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Continue
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And fate… was no longer asleep.
The wind shifted.
A thin, sharp breeze swept down from the smoldering remains of the village, stirring the ash-heavy air along the riverbank. The fires crackled behind them, distant, but their glow flickered against the water.
Nathan's pulse vibrated in his ears. The medallion was still warm against his chest — not burning, not searing, but alive. Like a second heartbeat, steady but heavier now, as if something unseen had taken notice.
Ellis crouched behind a half-toppled stone marker near the river's edge, eyes narrowed as he scanned the path ahead. His jaw clenched when another far-off shriek sounded through the ruined streets.
"Not far now," Mira whispered beside Nathan, her voice steady despite the tremble in her breath. She kept low, one hand still clutching the side of his tunic, but she wasn't very afraid, wasn't shaking apart. Just wide-eyed, soot-smudged, and stubborn.
Nathan glanced at her, managing the faintest smirk despite the burning ache in his lungs. "Tougher than you look."
She flicked a glance up at him, a ghost of a smile passing her lips. "Hm, Sure?"
Ellis motioned them forward with a sharp wave, his face tense. "Move. Now. Quiet."
They left the cover of the rocks and slipped along the riverbank, where reeds grew tall and the mud softened their steps. The moon hung low, barely piercing the ash-thick sky, but Mira knew the way by feel — darting around a fallen log, through a tangle of brush, and toward a narrow cleft between two leaning stones.
"This way," she whispered, not loud, not frantic — just sure.
They followed.
The sounds of pursuit still echoed in the village's heart. Undead snarls. The crackle of fire. And somewhere in the distance, the low, angry rumble of the serpent, hunting.
Nathan felt anxious. The medallion pulsed again. Faint. Like a warning.
"Ellis," he murmured as they moved. "If that thing comes back—"
"It will," Ellis cut him off, voice grim. "It's not done yet."
Nathan said nothing more.
They reached a narrow bend in the river, where the riverside dropped low beneath an outcropping of rock. Mira knelt beside a cluster of thick grass and brushed it aside, revealing a gap in the stone.
"Through here," she said. "It's tight, but it leads out past the village road. Safer."
Nathan raised a brow. "You sure?"
She looked up at him, blue eyes clear. "I used to hide here. When the guards yelled at us kids for going too far."
For a split second — even in the horror of it — Nathan almost laughed. He nodded.
"Alright. You first."
Mira slipped inside, vanishing into the dark.
Nathan crouched to follow but stopped when Ellis caught his arm.
"That thing back there," Ellis said, low. "The blast. The blue light… that wasn't normal."
Nathan's throat tightened. He shook his head. "I don't know what it was."
"Yeah," Ellis grunted. "But it came from you."
Nathan's gaze dropped to the medallion beneath his tunic. The warmth was steady now. A slow, eerie thrum in his chest.
"We'll talk about it later," Nathan muttered. "Right now — we move."
Ellis gave a stiff nod, eyes narrowing, then crouched low and crawled in after Mira.
Nathan took one last glance behind them.
The glow of fire, the shattered silhouettes of ruined homes, the distant cries of the dead.
And a shape — huge and shifting — somewhere far off in the smoke. The serpent was searching.
Another pulse.
Nathan's chest tightened.
He ducked into the narrow passage.
The stone tunnel was damp and cool, the floor slick with old moss and earth. It smelled of mud and riverwater, but it was tight, and safe, and for a while, the sounds of death faded behind them.
They crawled in silence for a time.
The only sound was the scrape of Ellis's boots ahead, Mira's quiet breathing, and the soft, rhythmic vibration of Nathan's pulse in his ears — though now it felt in time with the medallion.
He touched it again beneath his shirt.
There was no pain. Just… presence.
As though something waited.
Then a faint sound.
Like a whisper not meant for mortal ears.
Nathan froze.
"Did you hear that?" he whispered.
Ellis grunted ahead. "Hear what?"
Mira glanced over her shoulder. "I didn't."
Nathan swallowed,
It was gone.
Nothing but stone, water, and the low trickle of a distant stream.
He shook it off.
"Never mind," he muttered.
They pressed on.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity in the crawlspace, Mira's voice called softly ahead. "It's clear."
The tunnel widened, spilling them out into a thicket beyond the river. The air was cooler here, the scent of wet ground and death fainter.
The three of them staggered to their feet, mud-streaked and breathing hard.
Ellis glanced back toward the village. "We need to keep moving. The serpent'll track us."
Mira wiped a hand across her face, leaving a streak of soot. "There's a small bridge up ahead. If we cross, it'll lose the trail in the water."
