The morning came slowly.
The city was still shrouded in mist, as if the world itself had not yet decided whether to wake.
Elias sat by the broken window of their hideout, the cold air brushing against his skin.
His sword lay across his lap, its black surface glinting faintly in the dim light.
He had not slept. He had not dared to.
Every time he closed his eyes, he heard it again.
That voice.
Low, mocking, and unbearably familiar.
Do you still remember the sound of her last breath?
Elias's hands tightened on the hilt.
"Silence," he muttered.
But the blade laughed.
You were her protector, and yet you became her end. How many times will you make the same mistake?
Elias's jaw clenched.
He wanted to throw it away, to bury it deep where no one could find it again.
But he couldn't.
The sword was part of him a relic of his sin and the only weapon that could protect Aiden from the things that hunted him.
Behind him, Aiden stirred.
The blanket slid from his shoulder, revealing the faint marks of glowing light beneath his skin.
They looked like veins of fire, pulsing softly, as if something ancient inside him was beginning to wake.
Elias turned, his expression softening.
For a moment, the guilt faded, replaced by something warmer.
Aiden opened his eyes.
He looked disoriented, his voice weak. "Were you awake all night?"
"Couldn't sleep."
"Because of the voice?"
Elias froze.
He had never told him about that.
"How do you know?" he asked.
Aiden sat up slowly, his gaze distant.
"Because I heard it too. In my dreams. It said… you once carried me in your arms as I burned."
Elias's breath caught. He looked away, unable to meet Aiden's eyes.
"That's not something you should remember."
"But it's part of us, isn't it?" Aiden's voice was soft, almost tender. "Whatever we were before… it's calling back to us."
The blade trembled in Elias's hand.
Its whisper became clearer now, not mocking, but mournful.
He will remember you soon. And when he does, he will see the truth.
Elias's knuckles turned white. "Enough."
The voice grew louder, echoing through the room like a heartbeat.
You cannot protect him. You never could. You were the hand that killed him, the fire that consumed his soul. You were
"Quiet!" Elias shouted, slamming the blade into the floor. The sound rang through the building, sharp as thunder.
Aiden flinched but didn't move away. He reached out instead, his hand touching Elias's shoulder.
The contact stilled him instantly.
"Elias," Aiden whispered. "Look at me."
Elias turned slowly, his eyes dark and stormed with emotion.
"I don't care what you did before," Aiden said. "Whoever we were, whatever we've done we're here now. That's enough for me."
Elias stared at him for a long time, and something fragile flickered in his gaze a quiet, desperate kind of hope.
But beneath the floor, the sword pulsed faintly, its whisper turning to a hum.
You think love can cleanse blood, my lord?
Let us see how long it lasts when the heavens awaken again.
The blade fell silent, but its words lingered.
Outside, the mist began to shift, forming faint silhouettes in the fog watching, waiting.
And far above, in the cracks between clouds, unseen eyes opened for the first time in centuries.
The war that ended long ago was beginning again.