The air hung heavy and oppressive, laden with a sickly sweet scent as the tendrils of magic dissipated like smoke, signaling the final closure of the portals to the Abyssal realm.
Thalyon rolled over, bile burning his throat as he retched onto the damp earth. His fingers clawed at the dirt, searching for a grasp in a world suddenly devoid of his magic.
Domnika's face flashed before him—her eyes crinkling at the corners when she laughed, the small birthmark below her left ear that he'd traced countless times.
The Council's words echoed: "The punishment for loving a mortal is exile." He'd nodded then, arrogant in his certainty that such laws would never apply to him. Now, wingless and broken, he could still smell the lavender in her hair from when she'd last embraced him.
His gaze drifted in and out of focus as he confronted the gnawing absence of magic that once flowed through his veins like a vibrant stream. A hollowness that took over.
With each heartbeat, he felt the weight of his losses pressing heavily upon him—a poignant struggle to bridge the chasm between the intensity of his emotions and the unforgiving reality that enveloped him like a shroud.
How could something so vibrant and full of life, a connection forged through shared dreams and whispered promises, fade into the cold void of nothingness?
"Thalyon," a strained voice called out, slicing through the stillness of twilight. The sound struck him with the force of icy water, awakening a deep recognition that sent chills down his spine.
Panic surged within him, and his legs instinctively propelled him forward, but the unfamiliar shift in his balance caused him to stumble, sending him crashing to the ground.
As he fought to regain his composure, a chilling realization washed over him—her voice resonated with a deep anguish that knotted his stomach in a vise grip. This was no ordinary call; it was a desperate plea steeped in sorrow, a haunting sound that he could never disregard.
"Domnika!" he called, his voice breaking through the thickening shadows that draped the forest. Every second felt like an eternity as he strained to discern her location amidst the encroaching darkness.
Then, the gentle rustle of leaves whispered from his left, beckoning him toward the source of his heart's torment—his entire world embodied in that one name.
There she lay, a figure who had once radiated vitality and warmth, now crumpled upon the forest floor. Her once-bright eyes were closed, and her skin was pale in the fading light. The earthy scent of damp foliage mingled with the cool, biting air of the encroaching night, wrapping her in a somber embrace.
The sight of her unleashed a tempest within him—rage at himself struggling with desperate hope. He had sworn to protect her, yet here she lay. Had he doomed her by loving her, or by not loving her enough?
A high-pitched rasp scraped from her throat, neither life nor death but the cruel space between.
"Domnika!" The name tore from him like a prayer and an accusation. He reached for her, then hesitated, afraid his touch might shatter what little remained. Finally, he gathered her head in trembling hands.
Thalyon's chest rose and fell fast as panic and indecision raged within him. Why was the ground so wet under her? And why couldn't he bring himself to look directly at the spreading darkness beneath her body?
His fingers trembled as they untangled the golden strands matted with forest debris, each gentle stroke a desperate plea. Her eyelids quivered, then parted, revealing flecks of amber and moss-green that caught what little light remained in the forest.
His mouth twitched upward without his consent, reminiscent of that initial encounter in the Babylon Court when she had looked up from her scrolls. Those identical eyes had locked onto his across the marble hall, causing his fae heart to skip for the first time in three centuries.
Yet now, those eyes bore only anguish, and he felt a knot in his chest as she opened her mouth, the air filled with a strangled, choking sound.
"Shhhhh, my love." The words caught in his throat as tears blurred his vision. "I'm here, you are—" He couldn't finish the lie. His hands hovered over her wound, instinctively reaching for magic that no longer answered his call.
His mouth opened, closed, opened again. His hands clenched into fists, then splayed wide toward the darkening sky, then dropped uselessly to his sides. A sound caught in his throat—half roar, half sob—as he bent to press his forehead against hers, his tears falling onto her cheeks like the promises he could no longer keep.
The truth would only add to her suffering. His fingers trembled against her skin. In his world, this would be nothing—a simple healing. Here, on this magic-barren earth, it was... finality.
Hathor. The name burned like acid in his mind. His closest confidant—his blood-sworn sister—had betrayed him with a smile still on her lips. Fool. FOOL! To have trusted a Shadreal was to embrace a viper. They weren't just creatures of darkness; they were darkness itself given form and purpose, void-souled beings who fed on suffering like nectar.
Her treachery had cost him everything—EVERYTHING—and the knowledge of it threatened to split his skull with rage.
The realms shuddered as Thalyon's rage erupted—a instinctul force that ripped through the very fabric of existence. Her eyes, once galaxies of warmth, now stared vacant and cold as shattered glass.
The light that had made him believe in eternity—extinguished. Forever.
A primal roar erupted from his throat, a monstrous blend of beast and raging tempest, cleaving the air with a fury that sent flocks of birds shrieking from the distant trees.
His eyes blazed red as blood vessels burst under the strain of his anguish, and his fingers clawed deep, desperate furrows into the earth. She was gone. His anchor. His very reason for existing. And with her disappearance, any shred of mercy he might have extended to that cursed realm was obliterated.
Time—that unyielding force that reduces grand empires to nothing—seemed both insignificant and overwhelming in the face of wounds this profound, this exposed.
Hate wormed into Thalyon's core like venom, poisoning everything. It blazed through him, devouring what remained of joy and compassion until only their twisted remnants survived.
As it takes hold, it breeds a multitude of negative feelings—resentment, anger, and bitterness—until all that remains is a barren landscape dominated by the relentless force of hate.
And in the shadows of this desolation, a whisper stirred, a promise of darkness waiting for the right moment to awaken.