*** Bonus chapter for reaching million views . Although some of you might curse me for it. It hits right in the kokoro 😐

I held back a little, otherwise people would track me down and beat me up. I think the humor made it even worse rather than lighten the mood.

*Nervously chuckles*

Btw, Hope isn't as simple as it sounds. I dropped some hints about how versatile and powerful it can be, making the Blue Lantern rings look like children's toys. It is broken af.

Anyways, grab your tissues and enjoy.

****

As Edward regained his bearing, the holy light of the Silver City now far behind him, he stepped onto the dusty path that led to Golgotha, the hill of skulls.

The sun hung overhead, merciless and harsh, casting a golden hue across the rugged terrain. The wind carried the distant sound of the crowd: laughter, jeers, chants—rising and falling like an ugly chorus echoing through time.

Each step Edward took toward the hill felt heavier than the last. His boots crushed pebbles and dust beneath them, but the weight was not in his body. It was in his heart. He had been through wars, gods, and eternal realms, but nothing had prepared him for this.

He was about to witness the execution of the boy he once cradled in his arms, the same boy he had watched grow up with unyielding curiosity and wide-eyed wonder. A boy who was now the center of a historical crucifixion, the fulcrum of an entire world's salvation or delusion, depending on who was watching.

Edward didn't disguise himself. He didn't need to. The people around him didn't perceive his true form, not truly.

As he walked forward, the crowd instinctively parted, stepping aside unconsciously, some glancing around in confusion, unable to comprehend what made them shift. It was as if an unseen force of fate, subtle yet firm, guided his passage through the sea of chaos.

A man nearby hollered, "He deserves it! Blasphemer!"

Another woman threw her hands into the air and shouted something about false prophets.

Edward curled his lip in disgust. The sound of their joy, their celebration of suffering, made his skin crawl. These were the humans, the very race he tried to help protect. And yet, here they were, cheering for the death of one of the kindest souls he'd ever known.

He took a deep breath as he stepped further up the hill, and his gaze finally settled on the wooden structure. The cross stood tall, flanked by two others, but only one held his attention.

Yeshua—no, Jesus, as they now called him now, hung limply upon the central cross. His skin was torn, crimson streaks covering his back and arms. A crown of thorns dug into his scalp, trickles of blood running down his forehead. And still, stones were being thrown. A rock struck his rib, and another grazed his cheek.

Edward narrowed his eyes. A silent flick of his fingers sent a pulse of energy through the area. Instantly, the noise dulled, as if the world was put on mute. The stones still flew, the mouths still moved, but not a sound could be heard.

At that moment, Edward reached out with thought. A message sent via silent mental link.

"Uh… Who is it?" came the response, tentative but curious. "Don't try to help me. I have to die for the sins of…"

Edward immediately interrupted, his brow twitching as a vein nearly popped on his forehead. "You stupid brat! You still haven't grown smarter even after receiving divine wisdom?"

A pause. Then a surprised mental gasp. "Uncle… Edward? Is that truly you? Wait—I'm supposed to be the Son of God now. Do I still call you uncle? Isn't that blasphemy?"

Edward couldn't help it. A tired smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Really, kid… You haven't changed at all. I'm… glad to see you again, little Yeshua."

The man on the cross squinted, shifting his gaze, trying to find the source of the voice. "Wait, are you here in person? Where did you vanish all those years ago? Where are you, I can't find you in the crowd, Uncle Edward."

Edward's tone softened. "I am here. Look toward the right… No, that's your right—I meant your left. No, not there… On the small hill."

It took several tries, and Edward was close to groaning out loud. Finally, Yeshua's eyes locked onto a distant figure atop a small dirt hill, a lone man in a black cloak, arms crossed. His handsome face had a pained expression.

"Oh, I see you! But why do you look so cool and mysterious? You used to look like a lazy old drunkard."

Edward resisted the overwhelming urge to smash his face into his palm. "You little brat! Still as disrespectful as ever. I don't have much time. I created a distraction in the palace, just enough to give us a brief window to speak. The king won't be here soon."

Despite the blood staining his teeth, Yeshua laughed. "Hahaha. That's nice. I really wanted to speak to you once more before…"

Edward's expression fell as he replied quietly, "Before they crucify you, huh? What did you want to say?"

