POV: Ren
The house was draped in a fragile silence—the kind that presses into the lungs and makes every breath a conscious effort. The last of the guests had left hours ago, the echoes of polite farewells still lingering in the walls. Outside, the moon was a pale guardian, casting soft silver light through the tall windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in still air.
I stood in the dim hallway, drawn by a faint glow spilling from the kitchen. There she was—Astraea—alone and still. The glass of water she held remained untouched, suspended in her hands as if time itself had paused.
Her silver hair caught the pale light, a shimmering cascade against the darkness. Her golden eyes, always so sharp and unreadable, were cast downward now, lost somewhere between memory and sorrow.
She didn't turn as I stepped inside.
She didn't have to.
"She fits so well, doesn't she?" Her voice broke the quiet, soft but steady. No bitterness lurked in it. Only a profound weariness. "Into the life you want to show the world."
I let the silence stretch a moment before answering, my voice barely above a whisper.
"She fits into the mask."
She slowly turned to face me, her gaze piercing yet distant—eyes burning with a quiet fire.
"And us? The others? Are we just shadows now?"
Her lips parted, voice trembling slightly as she asked the question I had dreaded since the beginning.
"Are we not enough?"
Her words hit me—not because they were untrue, but because they were the cruelest truth I carried.
I met her eyes fully, seeing the fragile tremble in her lip, the subtle tension in her fingers as they gripped the rim of the glass, the way she squared her shoulders to hold back the shaking.
I could not lie to her. Not to Astraea.
"You are more than the world allows me to show," I said softly. "But the truth of me… the whole truth… was never meant to be carried by anyone else."
Pain etched across her face—silent and enduring, not loud but deep, waiting for an answer she already sensed but needed to hear anyway.
"Then why give your name to us?" she whispered, voice fragile. "Why bind us to you, if we can't walk beside you in the open?"
I lowered my gaze.
"Because I can't undo what was true in that moment."
A pause filled the space between us.
"Because I won't lie to you, Astraea. Even if the world demands it."
Slowly, deliberately, she turned away. The glass slipped from her fingers, resting full and forgotten on the cool marble counter.
Her shoulders trembled once, twice.
Her tears came silently, no sound to mark their fall.
She cried the kind of tears reserved for those who have exhausted all other strength.
I stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, anchoring her trembling frame.
I stayed by her side in quiet companionship until the trembling ceased.
After a long, fragile moment, I spoke softly.
"Would you be content if I took you on a date… here, on Earth? Away from all of this?"
Her breath hitched, uneven but slowing. She hesitated, then nodded slowly.
A faint smile touched my lips.
When her sorrow finally ebbed, I left her side. I didn't walk or use any secret passage. Instead, I summoned the power that lay dormant within—the binding force of my true realm.
The air around me thickened, reality bending at my command. With a breath, I stepped through the veil, leaving the mortal world behind.
The sanctuary of my empire enveloped me in its alien embrace—hues shifting beyond human sight, corridors stretching into infinite shadow and light.
The silence here was alive.
Kaelira waited.
She stood at the threshold of her obsidian temple, crimson flames licking the air like a living cloak.
Her eyes met mine, warm and knowing.
"You're bleeding again," she murmured, stepping closer. "Not here. In your heart."
I offered no answer.
Her fingers traced a faint line along my cheek, the warmth of fire gentle but insistent.
"You don't have to carry them all at once, Ren."
"But I do," I whispered. "If I don't, no one will."
Her gaze darkened, patient and aching.
She did not beg or plead.
None of them ever did.
That silence—the quiet love and burden between us—was heavier than any words.
Outside, the first light of dawn crept along the horizon.
I lingered in the twilight between worlds—between the promises made under earthly roofs and the unyielding throne beneath distant stars.
Between what was shown and what was hidden.
Between love offered and love withheld.
Between light and shadow.
Between worlds.
End of Chapter 135