Chapter 13 - Chapter 12: Afterglow

EndlessReverie

Chapter 12: Afterglow

𝚉𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚘𝚗

05/30/2025

A/N: I'm pacing this thing up. I know y'all are bored of the continuous dialogue and even I am, lmfao. But let's just see if I can still keep up quality!

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Warm light poured through the tall, arched windows filtered by gauzy curtains embroided with winter and thread sigils. The room smelled faintly of juniper and lavender, gently masking the metallic scent of old magic.

Zairon lay in the center of the bed, pale against silken sheets, his hair tousled snow like frost brushed over midnight.

Two days had passed.

It was troublesome. A resonator would awaken from their slumber and exhaustion just after a day — yet two days had passed. The family desperately hoped that nothing dangerous happened.

But he stirred.

A breath caught in his lungs—sharp, dry.

Then his eyes opened.

For a moment, he just breathed.

A soft weight pressed against his side. Sofia, curled beside him, had fallen asleep with one hand clasped around his.

The moment felt like a secret.

Zairon turned his head slowly. The last thing he remembered was… the veil. That other self. The sky splitting open like a seam. His thread blooming from white to violet. No, not blooming—fracturing into color.

He was thankful for his sister to remain by his side when he was feeling deprived of life. Though he wished for his mother, Sofia would suffice as a substitute for a stuffed fluff.

But he turned his gaze down towards his body.

His body still felt heavy, like it hadn't quite caught up with the soul inside it.

But he could feel the world now.

He could feel everything.

The threads of light and essence that stitched the air together. The pulsing cords deep beneath the floor. The presence of people outside the door—three of them, one pacing, one still, one barely breathing.

And somewhere deeper, quieter—a pull.

A soft yawn—

"... Zai~"

Sofia's soft, fuzzy voice barely registered as a whisper. Her amber eyes blinked wide, glazed with thoughts and dreams. "You're already awake."

He turned his face to her, expression neutral yet gentle. "When did you get here?"

"After mother and father returned to their quarters," she murmured, scooting closer. "—and after Ethereth left your quarters, she was gonna make me leave if she saw me with you."

He chuckled softly. "You're awfully right, Ethereth would probably isolate me from you."

Sofia continued with her words, expressing concern in her voice. "But Zairon, you were unconscious for two days."

Zairon's smile faded at her words, and silence settled between them, tender and almost reverent. Two days. It didn't feel like sleep. It felt like falling through time.

"Is that so..?" he said after a pause, his voice quiet. "I saw things. Heard voices that weren't mine. Felt—things that I don't understand..."

Sofia's brows knit. "What do you mean?"

He didn't answer right away. His gaze wandered again, as if trying to find language soft enough to carry what he'd seen without breaking it. Then, slowly—

"I think… I left my body."

Sofia stiffened slightly.

"I was still me, but I was also older. Alone. There was… a battlefield, but not the kind with armies. A kind where you fight yourself."

Sofia stayed quiet, absorbing every word.

"And then," he murmured, "there was someone who looked like me, scarred and tired. He told me not to become him."

The words lingered heavily in the air.

Sofia reached for his hand again, threading her fingers against his hair. "You're still Zairon."

"Am I?" he said, eyes stolen from her towards the ceiling. "But I'm not sure if I'm only him anymore."

Her eyes searched his. "That doesn't scare you?"

Zairon considered that.

"It does... I just don't understand what's going on—mother told us that it'll be alright and not feel strange. But, I feel like something's entering into me."

Sofia tilted her head. "Entering you?"

"The feeling," he said, "of holding someone's last hope and not being able to protect it."

The moment stretched between them, fragile and profound.

Then Sofia leaned in and pressed her forehead gently against his. "You're too pressed on something, your family is here. I am here—and absolutely not Yve, she'll just be mean!"

Zairon smiled—tired, but genuine. "You're jealous."

Sofia felt a stir in her memory.

When did Zairon became expressive? A chuckle? That would almost be impossible save for the time when Aidelie would attempt to tickle her son.

"Say, Zairon—" she paused before he stretched one arm outwards before turning back to Zairon. "—when did you become so expressive?"

Zairon blinked, his gaze drifting to the ceiling as though searching for the answer among the carved wood and floating dust motes.

"I don't know," he murmured. "I just told you that I felt something was entering me—and it feels like it's taking control in some form."

Sofia tilted her head, frowning faintly. "Again with that—you're calling it as if someone possessed you. You should just continue to be a silent boy."

He didn't answer immediately. The silence stretched just long enough to grow meaningful.

Then he whispered, almost to himself, "It felt like waking up into someone else's memories. Not all at once. Just pieces. A hand reaching for mine. A battlefield. A promise."

Sofia didn't quite understand, but she didn't interrupt. She only watched him with wide, curious eyes, thumb brushing the back of his hand absently. Zairon turned to her again, his expression caught between too-young and too-old.

"I think I'm still me," he said. "But not just me."

A pause.

Then, with a small, almost guilty smile: "Also… I think I just like your voice when you're sleepy."

Sofia blinked. "H-Huh?!"

Zairon laughed again—quiet, hoarse, but undeniably real. "It's fluffy."

Her cheeks burned red, and she shoved his shoulder lightly. "D-Don't call my voice fluffy! That's… unfair!"

But he just smiled, eyes half-lidded with a sleepy sort of peace. "Unfair is waking up and finding out I've missed two days."

