"Leave"

The voices around him blurred into an indistinct hum, a storm of murmurs and whispers that grew heavier with every passing moment. The weight of judgment pressed into the Grand Hall of Judgment, thick like the air before a storm.

Then—

"Leave, Azarel."

The words did not come as sound. They did not echo through the hall like the voices of the others. They slipped directly into his mind, smooth and absolute, a tide washing over his thoughts.

Azarel flinched. Fahy.

His silver eyes snapped toward her, but she remained motionless. Her gray-winged form stood still as stone, her delicate features unreadable.

"You should not be here to see this." Her voice was quiet, but the command within it was undeniable.

Azarel's jaw tightened. His fingers twitched at his sides, his wings trembling slightly. He did not move. He did not respond.

"He is not your responsibility." There was no cruelty in her tone, no accusation—only certainty. "Go."

Azarel didn't want to. His gaze flickered toward the center of the hall, toward him.

Vael.

He was still standing, celestial chains binding his wrists, his crimson eyes dark and unreadable. But his aura—it was frayed, unraveling at the edges, emotions bleeding out like an exposed wound.

Fahy's voice came again, softer this time.

"I promise you this. If you leave now, I will ensure he is not broken."

Azarel inhaled sharply. The words hit deeper than they should have.

Broken.

A strange, twisting sensation formed in his chest. He didn't know if it was relief or dread.

He exhaled, forcing his wings to shift. His body felt heavy, like something inside him was being torn apart with every step he took.

But he turned.

And he left.

The moment he crossed the threshold of the Grand Hall, a breath shuddered from his lips. He had not realized how tight his chest had felt. How impossibly heavy it had all been.

The halls of Asphodel were quiet—too quiet.

Azarel had not gotten far when Leya appeared.

She stood waiting, her emerald-touched wings shifting slightly behind her, her expression unreadable.

"You left," she murmured.

Azarel said nothing. He had no energy for this.

Leya took a slow step forward, studying him as if she could see beyond his skin, beyond his walls.

"You are afraid."

His jaw clenched. "I am not."

Leya tilted her head, unconvinced. "No? Then tell me—why did you leave?"

Azarel exhaled sharply, glancing away. "I was told to. Fahy said she would—"

"Fahy gave you an excuse to run. And you took it."

Azarel froze.

Leya's voice was soft, but her words struck deep. "Your heart is already on trial, Azarel. Whether you realize it or not. And one day, you will be the one standing in that chamber."

Her green gaze lingered on him for a long moment, piercing through the walls he had desperately tried to build around himself.

Then, without another word, she stepped past him and disappeared into the golden corridors.

Azarel remained standing there, his breath slow, his hands curled into fists at his sides.