"Nothing worth doing ever is," Zafron replied, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "We should prepare for—"
"Wait," Calista interrupted, still reading from the journal. "There's more. 'The Tear blooms in four places where great transitions marked the fabric of existence. The Gardens are but one. Seek also the Fields of Last Light, the Ravine of Echoes, and the Whispering Cliffs.'"
They looked at each other, the realization settling over them like a heavy blanket.
"We'll have to split up," Aurelia said quietly. "Cover more ground."
Zafron wanted to argue, to say they should stick together, but he knew she was right. Ti was clearly running out—for Aphrodite, for the souls lost in limbo, maybe for all of them.
"I'll take the Twilight Gardens," Calista volunteered, closing the journal carefully. "I feel... drawn to them, sohow."
"The Fields of Last Light call to ," Thera said, her eyes distant. "I'll go north."
"The Ravine of Echoes," Aurelia nodded. "That's where I need to be."
"Which leaves with the Whispering Cliffs," Zafron concluded. He looked at each of his companions in turn, these strange, powerful won who had beco his allies in this bizarre adventure. "We et back here as soon as possible. And..." he hesitated, "be careful. We still don't know what's out there, or what we're truly capable of."
"Says the man who crossed between life and death," Thera teased, but her smile was gentle. "We'll be fine. Probably."
They gathered what supplies they could find—maps that seed to draw themselves as they watched, and weapons that felt both ancient and alive in their hands.
As they prepared to part ways, Zafron cast one last look at Aphrodite's floating form. The goddess who had set him on this path, who had created these won, who now lay helpless as her realm fell into chaos. Whatever ga she had been playing with him and his "system," whatever her true intentions had been, none of it mattered now.
All that mattered was fixing this, before it was too late.
"Well," he said, adjusting the pack on his shoulders, "at least this ti I'm not being sent to seduce anyone. Though knowing my luck, and considering whose temple this is..."
The won's laughter followed him out into the corridor, a mont of lightness before they each set off into the unknown depths of a broken limbo, searching for a miracle in the form of a flower that might not even exist anymore.
Behind them, Aphrodite's form continued to fade, her essence bleeding into the air like watercolors in rain.
The hunt for Aether's Tear had begun.
***
Zafron studied the map as he walked, though 'map' seed too simple a word for the strange parchnt in his hands. The paths appeared to draw themselves just steps ahead of him, fading behind like footprints in sand. At least it was better than wandering blindly through limbo.
'Sakura and Matilda,' he thought, his chest tightening. 'Are they okay? Do they even know I'm gone?' Ti moved differently here—he'd learned that much during his first visit. For all he knew, only seconds had passed in the mortal realm. Or maybe days. The uncertainty gnawed at him.
He attempted to open his status window for the hundredth ti since arriving. Nothing. The familiar blue interface that had dominated his life remained stubbornly absent.
"So system god you turned out to be, Eros," he muttered, kicking a loose stone. "Though I suppose I should be grateful. At least here I'm not getting quests like 'Seduce the Baker's Three Daughters' or 'Master the Art of Erotic Bread Making.'
The path ahead grew steeper, winding through pale, twisted trees that seed more like sculptures than living things. Their branches reached out like grasping fingers, casting shadows that moved independent of any light source.
'Focus,' he chided himself. 'Aphrodite's dying, limbo's broken, and you're reminiscing about magical bread?' But the jokes helped keep the creeping dread at bay. Everything about this place felt wrong, like walking through a painting that was slowly being erased.
The map pulsed, indicating he was nearing the Whispering Cliffs. The na made him uncomfortable—there shouldn't be any whispering in a realm of the dead. Not when all the souls were missing.
A sound caught his attention—soft at first, like rustling leaves, then growing more distinct. Footsteps. Many footsteps, moving with an unnatural rhythm.
Zafron ducked behind one of the twisted trees, pressing himself against its cold bark. The footsteps grew closer, accompanied now by sothing else: a low, humming drone that made his teeth ache.
They erged from the mists ahead—shapes that might once have been human. Dozens of them, moving with jerky, puppet-like motions. Their forms flickered like bad television reception, switching between solid and transparent. But it was their faces that made his blood run cold—blank, empty expanses of skin where features should be. But one thing stuck out though, though they had no face, these soulless creatures were all won.
'Well,' he thought, fighting down panic, 'found the missing souls. Great job, Zafron. Really stellar detective work.'
The soulless figures stopped moving. As one, their heads turned toward his hiding place.
"Oh, co on," Zafron whispered. "That's just excessive. You don't all have to—"
A chorus of whispers filled the air, countless voices speaking in discordant unison: "The bridge-crosser... The one who walks between... Give us your light..."
"Nope," Zafron said, backing away slowly. "Absolutely not. My light is staying right where it is, thank you very much."
The figures surged forward, their movents now quick and predatory. The whispers rose to a screech that set his nerves on edge.
As he turned to run, Zafron had one final, absurd thought: 'If I die here, I hope soone burns those books in Aphrodite's library. No one needs to know how much ti I spent reading about phoenix pleasuring.'
Then the dead were upon him, and there was no more ti for jokes.
Now would have been a good ti to use Hector's suit but just like his system, it didn't manifest here.
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