The soft rustle of parchment was the only sound.
Perseus sat hunched at the long wooden table, bathed in the flickering candlelight of the Temple's scriptorium. Ancient scrolls were spread before him like old wounds — faded ink, cracked vellum, and histories that refused to mean anything anymore. He tried to read. Rites. Laws. Doctrines. They passed through him like mist.
Outside, the moon cast a cold light through the stained-glass windows, bathing the tiled floor in fractured hues. Inside, the acolytes moved like ghosts — serene, reverent, unreadable.
He was not serene.
He pressed the heel of his hand against his brow, breath caught somewhere between a sigh and a growl.
He had believed in this place once. In its rituals. Its order. The discipline. The clarity. He'd embraced the weight of obedience and told himself it was peace.
Especially after Nyxia vanished.
She had been everything this life wasn't — wild, sharp, untamed. He'd grieved her absence and called it healing. He'd told himself that duty was better than desire. That prayer was stronger than memory.
But now…
Now she was back. And she was not his.
He could still hear her laugh sometimes, unbidden. It echoed somewhere behind his ribs — bright, defiant, free. That version of her… it had never belonged here. She belonged to shadow, to heat, to broken rules and bleeding skies.
And now she was living.
With others.
Not with him.
An acolyte approached silently and placed a new scroll beside him with a reverent nod.
Perseus didn't look. His gaze drifted to the window instead — to the stars beyond the glass.
This life had once felt like a calling.
Now it felt like a cage.
Years Ago — Sholazar Basin
The rain had just stopped.
The jungle glistened with steam and sound — birds calling, leaves dripping, something unseen scurrying across wet stone. The scent of damp soil and wild blossoms thickened the air. On a moss-covered ledge overlooking a glade, two figures rested in uneasy silence.
Nyxia dangled her feet over the edge, barefoot and ragged. Her hair — white, streaked with grime — clung to her neck in wet tangles. She was bruised, scratched, and grinning like she didn't care. The jungle had taken its toll, but it hadn't broken her. It never did.
Beside her sat Perseus, his armor dulled by the rain but still glowing faintly with the Light. His crystalline horns gleamed in the overcast shimmer. His hammer was grounded beside him, his shield resting against his back like a silent promise.
She glanced sideways. "You're glowing again."
"It's not optional," he muttered. "Divine side effect."
"Sounds exhausting."
"Only when you're nearby."
She grinned. "You flirting with me, shiny?"
He looked at her. Not a smirk. Not a warning. Something in between. "Would it work?"
She didn't answer — not in words. But the curl of her lips said everything.
Loque'nahak prowled into view below, silent as mist, luminous as moonlight. He settled into the ferns, eyes glowing. Watching. Waiting.
Nyxia lowered her voice. "You think he knows?"
"Knows what?"
"That we're… meant." She tilted her head. "To meet. To fight. To… burn something down, maybe."
Perseus folded his arms. "You think fate cares about any of that?"
"You're the immortal," she said. "You tell me."
He studied her — the chaos and courage stitched into every scar. The wildness that both threatened and enchanted him.
"I think fate doesn't care," he said softly. "But we still get to choose."
She laughed — not mocking. Honest. Surprised. "Spoken like a man who's never run from anything."
"You'd be wrong about that."
The quiet that followed wasn't awkward. It was heavy with unspoken things.
Then she stood. "We should move. Loque won't wait."
But before she turned, his hand closed gently around her wrist.
"You don't have to do this alone."
She stilled.
"I am alone," she said. "You just… distract me from noticing."
He rose to meet her. "Then let me be your distraction a little longer."
Their eyes met — Light and shadow, old wounds and new hope. And for one breathless heartbeat, the world stilled.
She stepped into him, resting her forehead against his chest. His armor was warm. Solid. Safe.
Loque remained below, still watching. Unmoving.
The silence swelled. Not with danger — but with choice.
She lay back beside a rain-fed pool, hair fanned out over moss like silver threads. "Would you have followed me," she asked, "if I ran farther?"
"Maybe."
"Liar."
"I would've followed you into the abyss," he admitted. "Still might."
She didn't reply.
She didn't have to.
Present – The Temple of Light
The scroll in front of him bled into nonsense. The script curled like smoke, divine insight reduced to decorative ink. Perseus's vision blurred. He blinked and leaned back, staring at the high arches and golden mosaics like they were prison bars.
The Light that once warmed him now pressed cold against his ribs.
Around him, the other acolytes whispered and wrote. None looked at him.
He thought only of bare feet in the jungle. Of white hair tangled in rain. Of her laugh — fierce, reckless, alive.
"Master Perseus?" came a crisp voice from the hallway.
He didn't answer at first.
The robed advisor stepped into the chamber. "The midday review begins shortly. You are expected—"
"I'm not coming."
A pause. "Sir, the high masters—"
Perseus rose. The bench scraped sharply. The room flinched.
"I said no."
He didn't wait for a response. He stormed past the stunned acolytes, boots ringing on the stone floor, his hammer clinking heavily at his side.
His Chambers – Moments Later
The door slammed hard enough to shake the walls.
He paced the small stone room — once, twice — then dropped heavily onto the edge of his bed.
The Light still hummed from the glowcrystals, but he didn't feel it.
He pulled open the drawer beside him and took out Boo's letter — a crumpled mess of bad handwriting and worse spelling, still stained with beer or blood or both.
He read it again.
But it wasn't her voice that haunted him now.
It was Nyxia.
Alive, laughing, in motion. Out there in the world while he sat here memorizing dead men's prayers.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
It had been easier when she was gone. Easier when he could fold her into memory and pretend she'd never belonged to anything but the past.
But now…
Now she was living without him.
And he was dying by degrees in a sanctified cage.
He looked at the candle on the nightstand. The flame flickered.
He blew it out.
And left the room in darkness.