CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: THE TRUTH WE BURY

The shard burned in her palm. Not with heat, but memory—alive, searing through every cell, unraveling lies she'd unknowingly clung to.

Emberlynn fell to her knees, gasping.

Images crashed into her like tidal waves: a battlefield scorched by hellfire, her voice commanding the skies, and the feel of Malphas' lips pressed to her bloodied forehead before she stepped into the storm.

The truth wasn't just a vision—it was her.

She had sealed the Demon King… and herself.

But the twist in her gut whispered something darker.

She hadn't done it alone.

The tower's vines slithered away from her, recoiling like they feared what she'd become.

When she stood, her eyes glowed with gold.

Her veins shimmered. Her heartbeat echoed like war drums.

The Cradle knelt before her.

And she walked out of the tower like a queen returning to her throne.

---

Outside, chaos reigned.

Malphas fought alone.

He was surrounded—thorns piercing his arms, blood trailing down his sides. Yet even half-bound, he looked like death itself, teeth bared, dark power rippling off him in waves.

He had nearly broken free when he saw her.

And then—he froze.

Not because she was hurt.

But because she was glowing.

The mark on her shoulder now spread in delicate golden branches, trailing down her arm like roots. Her hair, once simple, shimmered faintly, wind curling it with ethereal grace. Her steps made the ground sing.

"You touched it," he rasped, breathless.

"I remembered," she said.

And the moment their eyes locked, something old snapped into place between them. An ache of a bond neither of them had asked for—but had bled for, died for, fought against.

"Emberlynn," he whispered, her name suddenly too sacred for his tongue.

The vines that held him twitched.

She raised her hand.

And they burned away.

The Cradle recoiled.

Malphas dropped to his knees, coughing, blood staining his lips. "You shouldn't have—"

"You lied to me."

He flinched.

"Not about what I am," she continued, voice low, controlled. "About what you are."

Silence.

Even the forest seemed to pause.

She stepped closer, golden light pulsing in her chest.

"You weren't just watching over me. You weren't just some forgotten general. You were there when I made the seal. You helped me finish it."

His jaw clenched.

"You and I didn't lose to the seal, Malphas. We became it."

Finally, he raised his head. "I didn't want you to know."

"Why?"

"Because the moment you remembered, I'd lose you again."

She staggered.

"What?"

"You chose to forget. After we built the seal, you begged me to take your memories—said you didn't want to feel the weight of all you'd lost. And I…" His voice cracked. "I said yes."

She shook her head, eyes stinging. "You wiped me clean."

"No. I held you together."

He rose, swaying slightly, his eyes gleaming not just with power—but regret.

"I could've vanished. Could've taken the Key and used it. But I stayed. Lived through centuries. Protecting the shards. Waiting for the Cradle to call you back. Waiting for you to choose to remember."

Tears welled in her eyes.

"You were never trying to break the seal, were you?"

"No," he said softly. "I was trying to restore you."

The silence between them stretched.

Then she asked: "And now?"

He didn't look away. "Now that you've taken the first shard, the others will awaken. And when you reclaim them all… the seal will crack. He will return."

The Demon King.

The true threat.

And Emberlynn… would have to face what was once her other half.

Her hands trembled. "So what happens to me?"

"You become what you once were," Malphas said. "Or something new. If… if you choose not to follow the same path."

She stared at him.

This wasn't just about a war. Or power.

This was about a love buried beneath centuries. A bond twisted by fate.

And now, choice returned to her.

"Then let's finish what we started," she whispered. "Together."

Malphas stepped forward. For the first time, the demon didn't feel monstrous or distant.

He looked like a man who had once bled for a goddess—and had been waiting lifetimes to bleed again.

Their hands met.

And the forest bowed.