Chapter Sixty Seven - The Shrine of the Severed Flame

The ground shifted beneath their feet.

Not from quake or storm — but something subtler. As they crossed the next ridge, the branded girl pointed toward a sheer cliff face where no path should have led. The rocks parted not with force, but with recognition. Ash and root slid aside, revealing worn steps descending into shadow.

"It's waiting," she said softly. "It remembers you."

Aeon stared at the opening. Guts felt the change too — the weight in the air, like an ancient breath being held just beneath the earth.

The stairs spiraled down into the dark. The walls narrowed, carved with flame glyphs that pulsed faintly as Aeon passed. Guts' grip on Dragonslayer tightened. The branded girl walked without fear, guiding them with quiet certainty.

At the bottom lay a stone door, sealed by scorched chains.

Aeon placed a hand on it.

The chains hissed, cracked, and fell away.

The door opened.

The chamber beyond was silent.

Not empty.

Reverent.

Stone pillars circled a central dais, where a single flame hovered mid-air — flickering with impossible stillness. Around it, broken armor, shattered helms, and melted swords littered the floor. All burned, all fused to the stone.

A shrine.

To wrath.

At the center, something stirred.

A figure knelt at the base of the flame — cloaked in tattered remnants of Aeon's ancient robes. Long, tangled hair veiled its face. Its form shifted with heat, as though forged in fire itself. Not alive. Not dead.

A fragment of Aeon.

Born from fury.

Aeon stepped forward.

The figure raised its head.

Its face was Aeon's — younger, sharper, burning with divine hatred.

"You left us," it said. "You tore me out and buried me here."

"I had to," Aeon answered. "You were destroying everything."

"I was saving everything," the fragment hissed. "They feared you, and it kept them obedient. You cast me aside to chase tears and mortals."

The flame behind the fragment roared higher, pulsing in time with its heartbeat.

Guts moved instinctively.

But Aeon held out a hand. "Not yet."

The wrath-fragment stood.

Its body was shaped by vengeance — its arms coiled in ash, its chest hollowed by divine grief. When it moved, the air rippled.

"You came to kill me?" it asked.

"I came to remember you," Aeon said.

The fragment snarled. "I was your strength. Your will. Your truth."

"No," Aeon replied. "You were my fear. The part of me that couldn't grieve. The part that turned pain into fire."

The fragment lunged.

But not at Aeon — at the girl.

Guts moved fast — blade raised — but the heat pushed him back.

Aeon stepped into the blast, shielding her with his body.

"You cannot protect them," the fragment roared.

"I didn't come to protect," Aeon said. "I came to forgive."

His hand reached forward, fingers trembling.

Not with power.

With memory.

"You were me. And I am still you. But we are not all we were."

The flame inside the shrine twisted.

Then slowed.

The fragment faltered.

Its body cracked.

Ash poured from its eyes.

"You left me alone," it whispered.

"I didn't know how to carry you."

Aeon took one step closer.

"I do now."

The flame dimmed.

The wrath-fragment's body dissolved — not in agony, but in release. It bowed its head as it vanished, like a warrior setting down their sword.

The shrine's fire flickered once more.

Then gently folded into Aeon's chest.

Silence returned.

Guts lowered his sword.

The branded girl walked up and touched Aeon's hand.

"You didn't burn it this time," she said.

"No," Aeon replied. "This time, I remembered how to hold it."