The light died before the sound did.
The scream of the One Below tore through the chamber, an echo that rattled the bones of the earth itself — and then, as if swallowed by an unseen hand, it ceased.
Not sealed.
Not banished.
Erased.
And then there was only stillness.
The world hung suspended, caught in the fragile moment between breath and silence. The crimson runes that had writhed across the chamber walls now lay faded to gray ash. The air was thick with the scent of something that should not exist — *unmade*, not burned, not broken, simply… undone.
Zelene stood at the center, motionless. Her cloak was torn, her hair scattered by the recoil of divine light, yet she looked untouchable — a being between life and death, judgment and mercy.
The remnants of the Aether Requiem flickered faintly around her, tiny fragments of radiance that drifted upward and vanished like dying stars.
Across from her, Kael lay where the curse had finally stilled — his chest rising and falling once more, the mark that had chained him for years gone. No corruption, no whispering sigils, no shadow that breathed beneath his skin.
The silence in its place was almost deafening.
She had judged it — and judgment, once given, could not be undone.
---
Cassian Rosanwald was the first to speak, his voice a rasp of disbelief against the weight of quiet.
"…By the gods." He took a slow step forward, eyes never leaving Zelene. "She killed it."
Ray exhaled shakily, unable to look away from the burned sigils on the ground. "Is that even possible?"
Cassian's jaw tensed, awe and unease mingling in his tone. "No. Nothing divine dies by mortal hands…"
His gaze shifted to Zelene, her golden eyes still dimly lit.
"…unless what killed it wasn't mortal."
---
Zelene took one uneven step forward. Then another.
The light that had wrapped around her flickered — once, twice — before extinguishing completely. The divine stillness broke into a low hum, the room trembling softly as the Aether Requiem's aftermath settled into the earth.
Her knees gave way.
Kael moved faster than he should have been able to.
He caught her just before she struck the ground, her body light as a whisper in his arms. Her head fell against his chest, and the last vestiges of golden light drained from her eyes.
"Zelene—hey, hey—look at me," Kael breathed, his voice cracking through the silence.
She stirred faintly, her lashes trembling. The glow of her irises faded as she forced out a broken whisper.
"It's… gone."
Then she went limp.
The Requiem's final hum dissolved into quiet. The air that had been thick with celestial power now felt empty — hollow, like a cathedral after the last hymn.
Cassian was already kneeling beside them, two fingers pressed to Zelene's neck. "She's alive," he murmured, though his brow furrowed. "But her soul's been strained past mortal limit."
Ray stood a few steps away, his usual calm replaced with raw awe. "She… did it."
Cassian looked up sharply. "And survived," he said, his tone hushed. "That shouldn't be possible."
For a long while, no one moved. The faint wind from the open corridor carried away the dust of the curse — the last trace of the One Below — scattering it into nothingness.
The next thing Kael knew was the weight of silence.
He woke in a dimly lit chamber, the heavy scent of old incense and rain-soaked wood filling his lungs. The sheets beneath him were unfamiliar — Rosanwald's colors, deep gray and silver — and his body, though exhausted, no longer ached.
But the quiet… it was *wrong.*
Too empty. Too complete.
He sat up abruptly, ignoring the spinning of his vision, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The curse mark was gone from his chest — smooth, unblemished skin where centuries of sin had been etched.
And yet, a chill lingered beneath it.
He rose to his feet, steadying himself against the doorframe, and made his way down the hall.
The next room was dimly lit by blue candles. Zelene lay upon a low bed draped in white linen. Her face was pale, too still, though her chest rose and fell in a rhythm that was both fragile and steady.
Her hands were wrapped in linen too — faint threads of light still shimmered beneath, glowing through the bandages like veins of gold.
Cassian stood beside her, silent. He did not turn as Kael entered, but spoke softly, as if afraid to disturb something sacred.
"She severed the curse's existence," he murmured. "Not dispersed it. Not redirected. Severed."
Kael approached slowly, his eyes tracing every motion of Zelene's breathing. "You're saying…"
Cassian nodded faintly. "Her power passed final judgment. The One Below… no longer exists."
Kael's voice came out low, reverent, disbelieving.
"Then… it's really over."
Cassian hesitated. The candlelight carved shadows across his face.
"…For now."
He finally turned toward Kael, his gaze probing. "Tell me, Duke — when you felt it die… did you feel it suffer?"
Kael froze. The memory flickered — the sound of the curse screaming as it unraveled, not in wrath, but in something else.
He swallowed hard. "Yes," he said quietly. "But not in rage."
Cassian's eyes narrowed. "Then what?"
Kael's voice broke on the answer. "It was afraid."
Cassian's expression darkened. "Then her power judged it rightly," he said softly. "Fear is the final truth of the damned."
He looked down at Zelene once more. Her skin had regained a touch of warmth, her pulse faint but stronger. "But divine acts leave divine echoes. When something of that magnitude dies, the balance shifts. If she killed what was born of sin…"
He let out a slow breath, eyes flicking to the candlelight. "Something must now fill that silence."
Kael's hand tightened gently around Zelene's, thumb brushing the back of her palm. Her skin was cold, but familiar — a reminder that she was still here. Still fighting.
"Then whatever comes next," Kael murmured, his tone low but unwavering, "she won't face it alone."
Cassian studied him for a long moment, and for the first time, his expression softened. There was a quiet respect there — the kind reserved for soldiers who had walked through the fire and refused to burn.
"Then pray the silence stays merciful," Cassian said finally. "Because when gods die, the heavens tend to remember who killed them."
---
Outside, the Rosanwald estate was eerily calm.
Wind swept through the ivy, carrying the last remnants of ash from the chamber below. The night sky had gone dark — not starless, but waiting.
In the faint reflection of a windowpane, a thin ripple passed through the glass — like the breath of something vast, sleeping far beneath the world.
And deep within that silence, something shifted.
A whisper — faint, unfamiliar, yet eerily familiar — brushed against the edge of existence.
"Judgment… returned."