Nathan nodded. "Good."
But as they started forward, Nathan felt the medallion pulse once more.
And this time… it wasn't a warning.
It felt like a call.
A voice deep in the marrow of his bones. Ancient. Silent. But clear.
Soon.
He shuddered, his fingers brushing over the relic.
And from somewhere far away — across the veil of the dead — something in the Underworld stirred.
A presence unseen.
A figure waiting.
And fate… was no longer asleep.
It was moving.
And the night would not end quietly.
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The path ahead was narrow, half-swallowed by overgrown brush and drooping branches. The flickering glow of the dying fires behind them gave way to the cooler, blue haze of the river mist. Every breath Nathan took felt like drawing in ghosts — the air heavy with things unseen.
Ellis, moving a step ahead, kept his hand near the hilt of his short blade, eyes scanning every shifting shadow. He glanced over his shoulder for the third time in a minute.
"You two alright?" he muttered.
"Yeah," Nathan replied, his voice low.
Mira nodded. "Fine."
They kept moving, feet slipping in the soft, wet earth. The grass was cold beneath their hands as they ducked beneath a hanging branch. Mira stayed close to Nathan's side, one hand occasionally brushing his arm for balance — not from fear, but familiarity.
Ellis gave them a sidelong look as they crouched by a cluster of stones. He grunted. "You two act like you've known each other forever. Didn't you just meet tonight?"
Nathan shrugged. "Feels longer."
Mira smirked, wiping soot off her cheek with the back of her hand. "I guess running for your life makes people stick together fast."
Ellis huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. "Kids." But his tone wasn't cruel. It was tired, edged with something close to fondness.
Before either of them could answer, a low haunting voiced through the mist.
All three froze.
Not undead. Not the serpent.
Something else.
Ellis tensed, crouching lower. He raised a hand, signaling them to stay still. The mist ahead shifted, parting around a hunched figure near the water's edge.
A man.
Or what had once been one.
His flesh was pale and slack, face twisted, eyes empty sockets. A Revenant — faster, crueler than the others. Drawn by death, feeding on souls. It crouched near the river, ragged hands clawing at the earth as if searching for something.
Ellis's breath caught. "Don't move."
Nathan felt Mira's small hand tighten on his sleeve.
The Revenant's head snapped up.
It sniffed the air, a guttural snarl spilling from its throat.
Ellis's fingers tightened around his dagger.
"We'll flank it," he murmured. "On my mark—"
But before the words left his lips, the medallion at Nathan's chest pulsed again.
A sharp, cold thrum.
The Revenant froze.
Its empty eye sockets turned directly toward them.
Ellis cursed under his breath. "Run."
No time to plan.
The creature let out a hideous shriek and charged.
They bolted, Mira darting ahead through the tall grass, Nathan right behind, Ellis covering the back. The mist thickened around them, the Revenant's snarls close behind.
"This way!" Mira shouted, veering toward a gap between two large stones.
They burst through the opening, sliding down a short slope of damp earth toward the edge of a narrow ravine. The river roared far below.
"Jump!" Ellis ordered.
Mira didn't hesitate.
Nathan followed, feet leaving the earth, the wind rushing past his ears as they plunged down into the freezing water below.
The cold bit into his skin like knives, the current dragging him under.
He surfaced, sputtering, grabbing for Mira's arm as she bobbed nearby.
Ellis landed a second later with a splash, already swimming toward them.
"Stay together!" he shouted.
The Revenant howled from the ravine's edge, pacing, unable to follow.
The river carried them away, the village fading into mist and darkness behind them.
Nathan clung to Mira, the medallion warm against his skin, its pulse steady now — as though satisfied.
The rain starting pour down in light sheets as they drifted near the riverbank, the current slowing. Mira coughed, wiping water from her face, her breath shaky.
Ellis splashed closer, keeping watch. "Everyone alive?"
"Yeah," Mira managed, voice thin.
Nathan's head spun. The Revenant's gazed clung to him. His grip tightened on the medallion.
"Mira," he croaked. "What… what was that thing?"
She didn't answer at first, just stared out toward the mist.
Then, in a small voice, "It's a Revenant."
Nathan's chest ached. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I heard… people say they go after stories who ain't supposed to be here. Or… ones the dead want back." She sniffed, rubbing her arm. "Like a curse, or something worse."
Ellis cursed under his breath, glancing away.
Nathan swallowed hard. "Why did it gazed me?"
Mira shook her head, drops of rain clinging to her lashes. "I don't know."
Ellis gave her shoulder a squeeze, not speaking.
