The bustling village square under the harsh glare of the midday sun is a harsh mixture of sound; laughter, haggling voices, the clatter of pots and the sharpening of axes.
But it all fades to a hum as a young boy, barely six, stops playing with his peers.
He looks up from the sand castle, his small, bright gaze drifting past the commotion until it locks onto me, huddled against the wall.
The simple, childish joy drain from his face, replaced by a profound, heartbreaking sadness as he takes in my ragged appearance.
He rises to his feet and disappears into the bustling crowd. My eyes burn as I wait.
Seconds later, he returns. He moves with determined focus, gripping a clay cup of water with both tiny hands, his eyes wide, innocent, and fixed solely on me. He starts forward, navigating the sea of legs.
A cold fear, sharper than the sun's heat, seizes my chest. "No," Abel whisper weakly, the word catching in my throat. I stumble to the ground and start crawling backward on all fours, scrambling lazily against the ground.
"No. No. No. No!"
He doesn't listen, doesn't even pause. He keeps coming, extending the cup toward me. His hand stretches out, a simple offer that feels like a threat.
But then, a young woman, probably his mother, stops suddenly and the boy collides with her. My breath hitches in relief as the clay cup slips from his tiny hands. It shatters on the ground, the precious water instantly absorbed by the thirsty dust. The woman's sharp scolding of the boy is lost to me as I watch the dark wet patch grow on the ground, grateful for the interruption.
The woman snatches the boy's arm with a violence born of pure terror.
"There is nothing there, Jali," she hisses, her eyes fixed stubbornly on the space above my head. She refuses to let even a stray glance fall upon my face, as if sight itself is a bridge for a plague. "Do not waste water. Now come."
She drags him away, and the boy looks back at me over his shoulder, confused and frightened, until his mother forcibly turns his head. To her, I am a curse. I am a curse that might jump onto her child if he acknowledges my gravity.
The thirst in Abel's throat is a dry, scratching beast, but the thirst for recognition is worse.
I turn the corner toward the communal grain pits and see Edad.
I crawl to a corner toward the communal grain pits and see Edad. He is standing by a pillar, his massive frame trembling with the effort of restraint.
His knuckles are bone-white where they grip his staff. I can hear the wood creaking under the pressure of his fury.
He wants to roar. He wants to break this suffocating silence and pull me into a bone-crushing embrace that defies every law the elders has written. He takes a staggering step toward me, his lips parting.
"Don't," I say. The sound of my voice is a jagged rasp, and it stops him cold.
It's the first time I've spoken aloud today, and the sound makes a group of nearby women flinch, their faces tightening in a mask of superstitious dread. They quicken their pace, scurrying away as if they've just heard a ghost sigh through the cracks of a tomb.
I look Edad directly in the eyes. He is a mountain of a man, yet he is the only soul in this village who is still struggling to maintain his distance, even as everyone else has successfully scrubbed my existence from their minds.
I shake my head slowly, the movement heavy with exhaustion.
"Do not make a mistake you cannot survive, Edad," I whisper, barely moving my lips. "I can't... I can't carry the weight of your suffering... alongside the weight of Cain's absence. Please."
The mention of Cain's name acts like a physical tether, pulling him back from the brink of rebellion. He stares at me for one agonizing second, his grief so loud I can hear it in my own mind, and then... he lowers his head gently in a slow bow.
And I turn away before the sight of his pity can break what little resolve I have left.
This is it.
286 days and nights under the clouds, without a taste of water, food, or shelter. I augh at myself mentally.
I truly thought I knew what suffering felt like. I thought I had looked it in the eye and survived its worst.
I thought suffering was the ache of living alone in a garden filled with beautiful flowers and fruits, surrounded by different ranks of Angels while feeling like an outsider.
I thought it was the humiliation of living among the Malak in the highest heaven, yet failing a simple binding test with Rice and Fox.
I thought suffering was the slow rot of waiting a decade before trying the binding ritual again. I thought it was the cowardice of isolating myself in my chamber, too afraid to look at my own kind or see God's creation... too terrified of the fact that I act completely different from other Angels.
I was wrong. I was so... horribly wrong.
Standing here, I realize I was a fool. Those were just a mild touch of pain. But this is the substance. This... this is suffering.
This is death without the mercy of a blade to the neck. It is the slow, agonizing erosion of the self. And even though I am not truly here, even though I am but a silent witness peering through the cracks of Abel's eyes, I cannot escape the sensation of being exposed.
I can't help but feel seen. I can't help but feel like a man drowning in a nightmare, reliving the same jagged trauma over and over again, unable to wake or scream.
