The temple's heart—once the radiant soul of Aerthalin—now flickered weakly within a fractured crystal, its glow faint and fading, like a dying breath held too long. Shattered light reflected off crumbling pillars, and silence pressed down like the weight of the sky.
Caelen's body was failing.
Black veins coiled beneath his skin like roots of poison. His breaths came shallow, his limbs heavy. Each step toward the altar was agony, and he would have fallen had Elira not supported him, her arms wrapped around his trembling frame.
"We must heal it," she said, her voice thin with desperation. "It's the only way."
He nodded slowly, his face pale and drawn. "Then let's finish it."
Elira helped him to the crystal. As his hand touched its surface, the curse within him surged—alive with every soul he had ever carried, every burden, every wound. And yet, he did not recoil.
This time, he did not carry the pain to suffer.
This time, he gave it to heal.
Caelen closed his eyes and opened himself fully. The agony that had defined his life spilled into the crystal—not as torment, but as thread. He wove sorrow into strength, grief into grace. With every tremble of his fingers, he stitched pain into wholeness.
The crystal pulsed beneath his hand.
Its cracks began to close.
The temple lit with a golden glow, warmth rippling through stone and shadow alike. Outside, the skies lightened. The heart of Aerthalin—beaten, broken—began to beat anew.
But the light was not free.
Caelen's body convulsed, the last of his strength pouring into the crystal. Blood dripped from his lips. His knees gave way.
"Caelen!" Elira dropped beside him, catching him in her arms. Her fingers glowed faintly with healing magic, but it wasn't enough—not this time.
"Don't leave me," she sobbed, clutching him tightly. "Please… don't."
His eyes fluttered open, dim with pain, but peaceful. "Elira…"
She leaned closer, trembling.
"I'll always be with you," he whispered. "In the light… in the pain… in the kindness."
Tears streamed down her cheeks as his voice faded. He smiled once—soft, content—and then, with a breath that shimmered like starlight, Caelen gave himself fully to the heart of the world.
The crystal ignited.
A blaze of golden fire burst through the temple, casting back the remnants of the void, breathing life into the ruins. The pulse of Aerthalin beat strong again.
But Caelen lay still.
Elira cradled his body, the warmth of the crystal soft against her skin, the weight of her grief colder than any winter.
"You were too kind for this world," she whispered, pressing her forehead to his. "But you never broke."
The tears would not stop.
She kissed him one last time, a promise carved in silence, and rose to her feet. The world was saved, but her world had shattered.
And yet, she walked forward—out of the temple, through the dawnlight, bearing the cost of kindness.
His sacrifice.
Her vow.