "I am so sorry for your loss. I hope things will get better." She says as she walks closer.
"Your realm has been destroyed as you were their anchor, without you they would have suffered terrible destruction, I can see it now. Everyone was destroyed and a young woman, no, not woman. A demon with the name Caleif begging for someone to help as they were destroyed, never to return."
The thought of Caleif and everyone else had died because I left sends me into a spiral of emotions.
The world stops.
Everything—the music, the laughter, the gentle hum of conversation—fades into absolute silence as her words hit me like a cosmic sledgehammer. The bracelet on my wrist grows cold against my skin, but it can't contain what's happening inside me now.
*Caleif is dead.*
*Everyone is dead.*
*Because of me.*
The hellfire in my chest doesn't just flicker—it *roars* to life with the fury of five thousand years of suppressed rage and grief. The ring on my finger cracks audibly, hairline fractures spreading across its surface as the disguise wavers like heat shimmer.
"No," I whisper, the word carrying that metallic resonance that makes glasses rattle on nearby tables. "No, that's not—she can't be—"
But the old woman's eyes hold the terrible certainty of someone who's seen beyond the veil of reality. Her weathered face is full of genuine sympathy, which somehow makes it worse.
"I'm sorry," she says again, reaching out as if to comfort me. "The sight shows me many things, but rarely pleasant ones. Your anchor to that realm was strong—too strong. When you were torn away..."
I can't hear the rest. Can't process anything beyond the image she's planted in my mind: Caleif calling for help as reality collapses around her. Caleif dying because I wasn't there to protect her.
The bracelet grows burning hot against my wrist, working overtime to contain energies that are rapidly spiraling beyond any mortal enchantment's ability to suppress. Around me, conversations halt as beings with supernatural senses detect the shift in the room's atmosphere.
Marius appears at my elbow, his too-wide eyes filled with alarm. "Kamen, you need to—"
"Get away from me," I snarl, my voice carrying harmonics that make the crystal beings in the corner recoil. "All of you, just—"
The ring finally gives up the fight. It doesn't just fail—it *shatters*, pieces of enchanted metal scattering across the floor like broken promises. Without its suppression, my true form bleeds through in waves of hellfire and rage.
My skin hardens into metallic plates that reflect the lantern light like polished obsidian. Claws extend from my fingers, sharp enough to carve reality itself. My eyes ignite with infernal light that casts crimson shadows across the suddenly terrified faces surrounding me.
But it's not my transformation that sends the crowd scrambling for exits. It's the *presence* that radiates from me now—five millennia of accumulated torment and fury finally unleashed, the cosmic weight of a being forged in the deepest pits of Hell.
"Everyone out!" Marius shouts, his own disguise slipping to reveal features that definitely aren't human. "NOW!"
The common room empties in seconds, patrons fleeing through doors and windows with the desperate speed of prey escaping a predator. Only Marius remains, standing between me and the exit with the kind of stubborn courage that gets people killed.
"You need to calm down," he says, his voice carrying harmonics meant to soothe. "This won't bring her back."
"CALM DOWN?" The words explode from me with enough force to crack the reinforced ceiling beams. "She's DEAD! They're all dead because I—because I couldn't—"
The hellfire in my chest burns so hot it's actually visible now, crimson flames licking between the plates of my armor. The air around me shimmers with heat distortion, and I can smell wood beginning to char.
"You don't know that," Marius insists, though he's backing toward the door. "The sight isn't always accurate. Sometimes it shows possibilities rather than certainties."
I want to believe him. Desperately. But the old woman's words echo in my mind with the ring of absolute truth: *Everyone was destroyed and a young woman, no, not woman. A demon with the name Caleif begging for someone to help.*
"I have to go back," I growl, turning toward the window that overlooks the Night Market. "I have to find a way—"
"There IS no way back!" Marius's shout stops me mid-stride. "Even if the realm still existed, which it doesn't according to the seer, the dimensional barriers—"
"Then I'll tear through them," I interrupt, my claws extending further as the hellfire builds to critical levels. "I'll rip holes in reality until I find her."
"And destroy how many innocent realms in the process?" His voice carries desperate urgency now. "How many billions of lives will you sacrifice for one demon who's already gone?"
The question hits me like ice water, cutting through the rage just enough to let rational thought creep back in. How many realms would I tear apart searching for Caleif? How many civilizations would I doom to save someone who might already be beyond saving?
