The rain had not stopped.
It carved through the estate in sheets, falling harder now.
Zeyla stood guard still.
Saber planted in stone. Her cloak soaked through.
Blood still marked the stones — dark streaks refusing to be washed away. The scent of it lingered beneath the jasmine and rain.
Maya's footsteps broke the hush.
She stepped from the shadows, her coat unbuttoned, hair damp against her cheek.
She came to stand beside Zeyla, glancing down at the blood below.
"So," Maya said softly, voice light against the storm.
"He came."
Zeyla did not move.
Maya's gaze lingered on the red stains clinging to the jagged rock.
"So he lives."
Her voice sharpened faintly.
"You held back."
Maya tilted her head, eyes gleaming.
"I wonder... why drag it out?"
A beat.
"The way she molded us — one strike, Zeyla. It would've ended."
She stepped closer now. Her tone edged with knowing.
"Why did you hold back? That fragile thing… could've died in one breath."
Zeyla's fingers twitched around the hilt.
Her voice, when it came, was low, uneven and cold —
"Because killing a man... is a mercy."
Maya's brows drew.
"What?"
A breath.
"And mercy..." Zeyla whispered, "...is not what she would grant."
Maya exhaled sharply, eyes narrowing.
"Of course," she said coldly.
"It's him. You didn't strike because even now — broken, bleeding — she still claims him."
But Zeyla's gaze was far.
Her words veered, strange, distant — as though following a thread no one else could see:
"There are debts... that no age can erase."
A thin breath.
"And love... that will not die, even when the body forgets it."
Her eyes flickered.
"And grief... that eats through time like rot beneath stone."
Maya frowned.
"You're not talking about him," she said tightly.
Zeyla's lips parted — a breath drawn sharp as a blade.
"Some things... we let live... not because we are weak. Not because we are merciful."
A tremor now, deep beneath the words.
"But because their death... would free us. And that is a freedom I will not take."
Her voice fell to gravel.
"Not yet."
Maya's heart slowed.
The cold pressed deeper into her ribs.
"What ghost are you chasing?" she whispered.
Zeyla's gaze turned at last — and what Maya saw there made her breath still:
A look older than the storm. Older than rage.
"Do you think I stood guard... for him?" Zeyla asked softly.
A bitter curve of the mouth.
"No, Maya. I stand for what waits beyond these gates."
She looked past the blood. Past the stone.
"For what may return through them."
The rain fell harder now.
Dawn would not come.
Maya's voice trembled despite her will:
"She will burn the sky, Zeyla. You know it. And when she does—"
"When she burns," Zeyla murmured, her eyes dark as iron beneath ice,
"—the heavens will not recover."
Maya's breath caught. Her throat tightened.
"And the dead," Zeyla whispered,
"the ones who remember her still... they will rise."
A silence like a graveyard stretched between them.
Maya took a step back.
The blood at her feet seemed to darken.
"You're not making sense," she forced out.
"You're speaking... madness."
But Zeyla's gaze did not waver.
Her voice, soft, distant:
"There are things beneath the earth... that wait for her name to be spoken. Again."
Another breath.
"And when it is…"
A faint tremble now, like a scar trying to remember the knife:
"…I will be the blade between them."
Maya's heart beat too fast.
Her words caught — sharp in her mouth.
But Zeyla was already gone — lost to the rain, lost to the dark place where her mind wandered.
-----------
He was falling.
Breath slowing, sinking—
but the mind— the soul— had cracked wide open.
"Sanlang!"
Yilan's voice— a muffled echo—
distant— strangled—
as though the world had sunk underwater.
He opened his eyes—
but the world he saw was wrong.
The void of his mind shattered.
A snap—
The sky above him was not a sky. It was a bleak dome of falling ash, slow as snowfall. Beneath it, endless ruins burned in blue flame—cities, temples, monuments—swallowed by that unnatural cold fire.
And in the heart of it—
Noor.
Bloodied. Barefoot. Her skin lashed, her mouth stained dark red. Chained at neck, wrists, ankles—dragged by invisible hands across shattered stone like a broken doll.
And yet—her wings—
Fine beyond measure, white as untouched snow, trailing behind her in tatters. No earthly creature could look upon them without feeling the tremor of their own smallness.
Dozens of figures stood around—faces too defined—each radiating the weight of old judgment, ancient cruelty
Before them: another Sanlang—bound in blackened chains across his arms and throat, kneeling—head bowed, breathless—eyes empty. His face reflected Sanlang's own. Him—but not him.
The creatures spoke:
"The fault is hers. The taint, hers. The violation, hers."
"Let the punishment begin."
One of them stepped toward the chained Sanlang, blade raised.
"No."
Her voice stopped the world.
Noor lifted her head—her golden eyes burning with something older than the stars.
"You will not touch what is mine."
She moved—faster than thought—chains snapping, unseen force tearing away. Blood sprayed in arcs as her bare hands cleaved through the nearest figures—bone and flesh and strange ichor raining down. Heads rolled. Bodies writhed.
A storm of slaughter.
Sanlang could only watch—horror and awe churning in his gut—as Noor, wounded and staggering, destroyed everything that neared the man in chains.
And then—
Spears of light—three of them—crashed from the sky like the hand of heaven, piercing straight through her abdomen, side, and shoulder. Blood spurted black and red. Her body seized—but she stood, even with her torso skewered.
