Core

"Then now," Talion said calmly, turning to face them both, "let us proceed with the ritual."

Avaran frowned slightly. "Where is this ritual going to be held?"

Talion smiled faintly. "In outer space."

"What?!" both Avaran and Dolwyn exclaimed at once, voices overlapping in disbelief.

"Yes," Talion said, utterly unfazed. "I will cast a protective wind-layer around you—about the size of your house. It will shield your bodies from the void. Then we'll depart to the center of your galaxy. That is where the ritual must be performed."

The silence that followed was heavy. Both boys stared at him, speechless.

Outer space?

After a long moment of trying to mentally catch up, Dolwyn finally managed to ask, "What… what do we have to do?"

Talion clasped his hands behind his back. "It is simple," he said. "I will speak the ancient words—phrases from the Divine Tongue. All you must do is repeat them exactly as I say them."

Avaran raised an eyebrow, his voice quiet but cautious. "Will we even understand those words?"

"No, but that doesn't matter. Divine language bypasses understanding. Just repeat after me—and you'll be fine."

He paused, then added in a firmer tone, "And one more thing—you each must choose a sacrifice."

They were startled—truly startled—even though Talion had already warned them. The reality of it all was beginning to sink in like cold water against skin. A ritual in space, divine language, and sacrifices... this wasn't a dream anymore.

"Does that language have a name?" Avaran asked, his tone quiet—more thoughtful than inquisitive, as if the question had been sitting with him for some time.

Talion glanced over, the corner of his mouth lifting into that familiar, half-amused smile.

He paused, as if tasting the word before speaking it aloud.

"It's called Elaruun. A language not meant for conversation, but for invocation. It is used only in rituals and chants—spoken when silence must break and the world must listen."

He glanced between the two of them. "I'll return in half an hour," he said, his tone even but commanding. "Be prepared. Choose your sacrifices wisely."

With that, he turned and vanished—whether by step or spell, neither of them could tell.

Silence hung between Dolwyn and Avaran for a long moment, until Dolwyn finally spoke.

"What are you going to choose, Avi?"

Avaran looked down, eyes distant. "A memory… of a person," he said quietly, his voice carrying a hint of sadness.

Dolwyn's brows furrowed. "What? Who is it?"

Avaran gave him a faint smirk, but it didn't reach his eyes. "A secret. What about you? What are you going to sacrifice?"

Dolwyn hesitated, then sighed. "I want to forget someone too… Sophie."

Avaran turned sharply. "Sophie? But—she's your girlfriend, dude."

"I know," Dolwyn said, rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly looking very tired. "But I never wanted to be in a relationship to begin with. You remember how me and Sophie were just friends back in middle school, right?"

"Yeah," Avaran nodded slowly. "You two were close."

Dolwyn gave a dry laugh. "Exactly. So when she asked me out, I panicked. I said yes because… I didn't want to make things awkward between us. I didn't want to hurt her. But ever since then, I've felt like I've been pretending."

His voice quieted, gaze drifting. "It's exhausting. I keep thinking about what would've happened if I had just said no. Maybe we'd still be friends. Maybe I wouldn't feel so… trapped."

Avaran looked at him carefully, then gave a rare, genuine nod. "I get it."

They sat in silence again, the weight of their choices settling like dust around them.

Then Talion returned.

"Have you chosen your sacrifices?" Talion asked as he reappeared, his voice smooth and deliberate.

"Yes," both Avaran and Dolwyn replied in unison, their tones calm, but their eyes betraying the weight of what they were about to give up.

There was a brief pause, and then Avaran spoke again, hesitating slightly.

"If I choose to forget someone… will that person forget me too?"

Talion turned to him, his gaze sharp but not unkind. "Not entirely," he said. "They will remember that you existed, but the bond you shared will vanish from their memory. It will be like trying to recall a dream they can no longer place. Every other person who knew of your connection… will forget as well. The world will realign itself to fit the absence."

Avaran gave a soft "Oh… okay," and looked away, the answer heavier than he expected.

Talion gave him a moment, then clapped his hands together once. "Then let's get going."

"What do we have to do now?" Dolwyn asked.

"Nothing," Talion said, his tone shifting into something deeper. "Not until I say otherwise."

He took a breath, raised his right hand, and began to chant—his voice low, echoing with an unearthly resonance.

He was speaking in Elaruun, the Divine Tongue.

"O veiled breath, deny their reach,

By silent gale, let ruin breach not."

The moment the words left his mouth, the air shifted violently.

A sudden wind burst outward in every direction, swirling through the room. Loose objects flew into the air—papers, books, a cup from Dolwyn's desk. Curtains flailed like living things, and a low hum began to vibrate in the walls.

Dolwyn instinctively stepped back, shielding his face.

Avaran stood still, eyes narrowed, watching the wind swirl around Talion's form like it was drawn to him.

Then Talion lifted his voice slightly. "Now—place one hand on each of my shoulders. Do not let go until I say so."

Both boys stepped forward, uncertain but resolute. They each placed a hand on one of Talion's shoulders.

The wind intensified.

The world around them dissolved into blinding light.

A roar like rushing air filled their ears—deafening, yet somehow distant. They felt their bodies stretch, bend, and blur, as if gravity and time themselves had lost their grip.

And then—

Silence.

Total, perfect silence.

They were standing in space.

Yet they could breathe.

A shimmering dome of wind surrounded them like a living shield—just as Talion had promised. Stars glittered in every direction. Vast nebulae spiraled like colored smoke, and streaks of cosmic light arced silently across the void. Planets glowed like distant embers. And far, far away, a blazing light pulsed at the heart of the galaxy.

"That," Talion said, pointing toward the swirling radiance, "is where we're headed."

Dolwyn couldn't stop staring. "We're… in space."

Avaran remained quiet, but his eyes were not.

With a gesture from Talion, the wind-dome began to move, carrying them forward—swift as thought, silent as death.

They flew past the stars.

The closer they got to the galactic core, the more distorted space became. It was no longer a place of darkness, but of brilliance—colors their minds struggled to name, shapes folding into and out of existence.