The answer terrifies me more than Hell ever did: *All of them.*
I would burn every reality in existence for even the chance of seeing her again. The realization of my own monstrous selfishness should appall me, but instead it just feeds the fire burning in my chest.
"Then what am I supposed to do?" I ask, my voice cracking despite the metallic resonance. "Just... accept it? Move on? Pretend she never existed?"
Marius's expression softens slightly, though he maintains his distance. "You survive. You honor her memory by becoming something better than what Hell made you. You find a way to live with the grief instead of letting it consume everything you touch."
"I don't know how," I admit, the hellfire finally beginning to bank as exhaustion sets in. "Five thousand years in Hell didn't teach me how to grieve. Only how to rage."
"Then learn," he says simply. "The Crossroads is full of people who've lost everything and found ways to keep going. Let them teach you."
I look around the empty common room, taking in the damage my emotional breakdown has caused. Scorch marks on the walls. Cracked ceiling beams. The lingering smell of charred wood and supernatural fire. Just like always, my pain has become everyone else's problem.
"I should leave," I say, my true form still visible but the immediate danger past. "Before I hurt someone."
"Where would you go?" Marius asks pragmatically. "Back to the forest? The Whispering Woods won't be any more forgiving of your grief than they were of your arrival."
He's right, of course. I have nowhere to run, no cosmic authority to challenge, no enemy to fight. Just an empty ache in my chest where hope used to live and the terrible knowledge that the one person who might have understood what I've become is gone forever.
"The dampener bracelet," I realize, looking down at my wrist where the metal segments have begun to glow with contained energy. "It's not going to hold much longer."
"No," Marius agrees, "it's not. But I might have alternatives. Temporary solutions while you figure out how to exist without burning down everything around you."
I nod, not trusting my voice. The hellfire is still there, still burning, but it's settled into something more manageable. The rage hasn't disappeared—I don't think it ever will—but it's no longer threatening to consume everything in reach.
"The old woman," I say finally. "Where did she go?"
"Vera? She slipped out during the exodus. Probably back to her shop in the Divination District." Marius begins moving chairs back into position, apparently unbothered by the fact that I could still incinerate him without effort. "She has the Sight, but it's not always reliable during Convergence. The dimensional energies interfere with prophetic abilities."
Another small spark of hope. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe Caleif is still alive somewhere, still searching for a way to find me. Maybe the realm didn't collapse when I was torn away from it.
Maybe I'm just telling myself comforting lies because the alternative is unbearable.
"I need to see her," I decide. "This Vera. I need to know if what she saw was real or just... possibility."
"Tomorrow," Marius suggests. "When you're more stable and less likely to accidentally tear through dimensional barriers in her shop. For tonight, let me help you find better containment."
I want to argue, to insist on immediate answers, but he's right. In my current state, I'm a danger to everyone around me. The responsible thing—the thing Caleif would want me to do—is to get control of myself before seeking answers.
"Alright," I agree reluctantly. "But first thing tomorrow, I'm finding this seer."
"First thing tomorrow," Marius promises. "But for now, let's get you somewhere more private before the city guard decides to investigate the reports of hellfire in the Crossroads Quarter."
As if summoned by his words, I hear the sound of boots on cobblestones outside—multiple sets, moving with military precision. The Citadel's response to supernatural disturbances, no doubt.
"Back exit?" I ask, already moving toward the rear of the building.
"This way," Marius confirms, leading me toward a door I hadn't noticed before. "And Kamen? Whatever you learn tomorrow about Caleif's fate—try to remember that grief shared is grief diminished. You don't have to carry this alone."
I follow him into the night, my true form still visible but contained enough to avoid immediate panic. Behind us, the sounds of official investigation grow louder. Ahead lies uncertainty, potential answers, and the terrifying possibility that the one person who might have loved the monster I've become is gone forever.
But the words echo in my mind anyway, each repetition driving the knife deeper. *She's gone. They're all gone. Because of you.*
The back exit leads into a narrow alley that reeks of refuse and something I can't identify but makes my enhanced senses recoil. Marius moves with purpose through the maze of service passages that snake between buildings, clearly familiar with routes designed to avoid official attention.
"Where are we going?" I ask, my voice still carrying that metallic resonance that makes rats scatter from our path.
"Safe house," he replies without looking back. "Place where beings like us can exist without pretense. At least temporarily."
The hellfire in my chest pulses with each heartbeat, a constant reminder of what I am beneath this failing bracelet. Every step takes effort—not physical exertion, but the mental discipline required to keep from lashing out at the walls, the ground, the very air that dares to exist when Caleif doesn't.
