CHAPTER 84
Azren’s lips parted, but no words came out. His eyes, wide with disbelief, trembled as if his entire body couldn’t keep up with what he was seeing.
She was awake.
Her golden eyes—dull from slumber but no less radiant—were staring right at him.
It’s not a dream nor an illusion. Sorayael was back.
His voice caught in his throat. A sob that didn’t know if it should sound happy or broken. He didn’t care. He knelt beside her, trembling fingers brushing the silver strands from her face. Her skin was warm. Too warm.
He opened his mouth, finally able to breathe again—
But Sorayael squinted, brow furrowing.
That did it.
Azren choked on a laugh and let the tears fall freely. “You were dead. Almost. Of course I did, you absolute menace.”
‘pereng shere’
Sorayael groaned softly and tilted her head. “You’re the menace. Who lets someone die and doesn’t clean the ceiling? I was floating around watching you forget the corners.”
A weak chuckle slipped out of him. “You saw that, huh?”
She didn’t answer. Just stared at him, as though trying to make sense of the moment. Her chest rose, slow, deliberate.
A beat passed between them.
Then Sorayael’s brow furrowed again. “Wait. How long was I out?”
Sorayael blinked. “…A month?! You let me sleep for a month?! What the hell kind of beauty sleep is that—”
Before she could sit up, her body wobbled and collapsed back into the pillows.
Her strength hadn’t fully returned. She leaned into his chest unintentionally, heart pounding as she realized how close they were.
He didn’t move and just held her there. For a moment, they stayed like that.
The silence wrapped around them, comforting and real.
Then Sorayael muttered, eyes half-lidded again. “…You smell like guilt and peach-scented wipes.”
Azren exhaled a shaky breath, pressing his forehead gently to hers. “And you smell like death and sass. So I guess we’re even.”
And for once, after everything—
They allowed themselves a small smile.
Meanwhile outside the room…
Deimon was pacing like a madman. Kieran was glaring at the wall. Celene was muttering “she has to wake up,” while Aeria just sat in the shadows, eyes distant but hopeful.
The door creaked open.
Azren stepped out with bloodshot eyes and trembling lips—but there was something different now. A spark. A breath of life.
For a moment, no one moved.
Celene gasped, hand flying to her mouth as tears instantly spilled down her cheeks.
Ravelia’s usually composed face cracked, disbelief breaking through. “She’s..?”
Zarethian was the first to move. He dropped the enchanted blade he’d been holding for hours without realizing, and it clattered to the floor. “She’s alive?” he whispered.
Krios who had barely eaten or slept—pushed himself off the wall with wide, golden eyes. “She’s… really…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. He just ran.
Celene followed with Ravelia on her heels. Deimon muttered something under his breath and dragged Zacchaeus, Kieran, and Valen with him.
The moment the door opened, a flood of energy burst into the room.
Celene burst in first and nearly knocked over a vase. “SORAYAEL!”
Inside the room, Sorayael blinked as the chaos entered.
Ravelia stepped in, tears forming in her eyes but her voice cold as ever. “You took your damn time.”
Deimon followed and leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Had us preparing a burial speech, y’know. I had a whole poem. It was dramatic.”
Everyone laughed. Even through tears.
Krios skidded in next and froze at the sight of her. He didn’t speak. He just ran to her side and grabbed her hand with both of his.
Then came the heavier steps.
Grand Duke Zerathiel arrived, flanked by his guards, but he raised a hand to stop them at the threshold. His weathered face had more lines now, drawn by the weight of loss and war. But in his eyes was a flicker of something rare—
Peace.
He stepped in slowly. Everyone moved aside instinctively, making way for him.
She turned her head. “Grand Duke.”
Then he did something none of them expected.
He placed a hand over her forehead… and bowed his head.
Sorayael’s golden eyes shimmered. “I’m not done yet, Duke. But thank you... for believing in me.”
Xiaven finally entered the room. He nodded toward Sorayael. “The Constellations trembled when you fell. Now… they should fear what you will become.”
Silence covered the room for a while before Deimon spoke to break it.
Deimon arms crossed but clearly relieved. “You could’ve warned us you’d sleep for a month. I nearly shaved my head from stress.”
Valen followed, visibly shaken, eyes rimmed with red. “I-I prepared flowers. But they died. Like… twice.”
Zacchaeus lingered near the door, head low but voice sincere. “I prayed when I never really do praying.”
Sorayael blinked slowly. “You guys are weird. But thank you.”
Then, the last one stepped inside.
Lyrenna.
She said nothing. Simply approached her… then leaned down and rested her forehead against Sorayael’s.
The warmth of her voice, though hoarse, was enough to bring tears to everyone’s eyes—except she didn’t notice the way some avoided saying who wasn’t present.
She hadn’t asked yet. She hadn’t noticed yet.
And no one had the heart to be the first to break that final piece of her world.
Tonight, they’d give her peace.
Just for a little while longer.
As the warmth of reunion filled the room, Sorayael leaned back slightly against the pillows, her fingers still laced around Krios.
She looked around at each of them, registering their faces. A faint line formed between her brows.
Everyone stilled again.
Deimon, leaning near the window, was the one to answer.
There was a long pause. Before Sorayael spoke.
