The abyss’s chains plunged into their chests, black barbs tearing through light and flesh alike. Denilson and Jenna screamed, their voices merging in the void, becoming one jagged note of pain. Every pulse of the chains dragged their blood together, blending their essences into something new.The abyss thundered, Two souls, two flames, one vessel, one silence. Their bodies convulsed as shadows twisted around them, forming a cocoon of gnashing dark. Their wings interlocked, burning and unraveling all at once.He opened his eyes, and saw her face, but her lips curled in disdain. Her voice, cruel: “You were always beneath me, Denilson. Always nothing.”His gut twisted. “No, that’s not you”The abyss whispered: It is what she thought. It is truth.The illusion Jenna spat at him, “Even now, you cling to me like a dog. Pathetic. I should’ve left you sooner.”Denilson staggered back. The words felt like acid, eating his soul. She stood in the void, and saw Denilson’s back. He was walking awa

The storm hadn’t stopped for nine days. It wasn’t rain, not really, It was ash falling upward. Roland stood at the edge of the crater that had once been the Eye’s heart, cloak snapping against the constant updraft. The entire valley had inverted.Stone hung in the air like suspended thoughts. Rivers flowed backward. The laws of the world trembled and broke beneath his boots. The Eye was gone, in its place, a wound, It pulsed faintly, a dim scar of red light that refused to heal.“Sir,” a voice called behind him, rough and weary. It was Marcus, limping on a broken leg, one arm in a sling. “We should move. The longer we stay, the worse the readings get.”Roland didn’t answer. He was staring into the heart of the crater, where something was breathing, not with lungs, but with intention. The air bent inward, pulled by a gravity that wasn’t physical. It whispered in frequencies too low to hear, but his mark burned with every pulse.Nine days since Denilson vanished, nine days since the Ves

Denilson flinched, covering his ears. The whispers slid through his skin like cold light. Every word pressed into his chest, rearranging his heartbeat.“Stop”But the whispers only multiplied, their tone growing intimate, coaxing.“Let go. The pain will end. The name will fade. The world will forget.”Something inside him wavered. He saw flashes, her smile, her hand slipping from his, the cold echo of her indifference, maybe they were right. Maybe forgetting would hurt less, and yetAnother memory surfaced, small, fragile, real. The night she’d fallen asleep on his shoulder, her breath trembling against his collarbone. The way she’d murmured his name, not as an order, not as mockery, but as if she was afraid of losing him.That tiny thread of warmth became a blade. Denilson stood tall. His voice, when it came, wasn’t loud, it was steady.“You want to erase me?” he said. “Then you’ll have to erase everything she ever felt.”The ground split. The light surged outward again, more violent

Silence, That was the first thing Jenna felt, not absence of sound, but the weight of it, pressing down like an ocean made of thought. It wasn’t cold. It wasn’t warm. It was.Her body floated, or seemed to, but when she looked down, there was no body to see. Only ripples. Her breath came like echoes returning from great distance, each one slower than the last.Then came the pulse. A faint vibration, steady as a heartbeat, rolling through the gray expanse like the tremor of a colossal drum.She knew it before she dared to think it. “Denilson.”The name left her like an instinct, not speech. And somewhere far ahead, the gray shimmered in response as though the entire realm recognized the name, and approved.She tried to move. Her thought became motion, her will a current. The gray parted before her like breath against frost. Shapes drifted in the distance, monoliths of translucent stone, suspended in midair. They pulsed in time with the rhythm.She approached one. The surface rippled t

The golden warmth shuddered not from within her, but through her, as though the universe itself had inhaled her soul and was deciding whether to exhale it back.Jenna’s heartbeat faltered, caught between her chest and the endless pulse that was Nýxoros. Every breath came with soundless music, threads of tone too perfect to be real, a choir built from the voices of those already devoured.Denilson’s echo was among them, softer now, buried beneath the harmony. She tried to move, but the world yielded around her like water, clinging, reshaping, her fingers dissolved into ribbons of light and reformed.The act of remembering her own body required force, as if willpower were the only thing separating her from the hive of consciousness whispering in her veins.Why resist what loves you?The voice was silk and starlight, brushing along the edges of her thoughts.“I’m not yours,” she breathed.Then whose are you?, The question landed like a blow. Her knees buckled. She fell into herself, into