Yeshua didn't answer immediately. Then, with a gentle, radiant smile—so out of place atop that gruesome wooden cross—he spoke, "I wanted to ask… Did I do well? Did I manage to share some of your burdens, Uncle Edward?"

Edward froze. For a long moment, there was silence between them. The kind that filled the soul.

Finally, he spoke in a low voice. "You did more than enough. Although… I wished you didn't, little one."

Yeshua puffed out a weak breath. "Hey, I'm 40 years old! I'm not a kid anymore!"

Edward gave a small chuckle, his eyes softening. "You might have grown and gotten some fame… but you're still the same snot-nosed brat who used to follow me around like a lost duck. You'll always be my little Yeshua."

There was silence again. Not awkward—but full. Yeshua's smile faded into something softer. A calm peace. His lips trembled, but not from pain.

"Thank you, Uncle Edward," he whispered. "You know, for so long… nobody ever looked at me like a regular human. They saw me as the Son of God. Only you treated me like anybody else."

Edward stood there quietly, his hands tightening into fists. He didn't speak.

****

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the dusty hill outside Jerusalem, where preparations for the crucifixions had already begun. The weight of sorrow lingered in the air, heavy like the silence between thunderclaps.

Guards moved about, indifferent to the anguish that clouded the air, while a handful of followers huddled quietly on the outskirts. Amidst it all, Edward stood quietly on the hill beside Yeshua, his coat faintly fluttering in the dry breeze, his eyes never leaving the young man beside him.

Yeshua, wearing a simple robe stained with dirt and blood, looked exhausted but peaceful. His face was gaunt from the beating and lack of food, yet his eyes still glimmered with a childlike kindness that hadn't dimmed despite the pain. He leaned slightly back against the rough wooden post he'd been nailed to temporarily, drawing in a careful breath as he turned to Edward.

"You know," Yeshua began, his voice soft but clear, "those days I spent in Egypt, when I could be just a child… those were the happiest days of my life."

Edward's expression didn't shift right away, but the subtle twitch of his fingers betrayed something deeper stirring within.

"It was simple and carefree," Yeshua continued, a small smile forming on his cracked lips. "Going fishing and exploring with you, listening to you telling those amazing stories… those will always remain as my fondest memories."

He gave a quiet chuckle, gentle and nostalgic. "I never realized back then, the stories you told me—they were all real, weren't they?"

Edward lowered his gaze. His golden eyes, now dulled with grief, shimmered faintly as the memories echoed inside him.

"Yeah," he said in a low voice. "You could say that."

Yeshua smiled again, though it was tinged with sadness. "Don't look so down, Uncle Edward. It doesn't hurt too much. Compared to the pain I feel... you carry more than that. My pain will end soon, but yours will continue."

He looked at Edward with quiet understanding. "Really, why would you torture yourself like that?"

Edward met his gaze, his face unreadable at first, then softened into a weary smile.

"Because nobody else can bear this responsibility," he replied simply.

Yeshua exhaled sharply in mock frustration. "Who are you trying to sound so cool for? You're just another human."

Edward let out a low chuckle. "And you used to be an annoying little brat. I still remember how many times you peed on my clothes. You even ruined my cape."

Yeshua's face flushed despite everything, and he looked away with an embarrassed huff. "Hey now, I'm about to get crucified. No need to bring up those embarrassing things."

Edward smirked slyly. "I'm making sure it becomes a part of your gospels in the future. I'll even add the story about how you tried to chase after that little girl in the village, but she rejected you ruthlessly."

Eyes widening in mock panic, Yeshua whipped his head toward him. "Hey, that's slander! Don't mess with a man's reputation!"

"A man?" Edward raised an eyebrow. "Who? You? You're still a brat in my eyes."

Yeshua fired back without missing a beat, "And you're an old geezer over a thousand years old!"

They paused, looking at each other. Then they burst out laughing, the sound sharp and clear against the distant murmurs of soldiers and bystanders. For a moment, time froze. The weight of impending execution faded, replaced by the familiarity of two souls who had shared countless moments in a different time.

The laughter eventually faded, leaving behind a bittersweet silence. The mood settled once more, heavy but tender.

Edward's voice turned soft again. "Hey brat, you really won't change your mind?"

His tone lacked the teasing edge now. There was hope buried beneath his words—desperation, even. He wasn't just asking. He was begging for a reason to act, to intervene, to tear the world apart if needed.