Nathan looked down at the medallion under his soaked tunic, its warmth steady like a second heartbeat.
And somewhere far away, unseen by mortal eyes, a figure stepped away from the Judgement Gates, its gaze fixed on the world above.
The hunt had begun.
The river carried them far from the village ruins, the sound of crashing water drowning the distant shrieks. But safety wasn't theirs yet.
Ellis pulled himself onto the muddy bank first, Mira scrambling up beside him, soaked and shivering. Nathan was only a few paces behind when a low, guttural howl broke through the mist again — closer this time.
"Damn it," Ellis hissed, whipping his head around. "It's still tracking us."
Nathan dragged himself onto the shore, coughing hard, the medallion against his chest still pulsing, heavier with each beat.
Mira glanced behind them, eyes narrowing. "Why does it keep finding us? We lost it twice already."
Ellis's gaze dropped to Nathan's chest. "It's that thing. It's pulsing. That's how."
Nathan's heart sank. The realization was plain — he was the beacon.
Then Ellis's gaze turned to Mira. "Or maybe you, Mira. Since you know about them."
Mira turned to him. "What? No. I've never been haunted by that thing, I just know about them a little bit."
Ellis stopped, shaking his head. "Well. Let's move forward before that thing arrives."
A sudden rustle through the trees. The Revenant burst from the fog, its gaze locked on Nathan. Its empty sockets glowed a scarlet-black hue, its mouth twisting in a snarl.
"Run!" Ellis shouted.
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The Revenant's shriek tore through the mist as the three bolted, their steps slipping in the wet grass. Mira led the way, darting between trees, her breath ragged. Ellis kept behind Nathan, close enough to shove him forward if he slowed.
But no matter how many turns they made, no matter how deep they pushed into the trees, it kept finding them.
Ellis growled under his breath. "It's following the damn pulse."
"What?" Nathan shouted back, breath sharp in his throat.
"That medallion on your neck — it's tracking it to us!"
Ahead, Mira's voice snapped through the dark. "See!" she called over her shoulder, eyes wild but steady. "I told you that thing's tracked to it! It's not after me — it's you, Nathan!"
Nathan's chest tightened. He clutched the medallion under his tunic, feeling its unnatural thrum.
Ellis gritted his teeth, reaching out to steady Mira as she stumbled over a root. "Listen," he hissed, just loud enough for Nathan to catch. "If we get split — you head straight for Atlon Castle, you hear me? Don't stop, don't wait, or look back. Get to the south wall."
Nathan nodded once, his throat dry.
"Up here!" Mira pointed to a slope choked with roots and fallen branches. "There's a cavern — it might lead to the other side!"
They ran.
But just as Nathan neared the incline, something yanked at his senses.
The Revenant's eyes met his.
Scarlet-black. Burning like pits of coals in a death-hollowed face.
And Nathan's legs slowed.
It was as if the world blurred around him — Ellis shouting, Mira calling his name. He couldn't hear them. Couldn't move. The Revenant's gaze held him in place, cold tendrils wrapping around his mind. He felt… seen. Hunted.
Like this thing wasn't just after them.
It was after him.
Maybe it had orders.
From Hades.
"NATHAN!" Mira's voice cracked, snapping him loose.
He stumbled back, gasping. The spell broke.
Ellis grabbed Mira's wrist. "Inside! Now!"
They ducked into the cavern, Mira's face streaked with dirt and worry. "Come on!"
But it was too late.
The Revenant hurled a jagged, spear-like bone weapon through the mist. It struck the rock just above the cavern's mouth.
The stone groaned. Cracks webbed through it.
With a deafening crash, the entrance collapsed.
Dust and stones fell between them.
Nathan's wide eyes met Mira's for a breath before the last sliver of light vanished.
Then silence.
Nathan cursed under his breath, turning as the Revenant snarled behind him. No choice now.
He ran.
The trees closed in, rain beginning to fall — soft at first, then heavier. Mud sucked at his boots as branches whipped his face. Somewhere behind him, the Revenant stalked.
"You cannot get away," the creature rasped. Its voice a hollow thing. "The Lord of the Underworld demands you."
Nathan gritted his teeth, ducking behind a thick tree. His chest heaved.
He remembered Ellis's words. 'If we get split — head for Atlon Castle. South wall. Don't stop. Don't wait. Don't look back.'
He just had to find it.
.
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In the cavern, Mira pressed a trembling hand against the blocked entrance, dust clinging to her skin. "Damn it," she whispered, voice thick.
