Chapter 41: The Pale Sky

The sky above the temple was ash.

No sun. No stars.

Only pale gray stretching forever— Bleeding, dying.

Caelen stood beneath it, the curse in his chest pulsing like a cracked drum.

The world's pain buzzed faintly at the edges of his awareness, like a far-off storm. But here, in this dead place, there was silence.

A silence too loud. Too complete. Too hungry.

Then came the dream—

A cruel gift from the void.

He stood in a field of white. But it wasn't snow. It was ash.

A world reduced to dust.

And at the center stood Eredan-Mir.

His form was smoke. His eyes—voids without bottom.

"Join me," the shadow said.

His voice was soft. Sweet. A lullaby of surrender.

"Let go of the pain," he whispered. "Become numb. It's the only way to survive."

Caelen's scar throbbed. His bones ached. The words coiled around his heart like frost.

"I'd rather die," he said— But the words rang hollow.

Eredan-Mir laughed.

Not cruel. Just empty.

"You already are," he murmured. "Broken. Bleeding. Carrying a world that doesn't care. Why fight when you can rest?"

The ash shifted.

Faces rose beneath Caelen's feet.

His mother. The villagers. Elira.

Eyes filled with sorrow. With blame.

"You failed us," they whispered.

He staggered. The curse's weight pressed down— A mountain on his chest.

He was drowning.

But then—

A spark.

Elira.

Her touch. Her fire. Her voice.

"No," Caelen whispered. Then louder— "No."

"I won't let you win."

The dream shattered.

Caelen woke gasping in the temple's shadow.

The pale sky above.

Elira was at his side, hands on his shoulders.

"You were screaming," she said.

He reached up. Touched her cheek. Felt her warmth.

"He tried to take me," Caelen said.

"But I'm still here."

Elira smiled. Fierce. Unbroken.

"Good," she said.

"Because we're not done yet."