She did not scream.
One of the figures intoned:
"You defy judgment. You betray the order of what was written."
Noor bled—but her lips curled into a mocking smile, voice thick with contempt:
"You speak of order—when your order is rot. I will not kneel."
At that moment—the shadows came.
A black tide surged from the edges of the burning ruin—engulfing the slaughtered, the judges, the sky itself—
The figures froze. The blue flame flickered, snuffed—
And in an instant—they were gone.
Sanlang stumbled, gasping—
Noor stood in the void, blood running down her legs, her arms shaking. Her gaze locked to his.
And then—
Darkness closed over him.
---
When vision returned—he stood in another place.
A vast cavern of red stone—walls pulsing like flesh—air choked with heat and smoke. Volcanic flames guttered along black altars. Screams echoed—inhuman, endless.
There—Noor knelt, bruised and battered—
Cradling the head of the chained Sanlang—his lifeless eyes staring up at her.
She pressed a kiss to his brow.
"Forgive me," she whispered. "One life for one life… even now, the price is not paid."
Around them—shadowed figures whispered from the dark:
"The price is pain."
"Will you surrender it?"
Sanlang—watching—screamed:
"NO—NOOR—NO! STOP! STOP! NOT THIS—NOT—!"
He lunged toward himself—toward the chained version of him, shaking its face—
"MOVE—MOVE, DO SOMETHING—HELP HER—!"
But the other Sanlang only stared—tears falling, mouth silent.
The shadows wrapped around her.
Chains lashed her arms, her throat, her waist—dragging Noor down to the black stone altar. Her skin tore as iron bit through flesh.
Yet her eyes—those ancient gold eyes—remained wide, unyielding.
"If that is the price," she rasped, her voice thin with blood, "then take it."
The void rippled. The shadows whispered:
"It will be done."
From the dark—hands of smoke and ash—countless, merciless—gripped the base of her wings.
The feathers—soft as woven light—shivered, gleaming with faint gold, soaked now with streaks of blood.
Sanlang—frozen, trembling—watched in helpless horror.
"No—NO—"
A brutal yank—
CRACK—
"AAAHHHHHHHH—!"
Her first scream—a sound so raw, so piercing—it fractured the air itself.
Veins bulged in her throat, her spine arched, the chains groaning under the strain of her convulsing body.
The shadows did not relent.
They pulled again.
Muscle tore from bone—wet sounds echoed in the chamber. Blood sprayed in violent bursts, soaking the stone beneath her.
Another pull—
Another scream— higher, sharper—
"AAAHHHH—AAH—AAAAH—!"
Her hands clawed at the chains—fingers breaking, nails ripped off.
Feathers—ripped out in ragged handfuls—spun through the air like falling stars, each one shimmering faintly before blackening mid-flight.
"STOP—STOP—NO—!" Sanlang wailed, thrashing against invisible walls, fists pounding.
"NOOR—NO—PLEASE—!"
The shadows whispered:
"This is the price of defiance."
"You chose him."
Another wrench— deeper now—flesh splitting wide open.
A sickening, wet snap—tendon by tendon, fibre by fibre.
"AAAAAAHHHH—!"
Her scream rose into a shriek—inhuman, unbearable—rattling the very bones of the realm.
Even in far heavens—such a cry would reach and shake the roots of all things.
Blood poured in streams from her back, pooling at her knees. Her body convulsed, head thrown back, eyes wide and unblinking—staring into a void no mortal could fathom.
And still—
Through shattered breath, through the agony ripping her apart—her lips moved.
"I—regret—NOTHING—"
The final pull.
RIIIIIIIP—
SNAP—
Her wings—those ancient, sacred things—were torn from her body.
"AAAAAAAAHHHHHH—AAAH—AAAAH—!"
Her scream broke—fragmented—turning into ragged gasps, her throat torn bloody.
Sanlang collapsed—sobbing, clawing at the ground, screaming her name.
Sanlang screamed again—voice breaking:
"NO—NOOR—NO—STOP THIS—PLEASE—SOMEONE—!"
The shadowed ones spoke:
"This is the cost"
"Even gods pay for what they steal."
At last—the other Sanlang—silent all this while—rose. His chains falling away.
He met the gaze of the Sanlang watching—and with dead eyes shining faint light—he whispered:
"Thus is written.Thus shall be remembered "
Then—without word—he pushed Noor's broken body—
into the pit of flame.
As she fell—her last words echoed:
"I forgive you."
---
The pit opened—vast, endless—like the mouth of some nameless hunger.
And Noor fell.
Her blood marked the dark. Her wings—torn—left streaks of light and ruin in the smoke.
Sanlang ran.
Through flame, through clawing shadows, through a cold older than death.
He reached the edge—stone cracking beneath his knees.
And far below—in that abyss of red flame and voiceless screams—he saw her.
She turned.
Eyes of gold—distant, unfathomable—met his.
And her lips moved—though no breath stirred them.
"So still you chase..."
A faint curve of her mouth.
"Bound, always bound... you were not meant to follow."
Sanlang clawed at the ledge—voice hoarse:
"NOOR—NO—NO—!"
But her gaze held him—weightless, endless.
"You are what calls me back."
"You are what binds me here."
"You are... the price I pay."
And then—her voice fading into the void:
"Too soon, too late... again."
And the darkness swallowed her.