Darkness had no edges.
Within the void, Yurin Crimson sat cross-legged on nothing, eyes closed, fingers idly tracing patterns across the emptiness. Each gesture tugged at unseen threads—threads of memory, fragments of people, shattered timelines. They drifted like shards of glass, reflecting distorted images: Evelyn's scream, Damien's flames, Zeke's glyphs. Clara's breaking body.
For a long moment, Yurin simply observed.
Then he laughed. Quiet at first. Then fuller, richer, spilling into the void like a song too sharp to be beautiful. "She fought me," he whispered, a smile curling his lips. "Clara Winslow actually dared to resist."
The shards shivered, rippling outward as if responding to his amusement.
Yurin tilted his head, eyes snapping open. Crimson irises flared with depthless hunger, and the void itself seemed to lean closer to him. "Fascinating. Not because she resisted—but because she nearly won."
He stood, stretching as though he'd woken from a pleasant nap. His coat—woven from living shadow—shifted with him, its threads flickering like veins of ink. Every step he took echoed even though there was no ground, no ceiling, no walls.
"Do you see it?" he said aloud, as if speaking to someone unseen. His voice carried, soft and sharp, like silk cutting glass. "That was never Clara's strength. Not really. It was Evelyn's."
The name lingered in the void.
"Her desperate loyalty. That feral refusal to let go. That is what clawed Clara back from me. What chained her heart to the gold instead of the crimson." Yurin chuckled, eyes half-lidded with satisfaction. "How very… predictable."
He raised his hand, and a shard floated to him—a memory fragment showing Evelyn clutching Clara's hand, her face streaked with blood and tears. Yurin watched it closely, expression unreadable.
Then he crushed it.
The shard shattered into dust that dissolved into the void. His smile widened, cruel and calm all at once. "But predictable doesn't mean useless. No… Evelyn Blackthorn just revealed her greatest weakness. If Clara is her anchor, then all I must do is sink it."
The void pulsed, as if approving.
Yurin turned his gaze outward, beyond the fragments, toward where the explosion had torn through reality outside. He could feel it. Clara's light had burst against his crimson tide, delaying the spread of the rift. For now.
He licked his teeth slowly. "You burned yourself to shine brighter, Clara. How noble. How… temporary."
A flicker of irritation crossed his calm mask. His left hand twitched, and the void's surface rippled violently. "They forget who I am. They still call me 'traitor,' or 'Architect,' as if I am just some twisted figure born of the void."
His voice dropped, dark with weight. "But I was chosen long before they were even born. I am the Maskbreaker. The only one who could see through this world's lies. And if that sight made me into this… then so be it."
The shadows surged, swirling around him like a storm, forming faces—screaming, weeping, pleading faces—all swallowed by his power. Yurin stared at them as though bored.
"You're all so loud," he muttered. A snap of his fingers, and silence fell. The faces dissolved into nothing.
A beat of quiet stretched. Then, softly, Yurin whispered, "Evelyn… I'll give you a gift. Since you begged the world to keep Clara safe, I'll make sure she survives. For now. I want to see how long you can cling to her before your own heart breaks."
The void quivered again—whether from his will or some greater force, it was impossible to tell. Yurin smirked knowingly.
"And Damien…" He laughed again, lower this time, almost fond. "You're still burning like a fool, aren't you? Trying to be the shield no one asked for. I'll enjoy watching your fire sputter out. Fire always eats itself first."
Finally, his smile faded as he turned toward an unseen horizon. The crimson glow in his eyes sharpened into something colder, heavier.
"And Zeke," he murmured. "You're the only one who notices the pattern. The only one who almost understands what I'm building. Don't get too clever, old friend. Cleverness gets you killed."
He spread his arms wide, the shadows bending and curling around him like an embrace.
"This isn't your story anymore. It's mine. Always was. Always will be."
For a brief moment, the void shifted—and Yurin wasn't alone. A figure stood across from him, shrouded in white light, faceless yet familiar. Yurin froze, his calm mask cracking for just a heartbeat.
"…You again," he whispered, voice sharp with recognition.
The figure said nothing. It simply watched.
Yurin's smile returned, brittle at the edges. "Keep watching, then. Watch me unmake everything you built."
The light flared once, then vanished, leaving him alone again.
Yurin exhaled, smoothing his coat. His smile steadied, serene once more. "Clara, Evelyn, Damien, Zeke… fight harder. Shine brighter. The higher you climb, the sweeter it'll be when I cut the rope."
The void darkened further, swallowing his words whole.