49. Sin, Embodied
Sin, Embodied
In the pitch black of the Daesa Major far outside the Shields of Krystopolis, the Cycle of Fire churned its cauldron of heat, humidity, and suffering.
Beyond the insulation and safety of the Shields, the Endless Dark burned without restraint.
Beneath this heat— within it—lay the crumbled ruins of the First Retraction. The place once called the Mar District.
For centuries, this place had been a tomb.
Once the heart of trade and bustling craft in the gleaming city of Krystopolis, its remnants now lay dormant—dead—as testament to failing magic and unchecked ego.
In a time long forgotten, a young scholar named Draevan Sol had warned the Council that the Shields were stretched too thin.
But none had listened, and when the Shields had finally contracted beyond saving, all those living here had faced immediate demise.
One moment, people smiling and toiling their craft. People living their lives in peace despite enslavement to the Flaeme.
In the next, the Shields fell, and all those left outside them were turned to ash in the heat of the Cycle of Fire.
Only one spot remained untouched. A single temple built atop a shining mana spring.
Once, Krystopolis had called it the Aethermirror, and had worshipped it as a viewing glass into the truth of all.
But Doctrine had abandoned it once the Shields contracted.
Much like the rest of the Mar District, its existence was written into the epitaphs of history and abandoned.
Such was the way of Doctrine, some may have said.
The way of Elendria, where only the strongest things survived to see another dawn.
Only the mightiest earned a place as scars in the world's memory while the weak vanished into obscurity.
The city expected the Aethermirror to perish, just like everything outside the Shields.
But it had not.
It endured.
Much like the temple built atop it—crumbling, ruined, yet still standing strong.
Much like the Resh’Agar now walking into it.
Much like the woman in his arms.
The Aethermirror had forged a barrier around this place, protecting everything within.
Pushing out any intrusion. No living thing could have entered it, yet the Resh’Agar did.
He walked through the naturally occurring shield without missing a step, for natural law did not apply to him.
He’d known this place still stood only because he had once failed to protect it.
Failed to listen. Failed to heed the warning of the Shields.
As one who was bound to them, he should have known.
Should have sensed what was about to happen.
Yet, at that time, he’d still been running from his fate. Running from the madness that was Resh’Agar, lost in the bloodlust and war that were a natural part of who he was.
He stood now in the temple’s central core and remembered the child standing here centuries ago, begging him for help.
He’d brushed her off, left for war that century, and returned to death.
Only corpses remained where Priests had once kneeled.
Only ashes.
He walked through the rubble of the Mar district, disbelieving, guilt flaying open a heart that should have beat with apathy.
In the ruins of the temple, he knelt in the place where that little girl had made her home.
Ruined pieces of her dress remained, burned and singed.
And beneath, a single pair of emerald teardrop earrings lay askew.
And so, he took his sin from that pile of ash and wore it hence.
To ensure that he never would forget.
What it meant to fail.
What it meant to hold someone in his hands.
What it meant to listen.
Just as he now listened to his beloved’s shallow breath.
Rows of beds stood on the edge of this internal chamber.
He laid Auryn there. The Resh’Agar faded from his skin in rippling waves, the fire dimming in his eyes.
He let out a breath of azure steam, as though his body was freezing in the power’s absence.
Then, as he shed the monster’s skin, he knelt beside her as Kailorien.
He removed his armor.
His gauntlets.
Even his blade.
“Auryn,” he whispered, brushing her blood-matted hair from her brow. “Please. Come back to me.”
Time drifted. He didn’t know how long he sat beside her—only that the light outside had begun to fade, replaced with the amber shimmer of Polis veins just beneath the temple’s fractured floor.
The air was thick with dust and the scent of crushed stone.
And suddenly, as night fell, Auryn’s skin glowed.
It started at her shattered shoulder. A slow pulse of starlight beneath the muscle and cracked bone.
The mangled flesh—twisted, torn—knit back together, one fiber at a time, as if guided by invisible threads.
Her silver blood shimmered, catching in the glow.
It curled in place, drawn back into her veins as if summoned home.
He exhaled in awe.
But awe wasn’t enough.
Because she still hadn’t stirred.
“Auryn,” he said, brushing the back of his fingers along her cheek. “You’re healing. That’s good. That’s something.”
Her broken arm jerked as the bone shifted, realigned with a quiet snap. Kailorien winced on her behalf and placed a hand over the limb, murmuring a grounding word from one of the old tongues. A veil of blue mana sank from his palm to her skin, cooling the final swell of inflammation.