Yeshua didn't meet his eyes at first. Then he shook his head quietly. "This is my destiny. If they feel happy with my death, that's fine. I just wished… there was more time. There are so many things I wanted to see from your stories."

Edward smiled gently, trying not to let the ache in his chest show. "Maybe you can see them in heaven. Been there—place looks nice. You'll enjoy it... probably."

Yeshua blinked, surprised. "Huh? You went to heaven? I thought you weren't an angel?"

Edward chuckled. "Your daddy called me up there so I wouldn't come here and rescue you from your prophesized death. But if you truly asked me, I would do it."

Yeshua threw his head back in laughter. A full, unrestrained laugh that carried through the air like sunlight piercing clouds. "Hahaha, your bragging habit has gotten worse, Uncle Edward! What will you say next? That you're the savior who'll save the universe?"

Edward raised an eyebrow, unbothered. "At least you've gotten a little bit smarter, Mr. Soggy Pants."

Yeshua's expression immediately darkened. His eyes narrowed in horror. "Please don't spread that around. It was just one time! I was only three years old!"

"No promises," Edward replied with a wicked grin.

Yeshua glared, but the amusement never left his face. Then he went quiet again. His eyes drifted down to the dusty ground, then slowly lifted back to Edward.

"Hey uncle," he asked softly, "did I live a good life?"

Edward's smile faltered. He rubbed the back of his head, exhaling slowly. A thousand memories rushed through his mind—laughter, innocence, struggles, kindness, choices made, sacrifices accepted.

"You lived the best life," he said at last. "Although it was short, it would inspire humans even thousands of years later. I am proud of you, kiddo."

Yeshua looked away quickly, blinking hard as his breath hitched. His eyes filling with tears. For all his calmness earlier, that simple affirmation struck deeper than any blade.

"Thank you. I'm glad I could meet you, and that my life meant something." he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Edward blinked, staring into the golden light above him as if trying to focus on something far away. His eyes were dry, though his throat felt tight. The tears wouldn't fall, but the weight behind them was there—deep, immense, unrelenting.

He stood still, eyes fixed ahead, though his thoughts were far from the present.

His mind drifted.. Back to when everything felt simpler. Back to when the world, despite all its troubles, still offered joy. Back to a time he tried not to revisit too often.

Flashback

The air was warm with the scent of date palms, and the gentle hum of the wind danced between the stone houses of Nazareth. Edward sat lazily in the shade, chewing on a fig, when a loud voice cut through the afternoon.

"Hey, you lazy bum! Did you steal my sweets again?"

The voice was shrill—high-pitched and outraged. A small boy, no more than four years old, stood nearby with fists clenched, brown curls bouncing with every furious breath. His cheeks puffed out in a pout, and his small eyes locked onto Edward's like a hawk.

Edward glanced sideways, pretending not to hear.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said, drawing the words out with exaggerated calmness.

Yeshua stomped his tiny foot, the edge of his linen tunic flapping.

"You also poured water on my bed and made Mother think I peed on it again!"

A sly grin slowly spread across Edward's face.

"Hmm? How do you know it was water?" he teased. "Maybe you actually peed yourself again, Mr. Soggy Pants."

Yeshua let out a frustrated shriek and lunged at him like a tiny, angry arrow. But before he could reach his target, Edward caught him midair by the scruff of his tunic, lifting him effortlessly off the ground.

"Let me go, you old lunatic!" Yeshua yelled, flailing his arms and legs as Edward chuckled darkly.

"Hahaha. You shouldn't mess with the elderly, you little brat," Edward grinned like a villain in a bedtime tale, holding him up just enough that his feet barely scraped the ground.

Yeshua's pout deepened as he crossed his arms and looked away dramatically.

"Hmph. I won't ever talk to you again."

Edward raised an eyebrow, then lazily waved his hand. In an instant, a wooden table appeared beside them, adorned with piles of sweets—honeycakes, dried fruits, almonds dipped in syrup.

"Well then," Edward mused, lounging against a tree. "I suppose you won't mind if I eat all of these by myself."

Yeshua, still suspended in midair, drooled visibly at the sight. His little stomach audibly growled.

"Umm…" he began, eyes wide. "Father always said you should forgive the ignorant… and give them a second chance."

Edward smirked.

"Is that your stomach talking, or did Joseph really say that?"