Ellis laid a hand on her shoulder. "He'll find a way," he said quietly. "Nathan is not some fragile brat. He's stubborn enough to crawl through hell if he has to."
Mira swallowed, brushing her hair back.
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Back outside, Nathan ducked low, weaving between trees as the Revenant's voice slithered through the rain.
"Your soul belongs to the abyss, boy. You bear its mark."
Nathan's fingers brushed the medallion under his tunic. Its pulse quickened.
"No," he hissed under his breath, bolting through the underbrush.
Lightning flashed. The forest lit in ghostly white.
The real hunt wasn't over.
And the storm was starting again.
Nathan pressed his back against the drenched tree, rain slipping down his face like cold fingers. The Revenant moved somewhere in the mist — its shape loose, its voice sliding over the storm like oil over water.
"You were never meant for them."
The words weren't shouted. They didn't need to be. They clung to the air, thick and suffocating.
Nathan's pulse hammered. His hand gripped around the medallion under his tunic until the edges dug into his palm.
He didn't understand it.
But somewhere deeper than thought — something twisted.
A flicker.
A voice.
Not Mira's. Not Ellis's.
A woman's voice.
Soft. Close.
Calling a name not spoken in years.
His name.
"You were born in blood… stolen in shadow… left in the hands of liars."
Nathan's throat clenched. A sick knot pulling tight beneath his ribs. The rain blurred the world, but inside his head, there was something sharp, something half-remembered.
A warmth.
A touch on his hair.
A laugh.
Gone.
"Shut up," he whispered, but it was shaky, the words slipping through his teeth.
The Revenant's eyes flared like dim coals. "The abyss never forgets its own."
Nathan felt it like a hand gripping his heart.
'I don't know you. I don't know any of this.'
But he did.
Somewhere buried deep, beyond the life he'd been forced to live, was something — someone — waiting to be remembered.
A face he never saw.
A home that wasn't Atlon.
It was Hamilton Village.
A father they said vanished.
A mother who… who—
He bit down, a tear mixing with the rain before he could stop it. The ache in his chest wasn't fear anymore. It was grief. A deep, lost memory he couldn't make. The kind you don't remember getting but can never quite stop feeling.
"When the time comes," the Revenant murmured, "there will be no one to call your name."
Nathan's breath hitched.
He didn't have a name that mattered. Not to them. Not to King Nalon. Not to Rhea. He'd always known it.
But someone had once said it like it meant something.
And whoever they were — he'd lost them.
"I don't care," Nathan said, though his voice cracked around it.
But the Revenant's crooked mouth almost curved into a smile.
"You will… when you stand alone at the end."
Lightning split the sky.
And something in Nathan buckled.
Not anger. Not courage.
Just the relentless, stubborn refusal to die without knowing why this curse chased him through the dark.
I will find them.
I'll know who I was. Who I am.
Even if it kills me.
His feet tore through the mud, heart pounding, the Revenant's voice following, ragged and cruel:
"Run, broken soul… the abyss always waits."
Nathan ran.
But not just to live.
To take back the name and the family they stole.
The walls of Atlon Castle loomed through the storm — and he didn't stop.
.
.
Nathan ducked behind another thick, hollowed tree trunk, rain slicking his hair to his face. His breath rattled in his throat, every nerve alive with cold. The Revenant's steps thudded softly through the wet earth nearby, but it didn't charge. It didn't shriek.
It spoke again.
"You cannot outrun what you are."
The voice was thick with something more than death. It dripped with familiarity, as if the darkness itself recognized him.
Nathan pressed his back against the wood, biting down hard to silence his breathing.
"Your father bled for you. Your mother burned for you."
His chest tightened, pain swelling beneath his ribs. The words hit something inside him he couldn't name.
'That's not real. That's not—'
But something inside him wanted it to be. Even if it hurt.
The Revenant's steps circled.
"The blood in your veins doesn't belong to a prince, rich, or powerful… it belongs to a miserable life. To the dead. Or even forgotten."
A shiver slipped down Nathan's spine.
He recalled something he'd nearly grasped earlier, when he was focusing on his mind that morning.
The Revenant's voice softened, no longer a threat — but a cruel lullaby.
"You left them because of your bloodline. You should have died that night… with them. In the fire. In despair. But fate clung to you. And now… so do we."
Nathan sat, wide-eyed, leaning behind the tree trunk, his throat tight as those words cut deep.
"Your mother's voice cried out in that night as they killed her… begging for you. Your father bled to death for you, boy. Dying with your name on his voice."
Nathan felt his throat close. His knuckles went white against the medallion.
And a memory stirred —
A hand clutching his as flames cracked nearby.