I walk on, feeling the "bond" with the Night Child thrumming like a low voltage wire under my skin. I can feel her trapped in the Iron Well; she is cold, cramped, and reaching the limits of her exhaustion. Through the link, she tastes Abel's isolation. She feels every "non-look" and every turned back, absorbing the village's cruelty like a sponge, yet she fights to survive it. For my sake.
I pass by Isha near the well. The famous smile that once defined her face has been completely washed away, replaced by a hollow mask of grief. Like the others, she treats me as a void, but her shaking hands betray the lie. She isn't ignoring me; she is mourning me while I still stand before her.
She doesn't look up, but her tears are falling into the washbasin, rippling the water. She is scrubbing a heavy fur with such violent intensity, I fear she might hurt herself or tear the hide apart.
«^»
Abel drags himself through the woods, every ounce of strength screaming in protest. With each frantic step, the grinding reality of his exhaustion manifests as a dry, rhythmic popping of bones and joints that feels less like movement and more like disintegration. Yet, he doesn't stop. He pushes forward, guided by a singular, desperate need:
Reaching the destination.
Since the first twelfth day of his Erasure, Abel couldn't sleep. I couldn't sleep too. The torment of not being able to sleep had almost drove us to madness.
At first, I didn't understand why, until the eleventh night. That night, Abel waited. We waited.
I waited for the sun to bleed out and fade, making way for the solid white moon to rise. I waited until the stars scatter like broken glass across the vast blue sky. I waited until the village fell into a deep sleep. And then... made my way out of the village.
At first, I could've sworn I was heading to the stream, because it was almost just as far from the village. But it wasn't the stream. I went farther and farther away from the village. I weaved through three forests and crosses nine streams to reach his destination.
A cave.
Not just a simple cave, but an underground refuge tucked away from anyone's reach. And Abel knew it well. He knew how to get in.
When I got there, I walked directly to the massive bush sitting beside a huge flowerless oak tree. Between these bushes, is a small doorway that leads straight down into the cave.
And then I slipped inside, threading the pitch-black pathway without a torch in hand, yet navigates the dark with crystal clear precision.
I stopped only when I'd reached the cold belly of the cave. There, I exhaled a long, shuddering sigh, so deep I hadn't realized I was holding it in my own lungs. As that breath escaped my lungs, the vicious tension in my muscles and the knot in my chest, bottled up since the very first day of the Erasure, finally begin to unravel.
The first sensation to hit me was a haunting familiarity. My fingers found the cool, rough texture of the stone walls. Dried bones scattered across the ground, snapped under my feet like twigs as I explored the space. The heavy, cloying stench of rot from dead animals hung in the air, yet it didn't repel me. Instead, for the first time in twelve days, I breathe without obstruction.
The cave wasn't safe for even a mad man to live in. But it was, for Abel.
He quickly stripped himself naked, and laid on his side, staring into dark.
And then he muttered to himself, "you're home, now. Go to sleep."
I still don't know why he whispered those words, or who they were meant for. But the effect was instant. That was the first night since the Erasure began that Abel's mind finally went quiet; the first night he truly slept.
And tonight – being the 295 night – the routine continues. And no matter how loud this body screams in pain, Abel would stop at nothing until he reaches the cave.
««^»»
Unfortunately, tonight I feel Abel's intention shift as slumber time draws near. After what feels like an eternity, the village finally goes to sleep. And then I steer towards the iron well instead.
Reaching the rim of the well, I slide the heavy lid aside, revealing the black throat of the well.
The Night Child's whisper drifts up from below. "Abel."
I exhale a sigh of pure relief at the mere sound of her voice, "Yes... I'm here," but it is instantly severed. Something new – something quiet and predatory – makes my pulse jump for a splitting second.
She scoffs a cold sound that the well echoes back in distorted ripples. "Do you see it now? Do you still believe the lie that you are acting on your own free will?"
A cold and suffocating confusion washes over me. "What do you mean?"
"Why do you think you visit my nest every night, Abel? Why do you sleep in the cave? Is it because you want to do it, or you do it to make me feel home?"
"I do it for both of us—"
"Wrong!" her voice snaps like a whip. "You do it because It's what I want! Those bastards were right... your actions are indeed born from my thoughts!"
Panic flares in my chest, and I reach out a hand as if to catch the air. "Please... not tonight. Let's not fight. You need to sleep. It is how you recharge—"
"I am tired of recharging, only to suffer again, Abel!" she screams, her voice bouncing off the well.
I quickly lower my head, glancing frantically at the darkened village. "Shhh... lower your voice, or you'll get us caught."
