Chapter Sixty Five - Embers Between Worlds
The camp was quiet that night.
No shrines. No sermons. Just a fire built from the remains of broken war banners, their red threads curling into ash as the wind carried them east.
Guts sat sharpening Dragonslayer, eyes fixed on the edge of the flame. His bandaged arm throbbed, but he ignored the pain. Beside him, Aeon stood with his hands behind his back, watching the embers dance upward like souls in retreat.
Neither had spoken since the battle.
Until a voice broke the silence.
"She burns in my dreams."
Both turned.
It was the girl from the ruined chapel — the branded one. Thin, eyes too large for her face, fingers curled around a charm of twine and soot.
"I tried to forget," she said, stepping closer. "But I keep seeing her."
"Who?" Aeon asked.
The girl looked up.
"Your daughter."
Guts tensed, his fingers tightening around the sharpening stone. Aeon didn't move — not visibly. But his posture shifted. Slight. Rigid.
"She walks in the fire," the girl continued. "Not screaming. Not afraid. Just watching. Like she's waiting."
Aeon crouched slowly, meeting her eyes.
"What does she say?"
The girl blinked, as if surprised to be asked.
"She says… Papa is almost ready. That he's coming back."
Aeon's breath caught in his throat.
He didn't remember giving her that name.
He hadn't spoken it in centuries.
"She showed me a tower made of light," the girl whispered. "And a place where the stars don't hurt anymore. She said she used to live there. With you."
Aeon lowered his head.
Guts stood and stepped away, the firelight casting long shadows against the cliff wall.
The girl touched Aeon's hand.
"I don't know why I dream her," she said. "But I think… I think I'm part of her. And she's part of me."
Aeon nodded once.
"You are."
Later, Guts sat alone at the ridge, staring at the dark horizon. Clouds moved like slow beasts above the mountains.
And then he heard it.
A whisper.
Low. Familiar.
"She'll never be whole. Not with you. Not in that broken world."
"But I can make her whole."
"I can fix what they ruined."
He stood, sword half-drawn, eyes scanning the dark.
No one.
Just wind.
"You wanted justice. Not mercy. You wanted to kill him. Don't lie now."
His grip tightened.
The Shadow wasn't speaking to Aeon anymore.
It was speaking to him.
Back at the fire, Aeon turned his head — slowly — eyes narrowing toward the hills.
He felt it too.
But this time, it wasn't reaching for him.
It was testing Guts.