The void was neither black nor white — it was the color of silence itself.
A stillness that swallowed every whisper, every heartbeat. Illyria stood within it, her silver hair glimmering faintly like fractured moonlight, her soul trembling under a weight she could not name.
She did not know how she had reached this place.
Perhaps she had fallen through the remnants of her dream — or perhaps the dream had led her here deliberately.
And then she heard it.
A low, tired voice, cracked by centuries of solitude, echoing from the darkness ahead.
"My child… you have finally come to me."
The words struck through her like shards of glass.
That voice — she remembered it.
Warm, deep, patient — the same voice that once called her name when she was a little girl learning to walk through endless gardens of light.
The same voice that had once guided her to sleep, whispering stories of stars and forgotten gods.
But now, the warmth was gone.
It was a voice that trembled with rusted sorrow.
"My child… you have finally come to me."
The words echoed, gentle as a sigh.
They rippled through the void, bending it —
and something inside Illyria shattered.
She wanted to scream. To run.
To demand answers and to hold him close all at once.
But her throat burned with all the words she'd never said.
Azeriel smiled faintly, his lips cracked, his divine glow dimmed.
He looked nothing like the god she remembered —
no golden armor, no light. Only ruin.
He lifted his gaze, his chains trembling. "You must be wondering who I am — truly."
Illyria stepped forward. With every step, the void shivered. Chains clinked faintly in the distance, their sound like drops of rain against iron.
And there — half-buried in shadow — she saw him.
Azeriel.
The god who had destroyed the Spirit Kingdom.
The god who had called himself her father.
The god of humans — and the god of emotions.
He was bound to the heart of the void by chains forged from divine judgment. His wings — once radiant, golden — were now torn, their feathers scattered across the endless floor like forgotten prayers. His eyes were closed, but light bled through the cracks of his eyelids, as though his soul still burned, refusing to die.
When he opened his eyes, she flinched.
Because even in ruin, those eyes were the same.
Gentle. Achingly familiar.
"I already know," Illyria whispered. "You're the one who destroyed everything."
The words fell like stones into the silence.
He nodded — slow, solemn. "Yes. I am the god of humans. Azeriel. The god of emotion. The balance between creation and desire. The one who bears the weight of what they feel."
His voice was rough, but steady — like a song sung through wounds.
"Illyria…" His voice faltered. "You've grown… beautifully."
Her breath caught, her lips quivering as she whispered, "Don't say my name like that."
Azeriel lowered his gaze. "Then perhaps I should not call you my daughter either."
The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush a world.
Illyria clenched her fists. "Why did you destroy everything? My kingdom… my people… Seraphine… even my mother. What crime did we commit that made you do this?"
He didn't look away this time. His tired golden eyes met hers — and behind that gaze, she saw an entire lifetime of torment.
"I destroyed the Spirit Kingdom," he said quietly, "because I had no other choice."
Her lips parted, trembling. "No choice? That's what every monster says before they ask for forgiveness."
"I am not asking for forgiveness." Azeriel's voice was low, pained. "Only for understanding."
He lifted his chained hands. The light from his wrists flickered weakly against the darkness, illuminating faint scars that had not healed even after eons.
"I am the God of Humans, Illyria. The god of emotions — of greed, envy, wrath, lust, despair… and hope. The world of men was collapsing under the weight of their own darkness. The balance was shattering. I needed something… someone… who could take in the excess of their emotions — their sins — and hold it without breaking. And only one being in all creation was capable of that."
"Me." Her voice was small, bitter. "You wanted me to become your weapon."
He nodded, guilt pressing into his every word. "You were born from forbidden blood — half divine, half spirit, the child of the ancient who was never meant to exist. You were… perfect for the role."
Illyria felt her throat close. "So you destroyed my home — for a weapon."
"You destroyed them," she whispered.
Her voice was thin, barely human.
"You destroyed everything. My mother, my people, my home… for this?"
Azeriel looked away. "For balance."
She shook her head — a quiet, broken laugh spilling out. "Balance? You call that balance?"
His silence was an answer more painful than words.
He closed his eyes. "To forge you, I needed purity… isolation… despair. The Spirit Kingdom was too full of joy, of peace. It was a world untouched by pain. And so—"
He paused.
The next words never reached her.
Her tears glittered like shards of spirit light, floating upward in the weightless dark.
"I called you father. I trusted you. You fed me, taught me, told me stories about stars I've never seen. You gave me warmth when I had none. And all of it… all of it was to turn me into this?"
Her hands trembled — a faint glow rising around her fingers. The void trembled with her rage.
But Azeriel's expression did not change.
It was not cold.
It was… tired.
Her hands trembled as she stepped closer. "Then why did you raise me like your child? Why teach me to smile, to dream, to call you Father? Why make me believe that love existed between us? Why...? Just give me the reason why you showed me your fake love."