A voice screaming his name.
And then, darkness.
His chest ached, rain mixing with the single tear that slid down.
"You'll come to us soon enough, kid," the Revenant crooned, its words a twisted kindness. "When the soul turns you out. The living will no longer know your name."
Nathan gritted his teeth, his whole body softening.
"Not yet."
He swallowed the lump in his throat, waiting for the footsteps to fade.
And slowly… they did.
The Revenant's last words drifted like smoke.
"The abyss is patient, Nathan. You'll remember… when no one else will."
A long moment passed. Nathan stayed frozen in place, rain beating against his skin. His breath ragged. The ache in his chest wouldn't leave.
And then, at the edges of the storm, came a voice.
Soft.
Barely audible.
A woman's voice.
"Nathan…"
He stopped breathing. The sound vanished with the next crack of thunder.
Small tears fell on his eyes.
"I don't even know who you are," he rasped to the night, voice breaking.
But gods… he wanted to.
He stayed there a moment longer, the cold sinking deep, the grief pressing hard against his ribs.
And then, slowly, he rose.
"I'll find out," he whispered, voice hoarse. "I'll find them. And I'll make every last one of you regret this."
His legs moved.
Weak. Shaky.
But forward.
The storm still fell.
The hunt wasn't over.
But neither was his fight.
The walls of Atlon Castle rose ahead — distant, dark, and waiting.
And Nathan didn't stop.
.
.
The storm kept falling.
Rain tapped the leaves overhead, a steady hiss swallowing every other sound. Nathan was gone, going to the dark woods, but Mira's heart still pounded like he was right beside her.
In the cavern, the last of the falling rocks settled with a heavy hush.
Mira backed away from the blocked entrance, her hands scraped and raw from clawing at the stone. "Damn it, Nathan…" she whispered, voice breaking.
Ellis pulled her away, his palm firm on her shoulder. His face was streaked with dirt, eyes hard, jaw clenched to keep the guilt down. "I know, he'll make it."
She shook her head. "You saw it. That thing—it's after him. It always was."
"I know." Ellis's voice was rough, low. "And he knows it too. He's not stupid."
The air inside the cavern felt tighter now, like the earth itself held its breath.
"We shouldn't have left him," she whispered.
Ellis looked away, jaw tightening. "If we stayed, we'd be dead. He knew it."
Mira rubbed a hand over her face, pulling in a shaky breath. "I told him about those Revenants… how they track blood, souls promised to the dead. I— I thought if he stayed close, we could lose it."
"You did what you could," Ellis muttered, grabbing a stone and chucking it hard down the narrowing passage ahead. "We need to keep moving."
"But—"
"We'll find him," Ellis cut in, softer this time. "We reach Atlon. We get a squad, weapons, horses. We go back for him."
He didn't add if there's anything left to find. He didn't have to.
Mira nodded, swallowing hard. "Alright."
The cavern ahead sloped upward, damp air turning to the scent of wet leaves and open sky. A faint glow bled through a crack in the rocks above.
"Come on," Ellis said, leading the way.
They climbed, crawling through a narrow gap that opened out into a pocket of trees on the other side. Rain still poured down, but beyond it — barely visible through the mist — rose the dark outline of Atlon Castle's south wall.
Ellis exhaled a breath he hadn't known he was holding. "There."
Mira's gaze stayed on the woods behind them.
On the boy still out there.
"Please… don't die."
And the storm kept falling.
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.
.
Out in the dark woods, the rain poured in steady sheets, thick enough to blur the trees into shapes. The moon hung behind a veil of clouds, its pale light spilling faintly through the branches.
Nathan walked, arms clutched tight around himself, his soaked tunic clinging to his skin. Every step was slow, his boots sinking in the muddy ground, his breath misting in the cold.
His face was streaked with rain and something else — soft tears he didn't even realize had fallen.
The Revenant's voice clung to his mind like a shadow.
"When the time comes… there will be no one to call your name."
He didn't know what it meant. Couldn't. He was just a kid. Nine years old, tired, scared, hurting. But the words wouldn't leave. They sat in his chest like a stone.
And then worse ones came.
"Your mother's voice cried out that night as they killed her… begging for you. Your father bled to death for you, boy. Dying with your name on his voice."
Nathan squeezed his eyes shut, his throat tight. It hurt. A deep kind of hurt. The kind you couldn't explain, like falling and hitting something inside your chest you didn't know was there.
He thought about Nalon.
He thought about Rhea.
But then… Naomi. Nolan.
He didn't even know those names. Not really. Mira had said something before, about blood and Revenants chasing the wrong souls. But no one had ever told him about different parents.
