The morning came like a whisper, not a welcome.
Bren stirred from another restless sleep, sheets tangled around his legs like the remnants of a battle he couldn't remember. The dreams had returned, stronger this time. Flashes of wings scorched by fire, a chorus of screams swallowed by shadow, a throne crumbling into ash. A name whispered from unseen mouths.
—Nythor.
As always, the images faded before he could make sense of them. Just fragments. Echoes.
He sat up with a groan, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Cold clung to the cabin's wood and stone walls, and despite the blanket pulled tightly around him, it seeped into his bones. The room was his... technically. Each Guild member was given their own quarters, small and sparse. After surviving the Training of Death, even this cramped space felt like a luxury. But it didn't feel like home. Not yet. Maybe it never would.
Sunlight broke through the slats in the shutters, casting thin stripes of gold across the wooden floorboards.
He could hear movement outside. Leia's familiar boot steps and Kovan's low, lazy humming as they prepped their gear near the loading deck. Myla, of course, had left early again. Training. She was always pushing herself harder than necessary, like she was racing a ghost only she could see.
Bren's eyes drifted to the nightstand.
Three books sat in a neat stack, all worn and heavily marked: Angelology, Demonology, and Silas's old leather-bound journal. The journal's cover was etched with a fading sigil—its design intricate, celestial. Every time Bren touched it, a divine seal pressed into the corner would pulse faintly.
That seal reacted to him.
As if it recognised him.
With a deep breath, he opened the journal and turned to a page he'd marked the night before.
Silas's Journal: Entry 17
"Of all the fallen, Nythor remains the most conflicted.
Once the Archon of Veiled Light, he guided lost souls through the shadows between worlds.
A watcher angel—empathy was his charge. A shepherd for the forgotten."
Bren blinked. He hadn't expected Nythor to be anything but monstrous. But this... this was different. Interesting.
"When Lucifer's rebellion took root, Nythor followed.
Not out of hatred, but out of loyalty.
He believed change was needed. That Heaven had grown blind.
He hoped to reshape, not destroy.
But he was wrong. Lucifer lied.
By the time the truth surfaced, Nythor was marked. Branded.
When war broke out, he refused to harm innocents.
That mercy sealed his fate.
His wings torn from him and cast out—not in fire, but silence.
Exiled from both Heaven and Hell."
Bren's fingers clenched the page. No wonder Nythor is how he is now... he lost everything and everyone.
He turned another, skipping to a later entry. The ink had grown uneven, as if Silas had written it with a trembling hand.
Entry 26
"Exile twisted him. Limbo welcomed what Heaven discarded.
In that cold, empty realm, grief became power.
He used shadows to shape new life—demons born of anguish, of betrayal.
Each one a reflection of his pain.
He fed them to the real realm, allowing them to possess and feed on humans, causing sadness... depression.
He no longer watched souls.
He ruled them—making them miserable as he gained strength.
He carved his name into the bones of the realm.
Demanded reverence. Feared that forgiveness was lost.
But deep down... I believe he still wanted it.
I was summoned to stop him.
Not because I wanted to. Because no one else could."
Bren's pulse quickened. The air around him suddenly felt heavier.
Another entry. The final one on Nythor.
Entry 29
"I confronted Nythor in the Sanctum of Echoes.
A place where shadows breathed and light could not stay.
He was... wrath incarnate.
Not monstrous in form, but in fury.
His voice shook the marrow. His presence bled despair.
I told him why I had come.
He laughed. Cold. Broken.
The sound of a soul that knew hope was a lie.
The battle was chaos.
Shadows became blades, serpents, chains.
They tore light from the air, stripped warmth from the soul.
But I had studied him.
Found fragments of his former self buried beneath centuries of rage.
I used that knowledge to strike where it still hurt.
When my blade pierced him, there was no scream.
Just silence.
And then... relief.
I think he wanted to be ended.
I think he still believed... in something."
Bren exhaled slowly. The words felt like nails in his chest.
He understood now. Nythor wasn't born a monster. He had become one. Because he cared too much. And lost everything.
The air shimmered.
A voice echoed in Bren's mind... not his own.
"I was light once. But shadows don't forget. They wait. They endure."
Bren froze. "Nythor?"
Bren's breath hitched. Was this... a plea?
Or a warning?
SYSTEM MESSAGE
[The Echo Within]
You have awakened a sliver of Nythor's memory.
Alignment Shift: +1 Empathy
New Trait Unlocked: Fallen's Mercy – Resist mental corruption from demonic influence once per day.
He shuddered, blinking hard.
A knock jolted him back to the present.
"Briefing. Move it!" Kovan called from beyond the door.
Bren closed the journal, still hearing Nythor's words echo in the hollow space between his heartbeats. He grabbed his gear, strapped the journal to his satchel, and stepped out into the light.
The war room felt low with tension. Silas stood near the portal console, arms folded, eyes locked on the shifting glyphs on the screen. The blue light from the portal core bathed his face in ghostly hues.
"You're heading to the Northern Wastes," Silas said without preamble. "Disturbance was flagged two hours ago. Minor threat classification, but it's unstable. Could escalate."
Leia was already inputting coordinates into her transporter wristband. Her gaze flicked to Bren more than once—sharper now, like she saw something new in him.
Myla stepped beside him as she saved hers and handed him a small charm. A knot of bone and red thread, bound tightly.
"For luck," she said. Her voice was quiet, but steady.
Bren placed his arm down and tilted his head. "Didn't think you believed in luck."
"I don't," she said. "But you're different now. Might need all the help you can get."
Kovan gave a low chuckle as he finished inputting his coordinates. His eyes drifted towards the portal's swirling energy. "I've got a bad feeling. Feels like déjà vu... but worse."
Bren didn't disagree. He placed his hands in his pockets anxiously.
When the portal ignited fully, they stepped through as a unit. Myla at the front, Leia and Kovan to the sides, Bren behind them, fingers brushing the journal under his cloak.
Cold slammed into him the moment they crossed. The portal closed behind them almost immediately.
But it wasn't the Northern Wastes.
The landscape was foreign. The sky above them cracked like shattered glass, leaking streaks of violet and silver light. The air burned, but the ground was frozen solid. Veins of red ran like scars through ash-coloured soil.
Leia gasped as she realised, they weren't in the living realm.
"This... this isn't the Wastes," she breathed.
Myla scanned the jagged horizon, panic creeping into her expression. "Where the hell are we?"
Kovan's voice was a whisper. "We're not even in our realm anymore..."
Bren's heart pounded against his chest.
"Limbo," he said.
Everyone immediately looked over to Bren, and suddenly, the ground shuddered.
A sound echoed from the earth below, a scream ancient enough to make time itself flinch.
Cracks split the land beneath them. The light above them exploded.
Then came the shadow.
And something... watched.
From the deep.
From the dark.