Azeriel's lips parted — but no sound came out for a long time.
When he finally spoke, his voice broke.
"Because… I didn't expect to love you."
Illyria froze.
"When I first found you," he continued, "you were just a broken child — a spirit trembling in the ruins of a forgotten temple. You didn't even remember your own name. I only pitied you. I told myself you were a project, nothing more. But then… you called me Father."
The void trembled, reacting to the tremor in his heart.
"That single word…" Azeriel whispered, his voice cracking, "I had heard prayers, praises, curses, worship — but never love. Never that pure, innocent word. It broke something in me. I… who was supposed to be above emotion… felt it for the first time."
Illyria turned her face away, tears burning down her cheeks. "You expect me to pity you now?"
"No." His head lowered, chains rattling softly. "You shouldn't. You mustn't forgive me. Everything I did was monstrous — unforgivable. But, Illyria… the days we shared — the laughter, the stories, the mornings when you'd tug on my sleeves asking for lessons — those moments were not false. They were real. Even if my purpose was wrong, my affection wasn't."
Her knees weakened, and she sank to the ground before him. "Then do you know what that makes you?" she whispered. "It makes you both my pain and my salvation. You are the one who destroyed me — and the only one who made me feel human."
Azeriel's eyes trembled.
"I remembered every moment, every touch," she said, her voice cracking. "Your voice, your warmth, the way you used to call my name. I can't erase them. I can't forget them even if I try. The more I remember, the more it hurts."
She clutched her chest, shaking. "I hate it. I want to forget. But I can't. Because if I forget… then who am I?"
Her tears fell soundlessly, dissolving into the void.
"I will never choose to forget it," she whispered. "Even if it was all a lie."
Azeriel's voice broke like glass. "Then I am truly selfish, aren't I?"
"Yes," she breathed. "You are."
He smiled faintly — the same tired, gentle smile that once made her feel safe. "You've grown strong, Illyria. Stronger than I ever imagined."
Her lips quivered. "Strength doesn't mean peace. You taught me that."
The god closed his eyes. "Do you know what is crueler than pain, my child?"
"What?"
"Knowing that everything was for nothing."
He lifted his head, light bleeding from his eyes again. "I wanted to protect you. But instead, I became your curse."
The void pulsed with sorrow.
Illyria looked at him — this broken deity chained before her, this being who was both her father and her destroyer. And she realized something terrifying.
She couldn't hate him. Not completely.
Because the part of her that wanted revenge… still remembered his hand patting her head when she was small. Still remembered him teaching her to write her name in the dust. Still remembered the way his eyes softened when she smiled.
A sob broke out from her throat. "Do you even know the pain of remembering someone like you? Of knowing that your destroyer is the same person who once made you feel loved?"
He said nothing, because silence was the only truth he had left.
"I can never see you as the same person I once called Father," she whispered. "But still… I can't erase that word from my heart. It's like a curse."
Azeriel's light dimmed. "You are not cursed, Illyria. You are… alive."
Her breath shuddered. "Alive? I don't even know what that means anymore."
He smiled weakly. "It means you still have the choice to become something more than the story written for you."
She looked up sharply. "Story?"
He closed his eyes, exhaustion weighing down his words. "Perhaps I shouldn't have said that… not yet."
"Azeriel…" Her voice trembled with anger, confusion, pain. "Answer me! Was someone controlling you? Was it really you who destroyed everything, or was it your responsibility as a god?"
His expression changed — grief twisting into something darker, regret heavier than eternity.
He whispered, "I wish I could tell you. But the truth… the truth might break you."
"Then let it," she said fiercely. "You've already broken me once."
For a long moment, Azeriel said nothing. The light around them flickered — as though the void itself was breathing through their silence.
Finally, he spoke.
"I was trapped here from that day onward. From the moment I raised my hand against your realm, I was condemned. The chains you see — they are not punishment. They are penance. And every day, I remember your face… your cries… and I wonder if gods were ever meant to feel this kind of pain."
His head lowered again. "Illyria, I am sorry. I wish I could have protected you… but I was the one who taught you how to endure pain instead."
Her lips trembled. "…You did."
Azeriel's faint smile flickered. "Then maybe… I wasn't entirely useless as a father."
Illyria's tears fell again — but this time, there was no rage in them. Only grief. Only exhaustion.
"Do you know what I hate most, Azeriel?" she whispered.
He looked up.
"I hate that even now, when I should hate you… a part of me still wants to believe you."
The god's chains rattled faintly — as if reacting to her truth.
"I know," he whispered. "That's why it hurts."
Silence fell again. The void swallowed every echo, every word, until only their breathing remained.
For the first time in countless years, Azeriel lowered his head before anyone. And Illyria, broken and trembling, stood before him — neither goddess nor weapon, neither child nor queen — just a soul standing before the one who taught her what love and ruin truly meant.