The Black Sun hung motionless now—its violet rim no longer flickering, its darkness no longer spreading. It simply was: a second, dead eye staring down at Sanctum, draining life without haste or mercy. Plants across the city had turned to brittle husks; rivers ran dry in their beds; birds dropped from the sky mid-flight and never moved again. The few people still on their feet moved slowly, as though underwater—each breath shallower than the last.
Inside the monastery, the air had grown thin and bitter.
Elias sat beside Lucian's cot—back against the wall, knees drawn up, black-gold sigil pulsing faintly beneath his torn shirt. The boy had not stirred in hours. His breathing had become so shallow it was almost imperceptible; his skin felt cold despite the fever that still burned beneath. The golden cracks on Elias's right side mirrored the boy's fading light—dimmer with every passing minute.
Elara knelt on the other side of the cot, one hand resting lightly on Lucian's chest—feeling for the heartbeat that grew fainter with each hour.
"He's slipping," she whispered. "Whatever tether was holding him… it's breaking."
Behemoth stood near the door—silent, immovable—but even his stone skin had dulled, cracks no longer sealing. Liora sat cross-legged in the corner—shadows around her so thin they were almost transparent—staring at nothing.
Elias looked down at Lucian.
The silver-haired boy looked impossibly small against the rough blankets—face pale, lips faintly blue. Yet even now, in the grip of slow death, there was something stubborn in the set of his jaw, something that refused to surrender completely.
Elias reached out—hesitant—and brushed a strand of silver hair from Lucian's forehead.
The touch was enough.
Lucian's eyes fluttered open.
Not gold.
Hazel.
Clear.
Human.
He looked up at Elias—really looked—and a small, tired smile curved his lips.
"You're still here," he whispered.
Elias swallowed hard. "I'm still here."
Lucian's hand lifted—slowly, painfully—found Elias's wrist.
"I can feel him… fading too. The Gate closing hurt him. The Black Sun is hurting him more. He's… angry. But he's weak."
His voice cracked.
"I don't have long."
Elias's throat tightened. "Don't say that."
"I have to." Lucian's eyes—still clear, still kind—held Elias's. "Because I need you to listen."
He drew a shallow breath.
"When I'm gone… he'll try to take you. Through the cracks. Through the tether. He'll use what's left of me to force the Gate open again. To finish what he started."
Elias shook his head. "I won't let him."
"You might not have a choice." Lucian's fingers tightened—weak but desperate. "But you can choose something else."
He pulled Elias closer—voice dropping to the barest whisper.
"Kill me."
The words landed like stones in still water.
Elias froze.
Lucian kept going—voice steady despite the pain.
"Not out of mercy. Not out of fear. Do it because it's the only way to break the tether. Do it because if I die on my terms—on my choice—he loses the anchor. The Gate stays closed. The Black Sun… maybe weakens. Maybe stops."
Tears slipped from the corners of Lucian's eyes.
"I've carried him long enough. Let me carry the ending too."
Elias's hand trembled on Lucian's wrist.
"I can't—"
"You can." Lucian's smile was small, sad, brave. "You refused him once. Refuse him again. But this time… finish it."
He looked past Elias—at Elara, Behemoth, Liora.
"Thank you," he whispered to them. "For staying. For fighting. For… being kind when nothing else was."
Elara's eyes filled. Behemoth bowed his head. Liora's shadows curled closer—gentle now, protective.
Lucian looked back at Elias.
"Now," he said softly. "Please."
Elias stared at him—seeing not the saint, not the vessel, but the boy who had taught him prayers in a golden city, who had begged for death in a broken cathedral, who had never once stopped fighting even when everything else had.
He lifted his right hand.
Black flames flickered along his fingers—small, cold, reluctant.
Lucian closed his eyes.
The flames moved—slowly—toward the boy's chest.
And stopped.
Elias's hand shook.
He could not.
He could not.
The flames guttered—then died.
Lucian opened his eyes—confused, then understanding.
"Eli—"
"I can't," Elias choked. "I can't be the one who ends you."
Tears slipped down his face—hot against the cold that was already creeping into the room.
Lucian exhaled—shaky, resigned.
"Then… we do it together."
He reached up—placed his small hand over Elias's—over the black-gold sigil at Elias's chest.
Golden light flared—weak, fading, but still there.
The tether between them ignited—bright, painful, final.
Lucian smiled—one last time—small, peaceful.
"Together."
The light and darkness met.
Not in war.
In surrender.
A single pulse—gold and black—erupted outward from their joined hands.
The Black Sun above flinched—violet rim flaring—then dimmed.
The drain slowed.
The air warmed—slightly.
Lucian's hand fell away.
His eyes closed.
His chest rose once… twice… then stilled.
Elias stared at the boy—small, quiet, finally free.
He did not scream.
He did not cry out.
He simply bowed his head.
And let the tears fall—silent, endless—onto the still chest.
Outside, the Black Sun flickered once more—uncertain now, wounded.
Inside Elias, Abaddon was silent.
For the first time.
And somewhere far beyond—beyond sky, beyond story—an indifferent eye blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then narrowed.
The page turned.
Slowly.
Curiously.
And the story—whatever it had become—continued.
Without the boy who had carried heaven.
But with the boy who had refused to let it fall.
End of Chapter 36