"How can I have real parents?" he whispered to himself, voice thin and cracked. "My parents now… they would've told me… right? Or… are they hiding it from me?"
He sighed, the cold sinking deeper. His soaked tunic clung to his back like a sheet of ice.
A soft rumble echoed above, thunder crawling across the sky. The rain didn't stop, splashing in thick puddles at his feet, washing down his hair, blurring the world.
His arms tightened around himself.
It's so cold. If I don't find somewhere to stay… I might—
He didn't finish the thought.
His gaze drifted around the quiet trees, but they all looked the same. No shelter. Nothing to hide in. No one waiting.
Until the next flash of lightning lit the woods for a heartbeat.
In the distance — high to his left — a crooked, old treehouse half-swallowed by roots and vines. It looked like it hadn't been touched in years.
Nathan's eyes narrowed.
Maybe…
He ran, splashing through the puddles, his soaked boots dragging in the mud. His chest heaved as he reached the base of the old tree. Thick roots coiled around it, and an old ladder clung to the trunk, its steps slick and rotten with age.
Nathan didn't care.
He climbed.
His small hands gripped the wet wood, his legs shaky beneath him. At the top, a warped door met him — locked.
He cursed under his breath, looking around.
A small side window, barely cracked open.
Without hesitating, he squeezed through. The wood scraped his shoulder, but he pushed inside.
The air was musty, old. The moonlight spilled faintly through gaps in the boards.
Inside, it was tiny. A broken wooden table, a crooked cabinet, an old foam bed soaked at one end from a hole in the roof. Dust clung to the walls. A faded blanket hung over a chair like someone left it years ago and never came back.
But it was shelter.
And for Nathan, it was enough.
He crossed to the bed, sitting down on the dry side, his soaked tunic sticking to the foam. He peeled it off, leaving just his thin white undershirt, and shivered.
His teeth chattered.
Then he noticed the old cabinet in the corner. He stood, moving to open it.
Inside, a single folded blanket — gray, faded, but dry.
Nathan let out a shaky breath. He took it, wrapping it around his shoulders. It smelled of old wood and dust. But it was warm.
He sat back on the foam bed's edge.
The rain tapped steadily on the old roof, slipping through cracks, leaving silver droplets in the dirt floor.
Nathan closed his eyes.
But before sleep took him, his voice cracked into the dark.
"I don't… even know who you are," he whispered. "But… I wish I did."
His arms folded tight around his knees.
"I don't get it… why would someone die for me? I'm… I'm just me."
He swallowed, his throat aching.
"I wish you were here… whoever you were."
His voice broke on the last word.
And for the first time in years — or maybe for the first time ever — Nathan let himself cry.
Not from fear.
But from a loneliness he didn't understand.
The storm outside rumbled softly. Rain tapping on the roof. The woods holding their breath.
And Nathan, in the quiet, with the old blanket around him, drifted slowly into sleep.
The storm kept falling.
.
.
.
.
The rain softened to a steady drizzle by the time Mira and Ellis pushed through the last thinning line of trees. The scent of damp soil gave way to mud-trampled earth and the faint glow of firelight ahead. The evacuation center wasn't much, just a cluster of makeshift tents, wagons, and scattered supply stacks. Beyond them, the towering silhouette of Atlon Castle loomed in the mist, its highest spires swallowing the sky.
In the distance ahead, groups of evacuees gathered by the lines. Some argued over supplies, others shouted at the squads trying to hold order. A man and a group of villagers stood near a wagon, bickering over a barrel of water while two soldiers stepped in to break it up. Children clung to their mothers, their faces smudged with rain and mud. The air hung thick with fear and frayed tempers.
Ellis spotted the cluster of voices near the supply cart — a stocky man yelling at a soldier, an old woman crying over the last crate of dried rations. Mira moved behind him, catching her breath.
"I told you, my family hasn't eaten since dawn!" the man shouted, shoving a thin soldier aside.
"The line's formed already, stand down," the soldier barked back, hand on his sword hilt.
Before it could turn worse, Ellis strode forward, his voice sharp. "Hey — enough!"
The man turned. "Who the hell are you to—"
Ellis shoved him back a step with a firm hand. "You'll get your share like everyone else. Cause more trouble, you're out of this camp. You hear me?"
The man glared but said nothing.
Mira stepped up beside Ellis, her gaze firm. "There's children waiting for water too."
Sir Varun approached, side by two soldiers, his face lined with exhaustion but his voice steady. "Listen to them. Supplies are rationed by tent sectors. I told every squad leader this — no one moves ahead unless their name's called. Anyone refusing order spends the night outside the lines."
