The tower remembered silence. It had memorized it, loved it, guarded it for centuries.
Brutus sat in the middle of that silence, his head bowed, long silver hair trailing over scarred shoulders. Iron cuffs glinted at his wrists and ankles, glowing with forgotten sigils, worn thin by time and the weight of divine betrayal.
Chains bound his body, but grief—grief bound his soul.
It had been so long since he last heard her.
Not the whispers of madness. Not the illusion-crafted memories that played like cruel lullabies.
But her.
Selene.
He did not move when the tremors began. At first, they were nothing—faint pulses like a dying heartbeat. Then came the warmth. A flicker. Like silver fire pressed against his ribs.
His fingers twitched.
Not madness. Not again.
His head snapped up. The darkness stirred.
Outside the tower, the forest cried out. Leaves shivered without wind. Roots quivered beneath stone. The moon flickered.
Silver. Red. Then silver again.
"She's waking," he whispered, voice rusted from disuse. "She's hurting."
The chains groaned.
A raven landed on the narrow stone sill high above. Its feathers shimmered black and violet, a single silver streak across its wing.
Brutus looked up.
"You found her," he rasped.
The raven tilted its head.
"I couldn't protect her then," Brutus murmured. "But maybe you can. Until I return."
He lifted his palm, blood crusted in the lines.
A thread of energy passed from him to the bird—light bending unnaturally as it gathered in the raven's eye. A sliver of his soul. A whisper of his name.
The bird let out a low croak.
"Find her," he commanded. "Watch. Wait."
The raven took off into the dark.
And the chains began to break.
---
The tower groaned as old runes flickered.
Brutus stood.
One by one, the seals began to unravel—not because of strength, but because something ancient recognized her soul reassembling. Not fully Selene. But close enough.
Pain flooded him, holy and merciless.
He roared.
The mark on his chest—placed there by Selene herself—lit up, burned gold, then split apart like a cracked mirror.
One chain shattered. Then another.
The tower's foundations trembled.
"Your pain," he growled, eyes glowing, "called me back."
He tore the last chain free with a snarl that shook the walls.
Ash fell from the ceiling.
For the first time in centuries, Brutus breathed without chains.
He stepped toward the heavy doors.
With a flick of his fingers, they turned to dust.
Above, the moon pulsed again. His chest tightened at the rhythm.
She lives. She breaks. She remembers.
He closed his eyes and whispered the name he hadn't spoken in a thousand years:
"Selene"
And vanished into the night.