Hearthsoul Chronicles 15 Son of light

Darkness was around rrin, deep, oppressive, damning. Damnation had co, it had mocked him. Now, it swallowed him whole. But it was not as expected. No devils aid for him, instead intuition told him of another truth.

rrin heard the whispers of weeping—a cacophony of cries that weighed on his heart. He was awake now; this he knew. Yet, he remained in darkness, his eyelids shut so tightly that the strength to pry them remained absent from his body. But he had to. He had to see what was happening… what he had done.

But what exactly was it?

A distant pain burned within him, as though his body was slowly being ward by a nearby fla. It didn't subside or fade; it simply grew. And with every passing second, it intensified… growing imnse in its warmth. Soon, it would consu him. He knew this too.

Is this damnation? rrin saw no light, only darkness. It seed likely. But what about the bird? Hadn't it said he was not in damnation? Wasn't that mont ant to be his great unveiling? The gate—the one he had reached for—was supposed to show him his fate.

I failed.

He winced, or at least he believed so. Perhaps it was the rising pain or the mory of his grand failure. Regardless, he had been ant for sothing, hadn't he? But as he reached for it, to finally claim the destiny set before him, it refused him. That was what had happened, right?

rrin had no other way to see it. He had reached for the gate—to ascend—but instead, he burned. He could rember it clearly, and though the flas had not inflicted pain, they had done sothing worse. They proved sothing. He had burned. He had fallen.

A groan escaped him. The pain surged fiercely through his body, unrelenting. He smiled bitterly, his heart sinking into the abyss. Another failure. Another burden to accompany him in this worthless existence.

The one who will never die… What a joke. He had once reveled in that revelation from the Ardents. Perhaps it wasn't so great calling but rely the afterlife; a fate all souls shared. Just another myth, like the belief that virgin won accompanied the dead.

What if that was it? What if what he saw was not fate but truth? The truth of death and what awaited n beyond. The great door—perhaps it had been the entrance to the Almighty's abode. And if he had been rejected, didn't that an he had been denied entry?

He had burned. He had fallen. What else was there?

rrin curled into the darkness, letting it swallow him. The pain still roared, and the echoes of weeping persisted. Maybe these were the souls of the damned—the wretched he would soon join.

In my next life…

He did not truly believe in such things, but after what he had seen, perhaps the Aspirants were wrong. If the Almighty's realm was not one of golden light, perhaps reincarnation was possible too.

In that case… I would want a different life. Sothing new. A good man, unburdened. Maybe even a caster who hunts the fallen.

A fool's dream, but a failure like him couldn't wish for anything else.

The cries and pain escalated. The latter flared like fire licking at his skin. The forr—oddly—shifted. Less of a distant, formless wail, now sothing distinct. Words.

He could hear sothing. But what?

rrin shook his head—or so he thought. What could he possibly hear? The wails of the damned? He already knew despair; what need had he to suffer the pains of others? Worse, what if it was the slaves he had failed to save?

Yet curiosity gnawed at him. If not for anything else, then for the knowledge of what awaited him. If these were truly the damned, their voices might offer a warning.

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He listened.

A voice broke through the cries. "Ah, this not right!" it said. "You're ant to—you acted prophecy. Or is wrong? Ah… Again, Ron mistake again."

Ron.

rrin's heart clenched. Was that Ron—the giant Odium he had mistaken for Liem? An odd mistake. Was he dead? Had the Sisters killed him as punishnt?

Why? They had never t him. Unless Ron had openly revealed their connection, no harm should have co to him.

Had he revealed it? Or had the Sisters discovered it through other ans?

If that was true…

rrin felt like weeping.

If that was true, then even after his own death, what was he doing? He was still taking. He was still killing.

What a curse.

"What is this?" Ron's voice rang out, startled. "Tears! He lives! It is so. It is written. This is so!"

rrin stiffened. Lives? Those were not the words of one suffering damnation. Had the pain broken Ron's mind? Or… was it sothing else?