He set the boy down gently. Yeshua wasted no time, scrambling onto the table and shoving food into his mouth.

"Mmf! You're… terrible with kids," he mumbled through stuffed cheeks. "I pity your future children. I'll tell them how awful you are."

A vein twitched on Edward's forehead as he leaned over and gave the boy a light bonk on the head.

"Don't speak if you can't say anything nice," he muttered. "I wouldn't want an annoying kid like you anyway."

But the moment held no malice, only warmth. A kind of love so rare that it ached to remember. There were many memories like this.

Evenings spent around the fire, Joseph telling stories while Mary prepared bread. Laughter echoing as they sailed a small boat down the Nile, fishing lazily in the sun. Nights under the open sky where Edward spun tales of his own adventures, and Yeshua listened with wide eyes, trying to imagine places he had never seen.

Edward had known countless centuries, but those years... they stayed with him.

Flashback ends

The scene around him shifted. The wind grew cooler, the skies above beginning to deepen into indigo and violet hues as dusk approached. The world seemed to hold its breath. Neither spoke now. They didn't need to. Edward stood beside him silently, and Yeshua stood with equal calm, the weight of what was to come resting on both their shoulders.

They weren't gods here. Not warriors, not messiahs, not immortals.

Just two people.

An uncle and a nephew.

And though time had passed and the world had changed, the bond remained untouched by it all.

The silence wasn't cold or empty. It was thick with memory, with quiet gratitude, with the unspoken love that neither had to say aloud. It was enough just to be.

The moment passed slowly, then all too quickly. It was time.

Edward's feet shifted. His eyes, still dry, dropped to the dirt path below. His shoulders stiffened as he turned, unwilling to face what came next. The weight of it was too much. Even for him.

But before he could walk away fully, Yeshua spoke behind him, his voice soft but steady.

"Don't worry about me, Uncle Edward. Don't be sad."

Edward froze, back still turned, jaw clenched.

"Look after the humans," Yeshua continued. "Even though they make mistakes… even though they sometimes do terrible things… they also create. They dream. They love. And they shine with hope."

His voice was gentle now, full of a quiet strength.

"Watch over them, like you did for me."

Edward closed his eyes. His lips pressed into a thin line, trembling at the edges.

"That is my duty after all," he murmured. His voice was barely more than a whisper. "Farewell, little Yeshua."

A pause. Then the same warmth that had once lit their evenings came back in Yeshua's reply.

"Farewell, Uncle Edward. Thank you… for everything."

Edward didn't turn back. He couldn't. His feet began to move again, slowly, each step feeling like it weighed a thousand tons. He kept walking, away from the scene, away from the moment.

Behind him, the execution took place, exactly as history would record it. The son of god being pierced by a lance. His blood spilling and renching the ground.

The air grew heavy. And then the sky darkened.

Clouds gathered, thunder murmured, and without warning, rain began to fall. Sheets of it. Cold, bitter, unforgiving. As if the very heavens had broken open in grief.

Edward paused in the middle of the path. His head tilted upward, the water streaking down his face.

He reached up and wiped at his cheek absently.

"…Huh. Must be the rain."

His voice was hollow, absent, a mere echo of what he used to be. His eyes, once filled with hope, now looked empty, as though something had been taken that could never return.

A moment later, he vanished without a trace. No sound, no light. Just gone.

As if he had never been there at all.

*****

After Edward left Golgotha, he walked.

He did not know how long. There was no measure of time in his mind—no days, no nights—just a quiet, persistent movement forward.

His steps were steady, almost mechanical. His eyes, usually sharp and perceptive, held no focus. He passed through cities and plains, mountains and rivers. He saw the rise of kingdoms, the decay of empires. He passed people in the streets, walked alongside travelers and beggars and merchants, but never spoke.

Sometimes he helped, lifting a collapsed wall from a child, calming a beast threatening a village, parting waves when a boat was at risk—but he said no words. Only his presence lingered for a moment, then vanished like a breeze passing over the land.

His face remained unreadable, but inside, he was haunted by silence.

There was no destination. Just walking. Until, one day, he came upon a violent tremor beneath his feet, and in the distance, a plume of smoke and ash rose high into the heavens. Lava poured from the mountainside like a river of fire, and screams echoed in the valley below. Edward paused as his gaze swept across the burning horizon.