Azren choked on his laugh. Krios burst out. Deimon cracked the faintest grin. Lyrenna covered her mouth, trying to suppress the snort that nearly escaped. Even the other heirs broke in their laughs.
Moments later, Reinhold came rushing in—his boots muddy from the square, a loose scarf flapping at his side. His hair was windblown, and his face pale from sleepless nights.
And when he saw Sorayael upright in bed, eyes golden and clear—
Then his knees buckled, and tears rolled freely down his cheeks. “You’re awake,” he breathed, voice cracking.
Sorayael stared at him, wide-eyed. Then she palmed her face and groaned. “Oh, Ancients... Reinhold, it’s not that deep—”
Reinhold burst into tears even more.
The room broke into laughter.
Even Reinhold laughed through his tears, and the tension that had built for days finally cracked open into something warm.
Everyone followed, slowly filing out of the room, giving her time to breathe.
............
Night fell and the room was quiet now.
The stars shimmered faintly outside the window. Sorayael lay curled slightly to the side, arms folded over her chest, as if trying to piece together everything that had happened.
The people they lost.
The things they had to do.
The book. The void. The sword. The Emperor.
Her brows furrowed.
And amidst all that… her heart. It still ached. A soft, subtle throb like a quiet knock in the dark.
The morning came brightly and full of distant hammering and the scent of lumber and soil being turned.
Her friends arrived again—Zacchaeus with a half-eaten bread roll, Valen carrying new robes, Zarethian sharp-eyed but quiet, Krios sitting by her like always.
They filled the room with familiar bickering and soft laughter.
Just as the heaviness of Azren’s words began to settle, the door suddenly burst open.
Three very distinct voices rang in unison, followed by the loud shuffle of hurried footsteps.
Ravelia was the first to march in, eyes wide, hair windswept, and clearly out of breath. “Do not even think about dying again, you overdramatic brat!”
Right behind her, Celene stepped in, arms carefully carrying a small tray of mana-infused teas, towels, and salves. “Honestly, Rav, that’s not how we greet someone who just returned from the dead.”
And trailing behind both of them was Kieran, burdened with a stack of books, rolled-up scrolls, and a blanket that looked suspiciously familiar.
“I told them not to sprint through the corridor,” he muttered, adjusting his grip as a scroll tried to escape.
“But no one ever listens to the responsible one.”
Sorayael blinked, stunned. “You’re all here?”
Sorayael gave a raspy laugh. “Still the same Rav, huh?”
Celene handed Sorayael a cup of the warm tea. “Sip it slowly. Don’t argue.”
For a moment, laughter and warmth bloomed in the room, like the ghost of their old Academy days.
But as soon as that moment passed… an unspoken weight returned.
Sorayael’s gaze shifted between them. The laughter dulled on her lips.
The warmth that once hugged the room dimmed.
Azren stepped forward and knelt beside her once more.
‘Huh?’
The world slowed.
‘Gone? No.. Silas with his gentle smile, always worrying over her. Karsen with his steady presence, always a step behind but never absent.’
Her hand trembled.
The tea spilled onto the blanket.
Celene gently took the cup from her hand.
Kieran looked away.
Ravelia's lips parted like she wanted to say something—but nothing came.
No words could undo that loss.
No spell could reverse it.
Just the wind, whispering through the open window, brushing against their skin like the final touch of two souls who gave everything.
Without hesitation, they walked with her, step by step through the garden-turned-sanctuary where the two graves rested beneath blooming white bellflowers, the petals gently moving in the wind like whispers of souls not quite gone.
As they moved, people who saw Sorayael bowed their heads, some whispered words of thanks.
But Sorayael couldn't hear any of it. All she heard were echoes.
Silas’ voice, playful but worried.
And another time…
Silas had knelt in front of her, hands glowing softly as he healed the scratch on her hand—grumbling the whole time, but never leaving.
.
.
Karsen’s calm, grounded presence.
He once gave her a blade. “It’s not the sharpest, but I like how it balances. Figured you might too.”
“Are you sure?” she’d asked.
Karsen had simply nodded. “A blade feels better when it has meaning.”
And once.. in the middle of a cold night—
They had both stood on the Academy rooftop, stars overhead.
“Do you believe in destiny?” she’d asked.
Karsen didn’t reply right away. Then, softly—
“I believe in you. If that’s destiny, then sure.”
She clenched her fists.
When she arrived before their graves, she sank to her knees.
Everyone silently exchanged looks.
No one protested. They stepped back, allowing her the quiet she needed.
Sorayael sat in silence. Her golden eyes dimmed.
‘Why must I always be the one left behind?’
Her shoulders trembled as tears streamed down her face.
She hugged herself tightly. “Velthira... haha... we share the same pain, huh?” she murmured.
And almost like the sky understood, the rain began to fall—soft at first, then heavier. She didn’t move.
Her hair clung to her skin, her lips trembling from the cold, but she didn’t care.
Then a familiar voice came, “Hey…”
She didn’t turn. She knew who it was.
Azren stood behind her, a large umbrella in one hand. He gently moved to her side, raising it over her drenched figure.
Azren didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he slowly sat beside her on the wet ground, the umbrella barely covering them both.
He didn’t care if he got wet.
He just wanted her to know—he was there.