CHAPTER 1235: LANGUID DAYS (2).

Darkness swallowed the space except for the faint glow from the shrinking tear and the fractured shimmer radiating from the entity.

Cain steadied his breathing, eyes adjusting to the dim.

The entity paused.

Evaluated.

Raised its arm once more.

Cain’s pulse climbed.

Rhea pressed her back to his. "We can’t hurt it. We can’t touch it. We can’t block it."

"Yeah."

"What do we do?"

Cain lowered his stance.

"We outmaneuver a thing that doesn’t obey physics."

"That’s not a plan."

"It’s the only one."

The entity struck.

Reality bent.

And Cain ran straight toward it.

Cain woke to a pressure behind his eyes—an ache like someone had pressed a thumb directly into his mind. The world around him was dim, blurred, soaked in a gray half-light that had no source. He wasn’t lying on stone, or soil, or even air. The ground beneath him felt like the suggestion of a surface—an idea of weight rather than the thing itself.

He pushed himself upright. The air trembled.

The last thing he remembered was the Veil collapsing, Asha being dragged backward by something he never fully saw, and the world splitting into two overlapping scenes: the burning citadel and the cold nothing beneath it. He’d lunged for her hand. The ground vanished. Then—this.

A voice broke through the dimness.

"You took long enough."

Cain stiffened. The voice wasn’t hostile, but it carried a weight he recognized. Authority dulled by decay. Power stretched thin. He turned toward it.

A figure sat on an invisible ledge, legs dangling over nothing. Tall. Cloaked. Wings folded behind them—though not feathers. These were lines of light, drawn in uneven strokes, flickering at the edges like burnt film. A fallen angel, unquestionably. But not one he recognized.

Cain braced himself. "Where are we?"

"Between." The figure flicked a hand casually at the emptiness. "You slipped through the Veil mid-collapse. This is what catches those who don’t belong on either side."

Cain exhaled sharply. "And Asha?"

"Alive." The word came without hesitation. "In danger. But alive."

Cain’s pulse kicked. "Where?"

The fallen tilted their head, studying him. "That’s the question, isn’t it? You chase her across worlds without a plan, without allies, without understanding what you’re truly stepping into. You do realize she wasn’t taken by chance."

Cain didn’t move. "You know who took her."

"Of course." A slow, amused breath. "Everyone does."

The light-wings behind the figure cracked briefly, a flash of sharp white. Cain flinched before he caught himself.

"Tell me who," Cain said, voice low.

"Hungry, aren’t we?" The fallen rose smoothly. Their feet didn’t quite meet the ground. "The thing that reached for her wasn’t a creature. It wasn’t even a person. It was a choice—hers, long before you met her."

Cain’s jaw clenched. "You’re speaking in riddles."

"That’s how Divine politics works." The wings flared faintly. "But you want direct answers, so here’s one: she was marked. And whoever marks a mortal has a claim."

Cain stepped toward them. "How do I break that claim?"

The fallen laughed—not mocking, but almost impressed. "You don’t break it. You challenge it."

A chill pulled through Cain’s spine. "Challenge who?"

The fallen leaned in, eyes bright like coals. "A Watcher."

Cain’s breath hitched. The Watchers were legends—massive, terrifying beings who had once guided humanity and then corrupted themselves with desire. Gods in the eyes of mortals. Monsters in the eyes of angels.

And one of them had taken Asha.

The fallen studied Cain’s expression. "Ah. You knew this day was coming."

Cain didn’t bother denying it. Signs had been building for weeks—her strange visions, her bursts of impossible knowledge, the way she sometimes spoke with someone else’s cadence. He should have connected the pieces sooner.

"What do I need to do?" Cain asked.

The fallen’s expression sobered. "You need to leave this place first. And that’s not easy. This realm responds to thought. Fear traps. Purpose frees."

"Tell me how to use that."

"You already are." The fallen pointed behind him.

Cain turned. The gray emptiness had shifted. Shapes were forming—fractured shadows of the world he left behind. The citadel’s towers flickered in and out, half-built, half-broken. The Veil shimmered like torn cloth. And far off, a single thread of gold stretched into distance, thin as a hair but glowing like a beacon.

Asha.

Cain didn’t think. He moved toward it.

The fallen called after him, "Careful. The path reflects you. If you lose focus, you won’t find her—you’ll fall deeper."

Cain didn’t slow. "Then keep talking."

The fallen drifted behind him. "Very well. You want truth? Here’s truth: the Watcher that marked her was once one of us. A guardian. A guide. A being meant to uplift humanity. But it loved what it shouldn’t have loved. Wanted what it shouldn’t have wanted."

Cain shot them a look. "Asha?"

"Not at first. Humanity. Worship. Power. Once you taste the crown, you don’t return it. And Asha... she’s the one who accidentally woke the last piece of him still tethered to this world."

Cain felt the thread of gold tighten, vibrating faintly like a pulse.

"How is she connected?" he asked.

"She carries the gift he planted in her bloodline generations ago." The fallen shrugged. "It’s not dramatic. Most mortals carry dormant gifts. She’s just the one whose spark flared bright enough to get his attention again."

Cain’s stomach twisted. "So she’s bait."

"Or heir. Depends on perspective."

Cain growled under his breath. "I’m not leaving her with someone like that."

"That," the fallen said softly, "is why I’m helping you."

Cain stopped. The golden thread pulsed in front of him. "What do you get out of this?"

The fallen gave a thin, crooked smile. "Revenge."

That tracked. All the stories about Watchers carried the same undertone: betrayal, resentment, wounded pride. A fallen helping a mortal challenge a Watcher wasn’t surprising—it was poetic.

"What’s your name?" Cain asked.

The fallen hesitated. "Names have weight."

"Then give me something that means nothing."

The fallen considered, then nodded. "Call me Leth."

Cain turned back to the thread. "Fine. Leth, tell me what’s waiting at the end of this."

"A gate," Leth replied. "Not a physical one—an agreement. The way to Asha is through a realm shaped by the Watcher’s will. You enter it, you enter his rules."

"I’ve broken rules before."

"Not his."