"They were right," she says, her tone turning brittle and sharp. "You're blind. You've gone mad. This isn't love anymore. You're being selfish now. You can't even grant one simple wish. You won't let me go, even when I ask. You are selfish, Abel!" She breaks down in tears, and the sound of her sobbing is like a dagger straight to my heart.
I force down the lump building in my throat, taking a deep, labored breath. "Why don't you feel it? Why don't you feel me as much as I feel you? Don't you love me? Do you not want to be with me anymore?"
A mocking laugh erupts from the well, loud and cruel. "Even at your age... you're still so naive? Can't you see! This isn't working anymore! There's no hope for us. You have to let me go! Let me die, Abel! I don't want to suffer anymore, Please! Please, Abel."
"Answer the question. Do you... not love me...anymore?"
Silence hangs heavy between us, more suffocating than the dark, stretching longer than I can count.
"Okay..." I nod gently, the movement slow and resigned. Once again, Abel's hurt bleeds into me like a holy oil. Now I feel like something in my chest is going to explode. But even so, the Night Child is right. Abel is being cruel by prolonging her suffering.
First, she was being haunted by the demons of her past crimes. And then, comes Cain. Then she got caught – because of me. Shackled and mistreated. And now this.
She has every right to give up now. Abel has to let go, else it'll hurt even more.
"Okay," I nod again. "You're right; I am blind. And the truth is plain; there's absolutely nothing I could do to prove this was my choice... all along. There's nothing I could possibly do to prove you wrong... Nothing except one."
With one last, agonizing glance into the blackness of the well, I slide the heavy lid back into place. Suddenly I'm walking with a terrifying purpose. No more crawling. No more scrambling on all fours like a wounded animal.
I break into a small barn. Except, this barn is where the village stores black oil, and black oil is what they usually use to light torches.
I pick up an empty bucket and scoop just enough quantity from the mother drum. With a soft grunt, I sit the bucket of oil on my shoulder. A tiny droplet drops on my face. I wipe it off dismissively, now approaching the exit.
I reach Abel's hut, the bucket of oil still seated on my shoulder. Slowly, I lower myself and uproot a single torch from the entrance, its orange tongue licking the dry night air.
Then I continue my walk, heading towards the biggest hut in the village.
The elders' hut.
Reaching there, I thrust the torch in the ground, and with steady hands, I pour the oil around the structure of the hut. It coats the wood in black and glistening liquid. The sharp scent cutting through the stagnant air of the room as I drench the floor, the walls, the dais where the elders once sat like unmoving gods.
I toss the bucket aside and with slow, deliberate steps, I walk to the torch and pick it up, staring deep into the flames. Long enough until I'm certain that I just saw the Night Child's face in the flames.
I hadn't tasted her bond ever since I heard about it. The bond hasn't bled into me just as her anxiety and depression does. But tonight, peering down at the flames in front of my eyes, I feel her hand pressed down on mine.
She's here. She's in this hut. She wants Abel to put out the flames.
But unfortunately, I don't feel any shift. I don't feel any change Abel's intention. So with no hesitation, I thrust the torch forward.
Fire catches instantly, furious and bright against the dark.
For a moment, I simply watch it spread. Then I push aside the heavy, smoking hide of the entrance and steps back into the chamber. The heat meets me immediately – heavy and alive. It presses against my skin, crawls up my lungs and steals the moisture from my breath.
Smoke gathers fast, needling my eyes, but Abel does not retreat from it. He doesn't run from the smoke, nor does his body quiver with fear.
I cough once. Twice. Twice harder. And more, my lungs resisting the air. Each inhale becomes thinner than the last. Sweat beads, then vanishes almost instantly beneath the growing heat that now envelops me.
I move further into the flames then lower myself to the ground, right where I once knelt in the dirt before the elders, with my arms up over my head.
Except this time, I do not bow. I sit.
Legs crossed, back straight, gaze fixed on the dais as it blackens. The fire surrounds me now, in a cage of gold and devouring orange. Strangely enough, I don't flinch as the roof groans. I don't wince as sparks drift downward like dying stars.
I don't understand. Fire is meant to burn whatever that touches it. But why do I not burn. Why do I not feel a sting?
Why do I suddenly feel a strange, terrifying sense of relief? Of peace.
"Chief?"
And just then... before the roof collapses, a familiar voice echoes in my head. Calm and calculated.
But it's already too late to turn back on my actions. Sparks explode as the center beam snaps, plummeting toward the spot where I sit. Abel still doesn't move a muscle; he simply closes his eyes, meeting the crushing weight like the burning sky with a terrifying smile of a man who is finally, undeniably free.