Chapter 2: Graveyard of Dreams
Endless Reverie
Chapter 2: Graveyard of Dreams
𝚉𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚘𝚗
05/18/2025
A/N: lemme repeat what I said in the last chapter, zis is my first time writing a novel. and maybe I fleshed out this chapter for too long lmfao, by Chapter 3, he'll return.
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A moment lingered.
The essence forming a tune.
The temporary breeze forming a melodic sound.
⊱⋘ ──────────── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──────────── ⋙⊰
A weary and sad tune flew in the wind — it began, as all things do. Just a drop.
Not one of blood, not of tears — but of the sky.
You may think it could portray something? But it just remains as a question of why?
The rain, it fell. It touched the earth like memory: soft, ancient, and aching to be known again.
For hope, a hope for something to come — now and then.
It soaked into the soil, asking how it came to be? It fed the roots that no longer bloomed, whispered into the bones of the dead, and and slithered through the veins of a broken field.
Yet it did not rest, it merely acted as its shield.
The world is no longer abundant, mystic, and rare. Because once you enter its lair—
You would no longer find twinkling lights nor elegant sights.
No more signs of intelligent life.
Yet as we talk about the world that had once meaning.
It's merely futile to future dreams and unnecessary standing.
The rain—
⊱⋘ ──────────── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──────────── ⋙⊰
But as Zairon stood — he returned to reality.
The silence after the divine faded was not peace.
It was quiet — something that's unfinished.
Zairon stood still. The faint pulse of power still burning beneath his skin like an ember refusing to die out. The essence they forced into him, the essence that reshaped his power — did not comfort him. It did not feel like a gift. It felt like a weight that burdened him deep within his soul.
He looked at his beloved whom he was carrying, she looks alive — barely.
He gently lowered her to the ground carefully. His movements reverent as if he was laying down something sacred. Though his hands trembled, he unfastened the ragged cloak from his shoulder and wrapped it tenderly around her fragile form. Then — he placed a hand over her chest, he let his newfound essence flow into her core, a slow, golden warmth threading into her fading light. Not enough to heal, but enough to steady.
Enough to say: **you're not alone.**
He knelt beside her, brushing strands of ash-matted hair from her face. Trailing his fingers down her cheeks as if memorizing her once more — her breaths were soft, fragile. Her chest rose and fell.
But before he touched her, he felt something.
It started with a drop.
Cold, heavy, and slow.
It fell on his forehead, tracing the curve of a scar on his eye as if the world itself wept for him.
Then came another.
And another.
Until the ash-filled sky and winterfall bled tears.
Rain.
The first time in great years.
Zairon gazed upon the skies. It wasn't violent. It didn't roar — it whispered. Like a prayer from a world on its knees, begging — pleading to be saved.
Not from a destruction that had long passed, but from finality.
Zairon didn't move, he didn't turn.
He was still kneeling, holding her, forehead now resting against hers. Her breath — faint, fluttering like a candle in a storm — brushed against his lips.
He sighed.
'She deserves more than this,' he thought. 'Not this wasteland. Not this graveyard of dreams... But what could I offer when I have nothing left but ruin..?'
The world was full of ash and snow. It rained now, but he wouldn't know how long it would last. The stars had fallen and civilizations were gone. Guides and saviours fractured, no adversaries for a loving challenge, and even the skies had cracked.
And yet — here she was, in his arms.
He lowered her slowly, setting her back to the comfort of his cloak. Down on the last patch of scorched earth that still resembled ground.
Then he looked at his hand — the one that was jabbed with the fractured blade of his scythe.
No wounds.
No blood.
No grime or wear.
His fingers trembled.
"What... what did they do to me..?" he muttered.
Zairon gritted his teeth as he looked at his beloved. "Why now? Why not stop this instead? Why!" he continued to ask, slamming his fist to the ground.
He kept venting his frustrations — before he stopped. Glancing towards the one beside him.
"I don't care what they offered," he growled softly. "I don't want to go back. I don't want to start over."
He suffered greatly during the years back. Throughout his life, he doesn't want a do-over. He was already optimistic into looking to the future with his beloved.
"W-we fought for this... we bled for this... I'm not letting you go now, n-not even for a second chance."
Tears dropped once more from his cheeks, touching her frail skin.
His voice cracked.
It was all that damned Hero's fault.
If only... if only he—
He froze.
A breeze stirred.
She moved.
A soft, quivering voice.
"... Zairon."
His eyes widened. He gazed at her. Her eyes fluttered open, glazed with exhaustion but concentrated — on him.
"... it's okay," she breathed her words, lips twitching into a tired smile.
"Don't speak. Just rest," he whispered back, concerned and desperate.
But she didn't stop.
Her hand reached up — trembling, resting against his cheek. He leaned into it, his own hand Intertwining its fingers around hers like it was the last rope to his sanity.
"I know..." she murmured. "I know you don't want to g-go... I also don't want you to go," she paused before continuing.
"But... I want to see the sun again. Not this... haze. I want... to laugh with you... Watch you try and cook for me... Hold h-hands while going out... Kiss you under the moonlight... Retire somewhere quiet — a little cottage near the mountains."
Her voice broke, so did his.
"I want a life, Zairon... I wanna live a wonderful life w-with you..."
He immediately shook his head, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"T-then let's have it here..! Even if the sky never clears again. Even if there's nothing left... We'll make do of this world, won't we..? Like we always have."
She smiled, faint and sorrowful, her eyes fluttering like the wings of a dying butterfly — fragile, fleeting, yet achingly beautiful in their final dance.
She whispered once more.
"Don't you understand..? This world... this version of us... It's not the end. It's the aftermath. Y— w-we survived for a reason. You saw them—"
She coughed as blood let out.
"—you can still change this."
"Alicia! I-I don't want to lose you again!" he roared, voice hoarse with grief. "I finally have you in my arms once more! Even if it's the end of the world—I have you... why would I ever walk away from this..."
Her thumb brushed the tears from his cheek.
"Because you love me," she whispered, with all the strength she had left. "Enough… to find me again. To fight for a world where we don't end up like this. Where we can live… not just survive."
Zairon's breath hitched.
The memory of the thread returned. The way it shimmered—not with promise, but with cost.
He looked at her.
Her eyes held no desperation, only faith.
Faith in him.
Faith that Zairon would be back. That he'd remember her, her laughter, her smile.
Her warmth.
That even if her face was different, her soul would call out to him — and he would answer.
"... J-just make sure," she whispered, eyes beginning to close again. "No more wars. No more crying. A small garden. A lazy husband... whom I can t-take care of. A quiet life..."
Zairon felt as if something was wrong. She's muttering words that are of grief. But before he could connect the two points. She coughed, voice hoarse.
"... I love you."
And then… silence.
Only the wind remained. Whispering softly, as if the world itself were mourning too.
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A/N: no worries, if you cry. I'll make you bittersweet next chapter.