"This must be Pompeii," he murmured to himself, for the first time in what felt like centuries, his voice faint, almost alien to his own ears.

The chaos around him was swift and devastating. Fire rained from the sky, and the earth cracked underfoot. People fled—mothers clutching children, men carrying wounded loved ones, priests and elders weeping as the city crumbled behind them. Edward watched for a brief second, then stepped forward.

He moved through the smoke and ash like a silent warden. With a wave of his hand, he split the ground to redirect the lava's flow. He caught falling stones with his bare hands, shielding the people beneath them. He carried the wounded, led the lost, and gently pulled those frozen in fear to their feet. But still, he said nothing.

He brought those who remained to a nearby settlement, far from the volcanic death that swallowed their homes. When they were safe, when he had done all he could, the people gathered around, some kneeling, some weeping, all calling out his name in gratitude. But he didn't stay to hear it.

He didn't glance back.

He walked away before they could even ask who he was.

The emptiness inside him hadn't changed. It was time to go home. He did not rush, nor hesitate. But he turned his path toward Themyscira, the island where his heart had always found rest. Toward his family. Toward his wives.

When he arrived, it was late afternoon. The sun was beginning to descend, casting gold across the marble courtyards and blooming gardens of the Amazonian capital. Birds sang, and the sea lapped gently against the cliffs. But even the beauty of the land did little to ease the shadow on Edward's face.

He stepped into the royal grounds, and the guards immediately bowed in recognition. A message was sent, and within moments, Hera and Hippolyta appeared. Their eyes widened at the sight of him.

"Edward?" Hera said, stepping forward, concern flashing across her features.

"You've returned," Hippolyta whispered, a soft joy in her voice. Diana followed soon after, her youthful smile lighting up when she saw her father.

"Father!" she called, running forward and hugging him tightly. He wrapped his arms around her, smiling faintly.

"I've missed you," she murmured.

"I've missed you too, my little princess," he replied softly, brushing her hair back.

But even as he smiled, the women saw it. The heaviness behind his eyes. The way his shoulders seemed to carry weight far beyond flesh and blood.

He acted normal. he smiled, he laughed gently, he even shared supper with them that evening, but the sorrow lingered. They didn't press him, not at first.

That night, when Diana had gone to sleep, Hera and Hippolyta stayed with him. The moonlight bathed the chamber in silver, the gentle breeze playing with the curtains as the three sat close. Edward leaned back against the cushions, Hera to one side of him, Hippolyta to the other. He hadn't said much after dinner, but now, in the quiet of night, he spoke.

"So that's all that happened," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He gave them a sad smile, his fingers curling slightly in his lap. "Despite all my powers, it seems I keep failing too many times."

Hera didn't respond immediately. She reached for him, wrapping her arms around his broad frame, resting her head against his shoulder.

"It's alright, dear," she said gently. "We understand. I helped deliver that child. Although I didn't stay back and watch over him like you did… I could feel your pain. But you should remember his words. This was his destiny. He chose it."

Edward looked down at her, his expression softening as her words echoed within him. He still didn't fully understand why it had to be that way, why things ended as they did—but he remembered Yeshua's calm voice, his acceptance, his faith in others. It lingered like a quiet flame in his chest.

Hippolyta reached over and took his hand, her touch warm and steady.

"Don't be sad, husband," she said softly, her voice filled with quiet strength. "You have us to share your pain. We are your wives, after all. We will always be here to listen."

Edward stared at their hands for a long moment, fingers intertwined. The warmth of her palm, the steadiness of her grip—it was grounding. It reminded him that despite everything, he wasn't alone. He was never alone.

Hera, Hippolyta, even Diana—they had always been there. Through centuries of war, through the rise and fall of gods and empires, they had remained.

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, then opened them again.

"I'm grateful," he said at last, his voice low and sincere. "Thank you for always being there. Hera. Hippolyta. I am grateful to you both."

Hippolyta gave him a small, loving smile. Hera lifted her head and kissed his forehead softly.

"No need to thank us, silly," she said with a gentle laugh. "We are also grateful to have you with us."

They sat there in silence for a time, holding each other beneath the moonlit sky, letting the pain slowly settle between them—not vanished, not forgotten, but lessened by the bond they shared. The night moved on, but they did not rush to sleep.

In that moment, Edward felt no need to walk away again.

Not tonight. Not when he was home.