Chapter Text
Nobody was there with him anymore.
He didn't understand why.
He was never the strongest. He was never the fastest. He was never the most powerful. He was never supposed to be the one who lasted. And yet, here he was—still breathing, still standing, surrounded by the ghosts of those he loved.
It wasn’t fair.
It wasn’t fair that he had to watch them fall one by one, their lives slipping through his fingers like sand, leaving behind nothing but echoes and empty spaces. It wasn’t fair that fate had left him alone, a lone survivor, condemned to bear the weight of every loss, every unspoken word, every missed chance.
And now, the last one—the very last one against all odds—was cradled in his trembling arms. Deucalion. The one person who had managed to hold on, just like him. The one who had endured, just like him. But even he was slipping away now, his breathing shallow, his once-mighty presence reduced to fragile mortality.
Why…
Why!
WHY!!
The emptiness in his chest was a gaping wound, a tear so deep it threatened to consume him whole. A scream tore from his throat, raw and unrestrained, shattering the silence of the forest.
A scream of loss.
A scream of agony.
A scream of a man cursed by fate to be the last one left behind.
A broken sob wrenched itself from his throat as he clutched Deucalion’s lifeless body. His fingers trembled, gripping the fabric of his clothes, refusing to let go—as if holding on could somehow defy death itself. But the body in his arms was already cooling, the last thread tying him to this world snapping before his very eyes.
Something inside him shattered.
Rage.
Grief.
Despair.
They all exploded at once, an unstoppable storm roaring through his veins. He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t bear it. The weight of loss pressed down on his chest, suffocating him, drowning him.
With a cry of fury, he ran.
His body was broken, wounds searing with pain, but he pushed forward, reckless and wild. Blood soaked his torn clothes, dripped from his fingertips, but he didn’t care. His feet pounded against the earth as he sprinted through the darkened forest, guided only by the pull of something ancient, something he had come to hate with every fiber of his being.
The Nemeton.
That cursed, wretched thing.
He stumbled into the clearing, breath ragged, chest heaving. And there it stood—twisted, looming, watching. The ancient stump, a remnant of something vast and powerful, pulsed with an unnatural presence, as if it were aware of his arrival. As if it were waiting for him.
A scream tore from his throat, raw and filled with anguish.
"Why?!" He staggered forward, fists clenched, tears burning hot trails down his face. "Why did you have to take everything from me?!"
His voice broke on the last word, but he didn’t stop.
"You took my friends, my family! You made me watch them die, one by one, while I—while I lived!" His hands slammed against the rough bark, fingers curling into fists as he pounded against it. "I was never supposed to be the last one! I wasn’t supposed to be alone!"
His body shook with grief, sobs wracking his frame, but he kept hitting the Nemeton, desperate for something—anything—to answer him. "Was it some sick joke? Some twisted punishment? I gave everything! I fought, I bled, and for what?! To be left with nothing?!"
Silence.
The wind whispered through the trees, but the Nemeton stood unmoving, unfeeling, just as it always had.
He let out a bitter laugh, one that held no humor, only raw, hollow pain. "I trusted you once. I thought you were something sacred, something powerful. But all you’ve ever done is take. Take and take and take, until there’s nothing left. Until I’m nothing."
His vision blurred, his throat burned, but he kept speaking, his words venomous, dripping with every ounce of sorrow buried in his soul. "I should have burned you when I had the chance. Ripped you from the earth and reduced you to ash. Maybe then—maybe then—I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be alone."
His knees buckled, and he collapsed against the stump, forehead pressing against the rough, ancient wood. His breath came in shuddering gasps, his body wracked with exhaustion, with grief so heavy it threatened to crush him entirely.
And then—
A voice.
It wasn’t a sound, not really. It didn’t come from the air around him, but from somewhere deeper, somewhere inside his mind. It seeped into his skull like a presence, ancient and knowing, its tone neither cruel nor kind.
"You seek answers, yet you do not see."
The words echoed, reverberating through him, threading into the very core of his being. The Nemeton’s voice was neither male nor female, neither young nor old. It simply was.
"You rage against fate, but fate has not abandoned you."
His breath hitched, body freezing as a chill ran down his spine.
"The path is not lost—only hidden. Would you walk it once more?"
A pulse of energy surged through the air, curling around him, coiling into his skin like tendrils of unseen force. The ground beneath him trembled. The forest itself seemed to hold its breath.
"What are you—" His words faltered, throat tightening, but he never got the chance to finish.
Darkness.
A crushing, all-consuming blackness swallowed him whole.
He felt himself falling, weightless, untethered. The cold sank into his bones, yet there was no pain, no sound, no sensation beyond the endless void. He tried to breathe, but there was no air. He tried to move, but there was no ground beneath him. It was as if he had been erased, as if he had never existed at all.
And then—
A flicker of warmth.
It started as a spark, small and fragile, nestled deep within his chest. Then it grew, spreading outward, wrapping around him like unseen hands pulling him forward, guiding him through the abyss. A presence, familiar yet unknowable, whispered in the back of his mind.
"Would you change it all?"
The words were soft, an invitation, a temptation. And for a moment, he hesitated.
Could he?
Would he?
The faces of those he had lost flashed before his eyes—smiling, laughing, alive. A world where they still existed, where he wasn’t the last one standing. Where he didn’t have to carry the burden of survival alone.
Yes.
His lips parted, but before the word could escape, the warmth around him erupted into blinding light.
And then—
Everything shattered.