She didn’t flinch.
Didn’t sigh.
Didn’t cry out.
“Starlight,” he breathed, the word catching.
He kissed the knuckles of her right hand. The same hand she always used to steady her aim with her bow. It was warm.
“You survived it,” he whispered. “You walked the Path of Fire. You bore their weight.”
His voice broke.
“I should’ve been there.”
Not up on a balcony. Not watching. Beside her.
Kailorien bowed his head.
He let silence settle, his breath slowing until it matched hers.
“If you want me to pray,” he murmured, “I will.”
Another pause. Longer. A crack of rawness in his voice now.
“If you want me to beg—then I will do that too.”
He looked up again.
“Just wake.”
Night slipped to day again, and still Kailorien hadn’t moved from her side. Her shoulder had stopped twitching. The bleeding had long since ceased. The worst of the swelling had healed, and the seams of her body—once torn and jagged—were now stitched together with threads of silver light.
Yet she did not wake.
He wiped her brow. Held her hand like a prayer. Wrapped himself around her body to anchor her. To give her something solid when the rest of the world would slip away from her.
Near the dawn of the second day, a low sound escaped her lips.
Not a word.
Not even a breath.
A soft hum. A fragile noise, like the wings of a moth catching on glass.
Kailorien sat up. “Auryn?”
Her brows knit. Her lips parted, but no words came.
“Auryn'reh,” he whispered, brushing her hair back, careful not to startle her.
“…Kailorien…” she whispered, the word slurred and dreamy.
He cupped her cheek with trembling fingers.
She shifted, eyes cracking open just enough to catch the dim glow of his mana against her skin.
One slow blink.
Then another.
“…Your eyes…” she breathed. “Always like…the sky…”
Kailorien choked on the ache in his throat. “I’m here. You’re safe. You’re going to be alright.”
Her gaze drifted. She turned her face into his palm, a flicker of hurt crossing her features. “I fell, Kailorien. I failed.”
“Not yet, Auryn’reh,” he shook his head. “You are alive. You lit all of the flames as the Doctrine demanded. You will heal, and you will rise.”
"To what end?"
He balked, for he'd never heard her sound so resigned. So defeated.
"To take your place as Sokar," he replied. "Unchallenged."
She made a bitter sound. "They will always challenge me, whether I hit the target or miss it."
A moment as he considered it. Considered everything at stake before them both. At this turn on the path, there was no going back. No faltering.
"Then miss," he said.
Auryn gaze sharpened. "What?"
"Miss. Fail the Rite."
"And what then?" She frowned, trying to sit up straighter. He stopped her, kept her still. "Kailorien, what are you saying?"
"I am saying that if you do not wish to do the Rite, then don't go."
This time she did not allow his hands to stop her. She sat up, swayed, but held. "I must."
"Why must you? You do not need to be Sokar to stay by my side. I will find a way, Auryn'reh. I do not say it lightly. Many times, I have considered it."
She rested her hands on his shoulders. Smoothed one up and touched his cheek. "And what then? Will I be an ornament in the Resh'Agar's wing? One of those trinkets on your shelf?"
He kept his expression and his voice steady, neutral.
"You would want for nothing. I will cease construction on the Sokar's wing and build you a study in my wing instead.
You could spend your days reading rare tomes and studying magic, just as you do now—but without the burdens of the Holy Blood.
Without interruptions. Without poisoned glares following your every step.
" He nodded in promise. "No one will see you unless you wish it.
No one will speak to you unless you bid it so. "
Her eyes grew wide. Luminous. For several moments, they lived in the dream his words wove around them. Lingered there together in the Bond.
Her gaze misted.
She shook her head. Kissed Kenaz on his forehead.
"And who will fight to end Estar? Who will speak for those dying in the temples?" She stroked his hair. "Who will investigate the Shields…and free you from them?"
"I will," he said. No hesitation. No doubt.
The moisture in her eyes welled until a tear slipped down her cheek. "You cannot be everything, Kailorien. The Void must be impartial…"
She paused, as though remembering something. Her gaze hardened to stone, and when she spoke again, her voice no longer wavered.
"That is why I must attend the Rite. Why I must succeed. Because you need me. Not as a mouse hiding in your wing, but as your sacred consort. I am not the Void, and I hold no obligation to neutrality. I speak for those who must be heard. I fight for those who have no blade to wield."
"Then you will rise, my love," he said, smiling.
"I will," she nodded. "Four days hence, I will fire the arrow and seal my place at your side. As Sokar. As myself."