Elias’s glow pulsed again, his voice steadier now. The weight of Kikaru’s absence and Dot’s condition were still present, but this was sothing deeper. Focused. Personal.
"I want to confirm my father’s death on Cradle Planet," he said.
His words didn’t waver.
"Help do that."
He hovered forward slightly, the pressure of his form pushing outward again in the dim light of the chamber.
"If you can show that truth... I’ll retrieve the gem for you."
He hesitated—not from doubt, but from finality.
"And promise one thing in return."
His voice narrowed to a thread.
"Don’t use it to hurt others."The godless crucifix stepped forward.
Each movent was deliberate—asured, but without hesitation. The crimson mist curled higher with his advance, wrapping around his boots in slow, rising tendrils that clung like spirit-saturated smoke. The mist thickened as if the tower itself resisted his words before they could be spoken. Behind him, the crystalline bone walls trembled again, not from impact—but from anticipation. Their veins pulsed darker, louder, a chorus of whispers folding into one, as if the trapped voices of the Expanse strained to hear what ca next.
His voice rose—not in volu, but in gravity. That sa resonant hum vibrated through the room, bending the air like the draw of a gravitational pull.
"If you get the gem..." he said, the words falling like iron dropped in water, "I’ll have no reason to remain hidden in this cage of silence."
His silver eyes locked onto Elias, the reflection of the blue soulform flickering across both pupils like a mirrored lens.
"I will carry your soul—hand-walk it—across the divide. To Cradle Planet."
The phrase didn’t carry symbolism.
He ant it literally.
"You’ll see the truth with your own eyes. The aftermath. The terrain. The graves—if they exist. And if your father is sohow still among the living..."
He paused.
Not for drama.
But because even he didn’t fully believe it.
"You’ll know the unlikelihood of it yourself."
The mist trembled as he finished, a slow recoil moving through the floor, carried upward into the crimson threads that pulsed along the wall. The Expanse didn’t breathe—but in that mont, sothing inhaled.
Elias’s glow pulsed harder.
His voice cracked through the hum of the chamber—not from fear, but from the strain of holding hope too long.
"You said yourself... his soul hasn’t passed on."
The light around him twitched.
"I don’t know how you can tell that, or what kind of power that takes, but—"
His glow brightened, flickered again, then held. A soft shimr passed over his edges, like a fraying wire recharging.
"He’s always been the most amazing person I’ve ever known. I grew up thinking he was dead... but I still wanted to be him."
There was more in his tone now.
Conviction, yes.
But also grief that hadn’t healed—just calcified.
"So if he’s still out there... I have to know."
Before the ache behind the words could settle into silence, the godless crucifix lifted his hand.
Not to silence him—but to finalize.
His silver eyes narrowed, the faint smile fading completely from his face.
"It’s possible," he said, slowly, "that the Aegis Virus anchors the soul inside the host... until the decay completes."
The temperature in the room dropped slightly.
"Typically, that decay runs its course in two to three years. The soul breaks free once the tissue rot begins."
He stepped closer to the screen—past the dead reflection.
"But you said it’s been ten."
He didn’t blink.
"That opens the door to another outco... sothing we haven’t seen."
The red veins across his skin pulsed once more, brighter than before—almost defiant.
"Sothing unnatural. Improbable. But not impossible."
He exhaled, the breath like wind curling through fireless air.
"We have a deal, though."Elias’s glow pulsed again.
Not bright. Just sharp—like a flicker caught in hesitation.
His voice trembled with concern, cutting through the steady hum that filled the room like pressure behind glass.
"You didn’t answer ," he said.
His tone didn’t accuse. But it pressed.
"On harming others with the gem."
The weight in the words wasn’t just moral—it was personal. Kikaru’s absence. Dot’s silence. His father’s unknown fate. All of it pulsed inside that single question, his form flickering faintly at the edges from the effort of holding so much.
The godless crucifix tilted his head.
He didn’t speak right away.
His silver eyes narrowed, that faint smile returning—but this ti with less softness. It was a different kind of smile. Resigned. Honest. There was no calculation in it.
Just certainty.
"I will do whatever is needed," he said.
His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. The room shifted around it, as if the air itself had to account for the weight of what he was about to say.
"When I reclaim that gem, and if it truly is the one anchoring my friend..."
He took a step forward. The crimson mist followed.
"I will free him."
He let the statent hang—not to threaten, but to solidify its edges.
"I won’t aim to hurt others," he added.
And then—without pause:
"But if push cos to shove... I will strike anyone down as needed."
The crystalline walls responded before Elias could.
They trembled.
The veins flared deeper red. The bone crackled faintly, as if the tower itself shuddered at the clarity of his conviction.
Elias’s glow dimd slightly.
That cold sensation returned—pressure without impact, threat without motion. It slid across his edges like invisible frost, that sa breathless weight that told him, in the back of his being, that he was still at this creature’s rcy.
His form flickered.
He didn’t speak for a long mont. Then—
"I... I see," he said.Elias’s glow pulsed, his voice trembling with curiosity, cutting through the hum that pressed against the room’s silence.
"This place... right now," he said slowly. "I’ve heard stories. Bedti stuff. About people who look like you."
He hovered slightly forward, his flickering soulform reflecting faintly in the black screen behind them.
"Pale skin. Silver eyes. Cloaks that move like they’re alive. Are you a vampire, by chance?"
Reviews
All reviews (0)