CHAPTER 285: AFTERMATH (1)

It touched him like a second skin.

And then he was gone.

Not torn.

Not burned.

Just removed.

The silence came back like an exhale.

Dythrael hadn’t moved.

Not a step. Not a blink.

He stood in the center of the chamber like the still point of a collapsing world.

Melion looked at the floor where the last guard had stood.

Nothing there.

No blood.

No ashes.

No proof he had ever existed.

’What are you.’

Dythrael finally turned to her.

His expression hadn’t changed.

No smugness. No pleasure. Just fact.

"You don’t know me," he said.

"No."

"You will," he added. "Soon."

She didn’t flinch.

Didn’t posture.

Just straightened.

"My husband is alive," she said, voice steady. "And you’ve made a mistake."

Dythrael tilted his head slightly. Not mockery. Just curiosity.

"He’s strong," Melion continued. "Stronger than most. But he’s not the mistake."

"I didn’t say he was."

"You think you’ll get away with this?"

"No."

He took a single step forward.

Not fast.

Not threatening.

But the way the air bent around his coat told her everything she needed to know.

He wasn’t walking through space.

He was rewriting it.

Melion backed up one pace, not in fear, just calculation.

’You’re not meant for this world.’

Dythrael stopped two paces away.

"You’re coming with me now," he said.

"Why?"

He didn’t answer.

She expected that.

But the silence still scraped the back of her mind like splinters made of old steel.

"You’ll regret this," she said flatly.

"No," Dythrael said. "But you might."

Then, gently, he raised one hand.

Not fast.

Not forceful.

And reality cracked behind him like glass under pressure.

A circular shimmer bloomed into existence — not a portal in the usual sense. It looked wrong. Like someone had painted an idea of a doorway and expected it to behave.

It opened.

And space began to pull.

Melion braced her feet.

Didn’t move.

Dythrael stepped through first.

Then turned.

And waited.

She stood in front of the broken doorway with her arms stiff at her sides.

The stone beneath her trembled slightly.

Her throat was dry, but her voice didn’t shake. "You won’t keep me forever."

Dythrael blinked. "I don’t need forever."

The force tugged again.

Harder this time.

She clenched her jaw.

Then stepped through.

Behind them, the lights in the chamber flared back to life—

—and the room was empty.

As if no one had ever been there at all.

—

The light was gone.

Not darkness.

Not night.

Just... absence. A thin silence that crept between the cracks of his vision, making everything blur at the edges like old paint left in the rain.

He tried to move.

His left arm didn’t answer.

Or rather — it wasn’t there to answer.

’Gone. It’s gone.’

His breath hitched.

Not in pain. That had come and gone. This was something else. Deeper. Slower. Cold.

His back scraped against broken stone as he rolled, half-blind. He barely registered the shape of the courtyard anymore, the shattered pillars, the melted flagstones where guards used to stand.

So many gone.

And he hadn’t saved them.

Footsteps.

Too light to be armored. Too casual to be a medic.

Maeven.

Eldrin didn’t look up.

He didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

Still, the man stopped a few feet away. Close enough that the dust of the courtyard stuck to the hem of his long white robe.

"Dramatic," Maeven said. "But I’ll give you credit. You hit harder than I thought."

Eldrin said nothing.

Maeven crouched, elbows on his knees. "That last swing, the secret Sunblade cut or whatever. You really burned your whole arm for it?"

’For her. For all of them.’

The fire in his chest flickered low. Even his core felt heavy now, sluggish and thin, like it had been wrung dry.

Maeven tapped a finger against his own chin, tilting his head. "Y’know, I almost thought that blade would take his hand off. Almost. You were close."

His smile was small.

Not cruel.

Just amused.

Like this was all a game he’d already finished playing.

"You know what the funny part is?" Maeven asked. "He liked that move. Said it had character."

Eldrin finally turned his head.

Not quickly. Not in rage.

Just enough to meet the bastard’s eyes.

Maeven’s smile stayed.

"I mean it," he added. "You actually managed to get his attention. That’s rare."

Blood pooled under Eldrin’s side, warm and sticky, soaking into the hem of his robes.

He could feel the loss now. The pull at his ribs. The slowing of thought.

’Can’t pass out. Not yet.’

"Where..." His voice cracked once, and he swallowed. "Where did he take her?"

Maeven raised a brow. "Oh, now you want to talk?"

Eldrin didn’t answer.

"Somewhere safe," Maeven said eventually. "For her. Not for anyone else."

His eyes drifted upward, toward the high towers of the estate now split with cracks and scorches.

"No one’s coming for you," he added. "You know that, right?"

Eldrin exhaled, slow and even. "They’ll come."

Maeven leaned closer. "Lindarion’s too far."

That name.

Maeven said it with a tone like he was chewing something soft. Casual. Lazy.

Wrong.

Eldrin’s one remaining hand clenched, the last strength of his core pulsing low and dull like a bell with no one to ring it.

Maeven noticed.

"Oh? Still got fire in there?" he asked, tapping the side of Eldrin’s cheek with two fingers. "That’s cute. But pointless."

He stood again and brushed nonexistent dust off his coat. "You fought well. Better than most. Really. It almost makes me wish we didn’t have to keep you alive for now."

Eldrin froze.

"What?" he rasped.

Maeven grinned. "Didn’t I say? We’re not here to kill you. Not yet. Just to break the house down. Piece by piece."

He stepped back, giving a wide, sweeping gesture to the ruined estate.

The quiet wind brushed across the stones.

A piece of shattered archway crumbled nearby, thudding against the ground like punctuation.

Maeven turned, coat flaring slightly behind him, the shimmer of his space affinity still humming faint around his steps.

"You’ll live," he said over his shoulder. "But not well."

Then he vanished.

No flash.

No portal.

Just gone.

Eldrin lay still for a long moment.

The world tilted.

Then settled.

He tasted blood.

’Not dead. Not yet. So move.’

His fingers twitched.

He pulled himself half an inch across the broken stone.

Then another.

He wasn’t done.

He couldn’t be.

’Not while she’s still gone. Not while he’s still out there.’

The sky above him blurred — clouds dragged by distance he couldn’t measure.

But the light didn’t feel like his anymore.

And his fire had almost run out.

Almost.