I think you know that. the voice that hunted him spoke.

No. No, please.

rrin's heart pounded. But not as a distant echo from the gray world—closer. Internal. As though it pulsed deep within him.

Maybe souls have hearts, he thought feverishly. If the Aspirants were wrong about the afterlife, maybe they were wrong about the nature of souls too.

Or maybe that place had not been the Almighty's abode…

No! It was! I'm dead. I'm dead. Please, I can't live again… I can't live. I don't want to live.

"He moves!!" Ron's voice cut through the cries as they grew muffled. "He moves. Tending he needs. Sobody with marks, get sothing. Ah! I do it."

Please stop. I don't want to live.

rrin scread in his thoughts.

I want to die. Please stop. Don't do this to .

Do what to you? You want to die after all this? This proves you have purpose.

I don't want it!

It doesn't matter. It has been given to you…

It's hard… It's painful. So hard…

rrin could hear clearer sounds now. The insistent buzzing of lamps. The scurrying pound of feet. A faint heat brushing against his skin. It was as though he was rising from the abyss.

He wanted to stop. If he could. Because ahead, another dread awaited him.

A dread he did not want. Dead slaves.

A burden he wished had been given to soone else.

A heavy weight to carry without desire.

The darkness peeled away, and a blinding white light pierced his vision.

He had awoken.

A face lood over him—dark-haired, high-cheekboned, pale skin stretched over taut bones. A true Nightfell-born. What was he doing here? The man clutched a rag, brown and filthy, dabbing it over rrin's face. The cloth reeked of sweat and blood. Yet the man—no, the boy—was crying as he wiped him down.

"Thank you for saving ." The boy's voice trembled, tears falling onto rrin's cheeks. Genuine tears—not of fear, but relief.

Relief?

rrin bit his lip, then rasped, "You… you weren't killed?"

The boy flinched, his lips quivering, tears streaking his face.

"You saved us," he whispered. "You brought light!"

rrin blinked. "I brought light?" He muttered, vision still blurred by the blinding glow. It seed to stem from the lamp, but they weren't ant to shine so brilliantly. So how? Did he truly bring light? How?

The one who will never die… The words echoed in his mind, but he pushed them aside, focusing instead on the boy above him. "I want to stand." His voice was surprisingly strong, despite the unbearable pain. The boy hesitated, then wiped his tears away with the sa dirtied rag. He seed unfazed by the filth. Strange.

He grabbed rrin by the arms, and pain surged as he did so. His skin felt like rough sand, scraping against an open wound. Agonizing, surely, but rrin could not focus on it now. He needed to see. He needed to witness the outco of what he had done. What awaited him? Pain, death, horror? Or maybe… sothing else. Sothing beautiful.

rrin felt weak in the face of fear, but strength ca. From the boy, perhaps, but it arrived nonetheless. Holding him was hope—hope for a future, the possibility of his own redemption. He had saved this one. Then maybe, just maybe, he could save others.

He was lifted from the ground, the white light slowly fading from his vision.

"Ah!" Tears stread down rrin's face.

He was surrounded—not by death, failure, or suffering, but by life… love, joy, and faith. They lived, encircling him in numbers beyond asure. Was this truly the number he had saved? Hundreds? Perhaps thousands. n and won, all gazing at him—not with emptiness, but with passion, longing… serenity.

You did it!

rrin turned to the boy supporting him. He still wept, his eyes red from the aftermath, but more than that, he smiled. He radiated joy.

"What is your na?" rrin had to know. Yes, there were many he could ask, but he chose this one. The one who had helped him see this glory. This wealth. His na was the one rrin wished to hear.

And the boy seed right for the question.

He smiled through his tears and spoke softly, his voice light and warm. "My na is Moeash."

"Moeash…" rrin looked at him, his smile unguarded. "Thank you." Tears slipped into his mouth, salty on his tongue. His voice cracked. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

Moeash smiled warmly. "No, thank you. Thank you, son of light."