We emerge from the alley system into a small courtyard surrounded by buildings that look abandoned. Broken windows, crumbling mortar, the kind of decay that suggests nobody important pays attention to this corner of the Crossroads Quarter.
Marius approaches what appears to be a boarded-up doorway and places his palm against a section of wood that looks identical to the rest. I hear the subtle click of hidden mechanisms, and the boards swing inward to reveal a passage lit by the same kind of flameless lanterns as the Threshold.
"After you," he gestures.
I step inside, immediately noting the defensive advantages of the location. Multiple exit routes. Reinforced walls that would slow down most forms of magical or physical assault. Wards built into the very foundation that hum with power I can feel even through the bracelet's suppression.
"How many safe houses does the Crossroads maintain?" I ask as we descend a narrow staircase.
"Enough," Marius replies cryptically. "The Citadel's tolerance only extends so far. Sometimes residents need places to... decompress without official oversight."
The stairs end in a circular chamber lined with doors, each one marked with different symbols. Some I recognize as dimensional script, others appear to be species-specific identification markers. The variety suggests this place hosts beings from across the cosmic spectrum.
"Your accommodation," Marius says, stopping at a door marked with symbols that hurt to look at directly. "Specifically designed for entities carrying infernal resonance."
The room beyond is spartan but functional. Stone walls thick enough to contain explosions. A bed built to support significant weight. Most importantly, a ventilation system that will handle the heat I generate when the hellfire burns too hot to contain.
"How long can I stay here?" I ask, examining the containment features with professional interest.
"As long as necessary," he replies. "Though I should warn you—isolation isn't always the best solution for grief. Sometimes the walls we build to protect others end up trapping us instead."
I turn to face him, noting the way he maintains careful distance despite his apparent concern. "Speaking from experience?"
His too-wide eyes reflect something that might be old pain. "My realm didn't just cease to exist, Kamen. I destroyed it. Every living soul, every grain of sand, every particle of matter—gone because I couldn't control what I'd become."
The admission hangs between us like a bridge neither of us wants to cross. I understand now why he runs an inn for dimensional refugees, why he's so invested in helping beings like us find ways to exist without causing harm. He's trying to atone for something unforgivable.
"How do you live with that?" I ask, genuinely curious.
"One day at a time," he says simply. "By helping others avoid making the same mistakes. By building something constructive instead of just destroying." He moves toward the door. "The bracelet will hold for another few hours. After that, you'll need to make some decisions about how you want to proceed."
"What kind of decisions?"
"Whether you want to learn control or simply better containment. Whether you're willing to let others help or if you prefer the certainty of isolation." He pauses in the doorway. "Whether you're going to honor Caleif's memory by becoming something worthy of her affection, or dishonor it by becoming the monster Hell intended you to be."
The door closes behind him with a soft click, leaving me alone with stone walls and the terrible weight of choice. I sink onto the reinforced bed, feeling the bracelet pulse with increasing heat as it struggles to contain energies that grow more chaotic with each passing moment.
*Caleif is dead.*
The thought strikes me again, fresh as the first time, and I have to grip the bed frame to keep from putting my fist through the wall. The metal groans under my fingers, a reminder of the destruction I'm capable of when control slips.
But Marius is right about one thing—I do have choices. I can let the grief consume me, turn me into the weapon Hell tried to forge. Or I can find another path, something that would make Caleif proud instead of horrified.
The problem is, I don't know how to grieve without destroying everything I touch. Five thousand years of torment taught me rage and endurance, but never how to process loss in healthy ways. Never how to honor the dead by living better.
I need help. The admission tastes like acid, but it's true. I need someone to teach me how to exist as what I am without becoming what Hell wanted me to be.
Tomorrow, I'll find this seer Vera and learn the truth about Caleif's fate. But tonight, I'll try to figure out how to survive that truth—whatever it might be.
The bracelet gives a final pulse of heat and goes dark, its containment finally overwhelmed. Without its suppression, the hellfire roars back to full intensity, but the stone walls hold. The ventilation system kicks in with a low hum, cycling air heated to temperatures that would incinerate normal matter.
For the first time since the old woman spoke those terrible words, I allow myself to truly feel the loss. Not just the rage or the guilt, but the hollow ache where hope used to live. The empty space where Caleif's presence used to make even Hell bearable.
And in that emptiness, I make a promise—to her memory, to the realm she might have died trying to protect, to the person she believed I could become:
I will not let this grief turn me into the monster.