Grumbles filled the air, but no one argued.
Varun glanced to Ellis and Mira, giving a brief nod before turning back to direct the squads near the evacuees. "Squad Three — get those supply crates moved near the second tent line. Prioritize the injured. Move!"
The soldiers scrambled to obey.
Ellis exhaled, muttering, "Bloody mess."
Mira's eyes stayed on the camp, on the crowd. She caught Kellin passing nearby, handing a child a soaked blanket.
The arguing settled, the camp slowly returning to order under Varun's commands.
Then they moved on toward where Commander Galen waited near the center.
People gathered in lines, faces weary and mud-streaked. Some murmuring, some wept quietly. Squads of soldiers — a few bloodied, most exhausted — moved between them, keeping order where they could.
Commander Galen's broad figure stood near the center, his weather-worn cloak clinging to his frame. Sir Varun stood beside him, arms crossed, deep in tense talk with a squad captain.
Ellis sighed, shoulders dropping as if a weight peeled off. "Finally."
Mira's eyes swept the camp, half hoping, half dreading to see a flash of Nathan's pale hair in the crowd. But there was nothing.
Galen noticed them, his voice sharp but steady. "You two took long enough." He stalked toward them, boots slapping in the mud. "Where's the boy?"
Mira hesitated, a knot thick in her throat. "We… we lost him in the east woods. Revenant came for him."
Varun's brow furrowed. "He's alive?"
"Last we saw," Ellis muttered, jaw tight. "Got separated near the lower cavern path. Thing's tracking him by that medallion. We barely made it out."
Galen's expression darkened, a muscle ticking in his jaw. *Sighed* "Those woods weren't secure. Damned council wouldn't post a unit out there."
"They'll listen now," Mira said bitterly, wiping rain from her face.
In the distance, the squads gathered around wagons, distributing supplies. Kellin's familiar frame passed by, handing a wrapped loaf of bread to an old woman. He spotted them and raised a hand in greeting.
Jarek jogged over a moment later, cloak soaked through. "You made it," he breathed, eyes flicking between them. "Nathan?"
"Still out there," Ellis answered quietly.
A heaviness settled over them.
No one spoke for a while — just the rain falling and the shouts of soldiers carrying crates.
Finally, Mira broke the silence.
"I'm going back tomorrow."
Ellis looked at her sharply. "Mira—"
"I am," she said, voice low but firm. "We'll gather Tomas, Ellis… and Eren too. The four of us."
Kellin, nearby, turned at the words. "I'd go," he offered, "but… these people need help. Someone's gotta keep order, get supplies to the kids. I'll stay here."
Jarek nodded. "Same. I'll stay with Kellin. If things go bad, someone should hold this place together."
Ellis sighed. "It's a reckless plan."
"Maybe," Mira admitted. "But he's out there. And if we don't, no one else will."
For a moment, none of them spoke. Just the soft murmur of rain, and the distant thunder rumbling over the hills.
Galen finally gave a curt nod. "At first dawn. I'll clear it with the soldiers."
Mira managed a small, tired smile.
Ellis clapped her shoulder. "You're stubborn as hell, you know that?"
Mira smirked. "Always have been."
They stood in the mist, the castle wall dark against the night sky, and Mira's gaze drifted back toward the black line of distant trees.
Worried.
.
.
.
.
Back to the treehouse.
The rain outside whispered against the treehouse roof, a steady tapping like quiet fingers over wood and old leaves. Nathan's small frame curled against the dry edge of the old foam bed, arms crossed over his knees, his soaked tunic set aside. His chest rose and fell, breath slow, lost in uneasy sleep.
The faint glow of the moon spilled through the cracked window.
And in the hush of the storm, a shadow stirred.
Soft. Weightless.
A figure appeared at his side — not with a flash or gust of wind, but as if she'd always been there, sitting in the dark beside him. Lilith. Her dark hair hung loose, rain clinging to the ends, eyes gentle and far away.
She sat down slowly, careful not to wake him yet.
For a long, silent moment, she just watched him sleep. His face soft in the moonlight, even with traces of dried tears on his cheek. A flicker crossed her expression — a crack in the coldness she wore like a shield.
Then, quietly, she began to hum.
A tune old as grief.
A lullaby she hadn't sung in years.
The same gentle song she once whispered to Asriel as a child, long before death and void tore them apart. A soft, sad melody carrying the sound of memories — of safety, of nights before disasters came. The lullaby brushed the small room like mist, curling through the rain's hush.
