Ramiel knelt by the tree again.
He didn't remember walking there. He wasn't even sure if he'd left his room. But the ground beneath his knees was cold, the bark rough beneath his fingers, and the mist curled in the air like breath from something not quite alive.
His staff lay abandoned beside him.
The moon hung heavy and red in the sky. Not full, not new—just bleeding.
You keep coming back, the voice murmured.
It wasn't a sound. Not exactly. It was like the wind carried thought, like the shadows bled meaning. A whisper that lived in the bones.
"I don't want to listen," Ramiel said hoarsely.
But you do. Because you know I'm right.
He squeezed his eyes shut. "I didn't agree to anything."
Not with words. But weakness is its own kind of consent, child.
The mist swirled. Took shape.
Not fully a person. Not yet. A silhouette with eyes too deep and light too absent.
Ramiel gritted his teeth. "You said you could help."
And I still can. But the time for questions is over. This is my final offer.
He turned his face upward. The moon stared back.
You want peace? You want clarity? You want the ache to stop?
Then surrender. Let go of your fear, your guilt, your bleeding heart. Let me carry the burden.
"What's the price?" he asked, trembling.
Nothing you haven't already given up, the voice purred.
A moment of choice. A sliver of will. And in return—freedom.
Ramiel felt the world tilt.
His hand moved. Not of his own volition.
Fingers brushing the bark. The sigil beneath his skin answering a call he hadn't voiced.
The mist surged—and the thing stepped forward. Not fully corporeal, not spirit. Something in between. Something old.
Say yes, and I will grant you strength. Say yes, and you'll never be weak again. Say yes—and I will make them pay.
His heart thundered. And still… he didn't run.
"…Yes," he whispered.
The garden darkened.
---
The change was subtle.
At first.
Ramiel still walked the same halls, still wore the same robes. But there was a stillness to him now. Too still. Like something inside him had frozen.
He stopped laughing. Even the forced, hollow kind.
He trained harder. Longer. His movements sharper, faster—but mechanical. Like a blade wielding itself.
Saryel noticed.
The first time she saw him in the courtyard, eyes unfocused but posture tense, she called his name. He didn't answer. He didn't even blink.
Only when Alaric passed by did Ramiel stir, like a puppet being tugged from sleep.
"Ramiel?" she asked again.
He turned.
And for a flicker—a heartbeat—his eyes were black.
---
That night, Saryel went to the council.
Her voice was low. Urgent. Desperate.
"He's not himself," she said. "Something has taken root in him. It's not just grief or guilt anymore. It's something else. Something dangerous."
The High Councilor frowned. "We've heard… whispers. The lilies in the southern gardens have wilted. The sacred mirror room no longer reflects light."
"It's spreading," Saryel said. "We have to cleanse him. There's a ritual—I found it. One only possible under a blood moon."
The oldest among them—the seer with clouded eyes—opened her mouth.
"We know of the ritual," she rasped. "We've known for centuries. But that moon rises once more this season, and we've already prepared for another rite."
Saryel's breath caught. "What?"
"You know of the Dimensional Seal," said the High Councilor. "The fracture beneath the mountain. The one we've held shut for generations. The final ritual must be performed this moon, or the binding will unravel."
"But Ramiel—"
"If the seal breaks," another elder cut in, "the world breaks with it. He is one soul. What waits beneath is legion."
Saryel stood silent for a long moment.
The council chamber felt colder than the garden had.
"But he is not lost yet," she whispered. "We have a chance. If I act quickly—"
"No," the High Councilor said, final. "You are our chosen lightbearer. You will perform the binding ritual."
Her hands clenched at her sides.
"You're asking me to abandon him."
"We are asking you to save everyone else."
And then, the dagger:
"He was simply the first to fall. He will not be the last."
---
The blood moon rose higher.
Saryel stood before the ancient altar in the heart of the mountain.
She said the chants. Lit the sacred fire. The seal pulsed beneath her feet like a wounded heart.
But her mind was in the garden.
Her soul still knelt beside Ramiel, begging him to hold on.
---
Ramiel stood in his room, staring at the floor.
The voice hadn't spoken in hours. It didn't need to.
It had burrowed into him now.
Whispers in his bones. Echoes in his dreams. He barely remembered what his own voice sounded like anymore.
But tonight… the mist returned. More solid. More certain.
"You've done well," it said.
Ramiel didn't reply.
The mist moved closer. "Would you like to see how your High Priestess used her precious moonlight?"
He turned. Slowly. Warily.
The mist formed a surface—a mirror? No. A window.
And there she was.
Saryel, robed in white and gold, standing before the ancient altar. Speaking words of power. Light surrounding her.
But not for him.
Not to save him.
To seal something else.
To seal it.
She chose duty.
Chose them.
Not him.
"Now you see," the voice said. "Now you understand."
"She…" Ramiel swallowed. "She was just doing what she had to do."
The voice leaned close.
"She had a choice."
Ramiel looked away, jaw clenched. "Don't."
"She chose the world over you."
Silence.
"Alaric knew. He could've stopped her. But he didn't."
Ramiel's breath hitched.
The mist began to wrap around him, coiling like smoke, like chains made of silk and shadow.
"You gave them everything. They gave you nothing."
"I—"
"You were loyal. You were faithful. And they discarded you."
Ramiel's shoulders shook.
"You don't owe them anything anymore."
********
The ritual was complete.
Saryel stood alone in the stillness of the sealed chamber, breath shallow, hands shaking. The ground beneath her feet hummed with quiet finality, the sigils glowing faintly before dimming to ash-gray.
The seal held.
The world had been saved.
But all she could feel was a hollow where her heart should be.
---
Ramiel walked the temple corridors like a ghost.
Except ghosts didn't cast shadows this deep.
His eyes had changed—not in color, but in weight. They didn't shimmer with wonder or sorrow anymore. They stared through people, through stone, through the self he used to be.
Acolytes stepped aside when they saw him coming.
Alaric spotted him from across the courtyard—and for the first time in years, felt something he didn't want to name.
"Ramiel," he called, cautious.
The man stopped.
Turned.
The look he gave Alaric wasn't cold. It wasn't warm. It was nothing.
"Where's Saryel?" Ramiel asked.
Alaric hesitated. "She's… finishing the rites."
Ramiel gave a single, humorless nod. "Of course."
Alaric stepped closer. "You okay?"
Ramiel blinked once. "Why wouldn't I be?"
It was then that Alaric noticed: the wind didn't move around Ramiel. It stilled. The leaves didn't rustle. Even the sun seemed dimmer behind his silhouette.
"Something's not right," Alaric murmured.
Ramiel tilted his head. "You're only just noticing?"
And then he turned and walked away.
---
The voice returned when the moon climbed to its highest point.
Ramiel stood at the edge of the sacred pool, watching his reflection waver in the water. It didn't match him. Not anymore.
Not completely.
The mist gathered at his feet, rose to his shoulders like a cloak.
"You did well," it cooed. "You waited. You trusted. You gave them a chance."
Ramiel didn't respond.
The voice drifted closer. "And in the end… they chose everyone but you."
He closed his eyes.
They chose the world.
Saryel's face rose in his memory. Her laugh. Her stubbornness. Her loyalty to everything but him.
They chose the seal.
Alaric's voice, once a lifeline, now sounded like betrayal in his ears.
They watched you slip—and did nothing.
His fists clenched.
The mist thickened, curling around him like armor.
The voice was a whisper at his throat now.
"Let's show them."
Ramiel opened his eyes.
They were completely black.
Not with rage. Not with sorrow.
With purpose.
The voice curled close, soft as breath:
"Let's show them it was wrong to discard you."