Eform
The city below was a blur of lights, restless and alive — everything he no longer was. His hands trembled as he poured himself another glass of water, pretending it was the fatigue of long nights at the Empire's headquarters, not the sickness eating at him from within. The mirror across the room betrayed him — sunken eyes, lips pale, the faint trace of blood where he'd wiped his mouth too late.
He had hidden worse before. From enemies, from the board, from her. But hiding from Helios felt like burying a blade in his own chest.
He had sworn to protect her, even from himself.
The door opened, silent as a whisper. A faint breeze entered, carrying the scent of lavender and storm — Helios. She didn't speak, just lingered in the doorway, eyes dark and assessing. For a second, he thought she already knew. But then she smiled, small and sharp.
"Working late again?" she asked.
He nodded, keeping his voice even. "You know me. Sleep's a luxury."
Her gaze lingered a moment longer, then she left. The moment the door clicked shut, his hand flew to his chest — a searing pain blooming under his ribs. The glass slipped from his hand, shattering. He pressed his forehead against the cold window. "Not yet," he whispered to no one. "Not yet."
The skyline blurred — lights, smoke, memory. Somewhere out there, he imagined the world still turning, still cruel, still beautiful.
But his time in it was thinning, thread by thread.
---
Helios
She had always been good at reading lies — especially his. The tension in his voice, the careful movements, the subtle retreat from touch. Eform was hiding something, and she was done pretending not to notice.
Her spies had returned with fragmented whispers — medication orders under a false name, discreet visits to a private clinic, encrypted messages marked with "critical." And one name that chilled her: Dr. Halen, an old physician known for treating the dying.
That night, she went searching. The Empire was quiet, her footsteps soft against marble. Every corner of the building was hers, every shadow obeyed her. And yet, she felt like a trespasser in her own world — following a secret that shouldn't exist.
She reached his office — empty, lights dim. Papers were scattered, the air heavy with the faint scent of iron and glass. Then she saw it — his ring, lying beside a shattered glass and a smear of red.
Her breath caught.
"Eform?"
No answer.
She turned — and through the window, across the courtyard below, a figure collapsed under the faint silver glow of the moon.
Helios froze. For the first time in years, fear wasn't something she commanded — it commanded her. She ran.
Her voice, sharp and breaking, cut through the stillness.
"EFORM!"
The world didn't answer. Only the wind moved, carrying her cry into the night.