Nathan's brows twitched faintly.
His breath hitched, stirred by the warmth at his side — something he hadn't felt in years.
Slowly, his heavy eyelids opened.
The world was dim and silvered, the storm's voice distant. He turned his head. And there, beside him, sat Lilith. Close enough that he felt the faint warmth of her presence.
She didn't look at him at first, her gaze lost on the window and the rain beyond it.
Then, catching him awake, she gave a small, fragile smile.
Not the sharp, teasing smirk of before. Not the half-demon mask.
But a gentle, almost human thing. Like she was someone else for a moment. Someone quieter. Sadder.
"What's with your sad face?" she asked softly, her voice nearly drowned by the storm.
Nathan blinked, still caught between sleep and waking, confusion clouding his face.
He didn't answer right away.
The ache in his chest was still there. The words of the Revenant lingering, clinging, gnawing. His throat tightened, and for a second, he almost didn't trust himself to speak.
But Lilith just waited.
Like she'd always known how to wait for broken hearts to speak.
Nathan rubbed at his eyes, a soft, tired sound catching in his throat. He didn't have the strength to lie, and something about the way she sat there — quiet, steady, like she wasn't part of the cruel world chasing him — made it easier to let the words slip.
"I… I don't know," he whispered, voice small, brittle. "It just… hurts. Even when I don't know why."
Lilith's gaze lowered, a flicker of something sharp and old in her eyes. She understood that kind of pain too well. The kind that sat under your skin like glass splinters, invisible to everyone else.
"You don't have to know why," she said quietly. Her voice didn't tremble, but something in her expression did. "Some hearts break before they even understand what they've lost."
Nathan swallowed, his fingers curling against his damp sleeve, the cold long forgotten compared to the weight in his chest. His voice cracked, too tired to stop it.
"But it's like… like I'm missing someone. Someone I don't even remember having."
Lilith reached out — a hesitant, gentle hand — brushing a stray lock of wet hair from his face. Her touch was light, as if afraid she might hurt him more. And for that moment, it wasn't a monster's hand. It wasn't the hand of a cursed, lost soul.
It was just a sister's.
"That's the cruel thing about grief," she murmured, her eyes flickering away toward the window. "It stays. Even when the memories don't. The world moves on, acts like you should be fine without them. Like the missing pieces aren't supposed to matter."
Nathan bit his lip hard, a tremor catching in his breath. The storm outside drummed against the wood, the quiet between them thick and aching.
Lilith leaned back slightly, her gaze distant, words soft as the rain.
"You'll carry their names, Nathan. Even if no one speaks them. Even if you forget their faces, or their voices… the feeling stays. It shapes you. But it doesn't have to break you."
A tear slipped down his cheek, and this time, he let it fall.
She gave him a faint, crooked smile — the kind you give someone when you're trying not to cry yourself. "Some of us were born marked," she said softly. "The world doesn't love us the same way it loves others. It forgets us easier. It lets us fall through the cracks. But that doesn't mean we're meant to be alone."
Nathan's voice came out small, raw. "Why're you helping me…?"
Lilith's expression faltered, and for a second, the weight of years, of all the lost things she never said, cracked through in her eyes.
And she answered, voice barely a breath.
"Because once… I begged for someone to stay too."
The words landed heavy in Nathan's chest. He blinked fast, throat thick, the ache rising until it made his breath catch.
And then, without thinking, the words slipped out, soft, clumsy, unguarded.
"…Thank you, sister."
Lilith stiffened — her eyes wide, a flicker of shock, grief, and something dangerously close to breaking flashing through them.
The word hung there, fragile as glass. Shaking.
She didn't speak for a long moment.
Then, in a voice too soft to be steady, she whispered,
"You have no idea what that means to me."
She reached out, carefully pulling the thin, old blanket higher around his shoulders, her fingers lingering a second too long.
"Sleep, Nathan," she murmured, her voice low and rough with the weight of things left unsaid. "The storm's loud, but it can't reach you in here."
Nathan let out a trembling breath, leaning his head slightly toward her arm, the warmth in her presence settling something that had been breaking in him all night.
Lilith didn't pull away.
She just sat there, humming the same quiet, broken lullaby she used to sing for Asriel, her lips trembling when the notes caught in her throat.
And before she slipped away into the mist — when his breathing had finally slowed — she let herself lean close, brushing his hair back one last time.
And so softly the storm swallowed it,
She whispered,
"Sleep tight… little brother."
Then left the room, leaving the warmth of her presence and the storm's hush behind.
And for the first time in years — Nathan didn't feel completely alone.