Sofia's expression softened. "You scared all of us. Mom didn't leave the hallway all night. Father had to pull her away in the morning."

His smile faded, touched with guilt. "I didn't mean to."

"We know."

She squeezed his hand again. "That's why we waited."

Zairon closed his eyes for a moment, letting that word settle around him—waited. It felt heavy, yet comforting. Like he still had a place to return to.

A pulse tickled the edges of his perception—an essence thread stirring nearby. Familiar, disciplined. Ethereth.

"Looks like the guard dog's returned," she murmured.

Zairon perked up. "You mean Ethereth?"

"Mm."

A knock came at the door, precisely two beats later.

Sofia pouted. "You felt her before she knocked?"

"I always feel Ethereth," he said dryly, then called out louder, "Come in."

The door creaked open.

∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗

𓊆 South Wing — Navalian Training Court 𓊇

Clang—

Crackle—

A day had passed since his awakening.

Aidelie ensured that Zairon would function as always while Asareth set out plans to isolate the news of Zairon's upbringing. Zairon's siblings were as always there for him—save for Heizen who treated him as a weakness.

The morning mist clung to the frostbitten stones of the Navalian courtyard, silvered breath rising from the mouths of servants as they swept away leaves and scattered snow—while other combat practitioners were exchanging blows with their weapons in the dirt.

The air was crisp, filled with the metallic tang of distant wards humming beneath the estate's barrier dome.

Zairon sat alone on a bench overlooking the inner sparring grounds, wrapped in a thick velvet shawl far too big for him—clearly given from his mother's reading chair. His bare feet dangled slightly above the frost-rimmed stone tiles. Every breath he drew fogged before his lips, but he didn't seem to mind the cold.

He was still, but his eyes moved constantly.

To most, the courtyard looked empty but for its grey beauty with hunters and knights crowding with their skills and controlled maneuvers—but to Zairon, the world had threads now.

Every breeze carried shifting strands of essence. Every footfall across the stone left a faint impression. The trees shimmered with energy; soil pulsing with heartbeat-like rhytmn. Even the birds that passed overhead trailed faint wisps like ribbons.

His gaze snapped to the side as something surged.

Essence burst like a flare.

Two figures collided midair in the lower ring—Ethereth and Haizen, swords locked. One clean and methodical, the other brutal and fast.

Their threads glowed like banners—

Ethereth's as pale blue steel, Haizen's a roaring bronze fire. Zairon's breath hitched. He could see the clash before their blades even touched. Predicted it.

He blinked.

No. He rememberedit.

"Hey, sleepy prince!"

A bright voice cracked through his thoughts—one that rarely asked permission before arriving.

Yve stood a few paces away, holding a sheathed practice sword across her shoulders. Her long auburn ponytail was tied up high today, bouncing like the hairs of a majestic and rough horse. Her grin was a little too wide.

"I brought you something!"

Zairon blinked at the sword. "... What? You wanna fight me?"

"Yes!" She stepped closer, unsheathing it in a dramatic spin and handing it to him pommel-first. "You woke up from your magic fever coma and got scary eyes and mysterious trauma—so obviously, it's time for sword training! Like a real noble heir!"

Zairon just stared at her.

"I don't want to," he politely declined.

"Are you refusing me?" she demanded before she pushed her hand against the soft fabric of his upper garment. "Are you telling me that you'll just stay like this? Ethereth or Sofia won't save you when you are with me."

Zairon's eyes cowered before sighing, his gaze was stolen by Ethereth's exclamations.

"You're not going to give me time to recover, are you?"

"Nope," she beamed, then yanked him to his feet by the arm.

The shawl slipped from his shoulders. Cold bit his skin. "Wait, I don't even know how to hold a sword—!"

Before he could finish, Yve tossed him a practice stance, stepped back, and without warning—lunged.

CLACK—

The flat of her blade smacked against his before he could fully raise it. He stumbled backward, managing to stay upright by instinct alone.

"What was that?!" he sputtered, eyes wide.

Yve twirled the sword again. "I'm testing your new combat instincts! You've been possessed by divine resonance, remember?"

"I'm not possessed!" he cried out, adjusting his grip. "...I think..."

"Oh?" she said, advancing again. "Then I expect no excuses!"

CLACK—

CLACK!

The second and third strikes came faster. This time Zairon responded—not well, but not terribly. His blade met hers at an awkward angle, his footing a half-second behind.

Still, he parried.

Yve's smile flickered, just a little impressed.

"You're adapting too fast for a kid who's never held a blade."

Zairon's gaze narrowed.

A violet thread.

It was faint—yet visible enough for him to seek out.

The thread flowed sharply towards her blade—a straight strand that held momentum with his strike that he planned to wind up.

"I think I've done this before…"

Yve blinked.

"Wow! You can keep up with me?"

Then—

WHACK!

"But sadly, it was just that~"

She slapped the flat of her sword against his ribs, sending him sprawling back onto the cold courtyard tiles.

"You've done well, youngest brother! You said you felt like you could've done this before, then try remembering faster."

He lay there for a moment, groaning into the sky.

"I hate you," he muttered.

"You love me," she replied sweetly, already offering her hand to pull him up. "You just don't know it yet."

As Zairon let her tug him back to his feet, a soft smile ghosted across his lips—half in pain, half in peace.

Maybe he didn't understand what he was becoming.

But he wasn't alone.

Not yet.