His physical wounds were mostly closed, but his chest still heaved with those ragged, agonizing breaths.

  Dawn was only hours away. The golden draught would soon be ready to pull him back to reality. But somewhere deep in the suffocating void of his own mind, Eila's fractured consciousness was already running out of time.

  ____________

  Dawn broke, casting a pale, freezing light through the safehouse window. Riko was curled against the far wall, dead asleep in absolute exhaustion.

  The iron pot hissed violently as Orlon dropped a sprig of Mugwort into the boiling liquid. The mixture had shifted from its radiant golden hue to a thick, bruised blue.

  Orlon raised his trembling hands over the rim. With half his power permanently severed in the Apocrypha, his body could no longer force the ambient mana to obey on sheer will. He had to speak the oath. He had to plead with the timelines.

  "O Flame, bear witness," Orlon rasped, his voice brittle but unyielding in the quiet room. "My intent remains crystal, my spirit unbroken. I request access to the sacred truths hidden by thee. Bring forth thy grandeur to assist a fractured soul. I may lack the density of my past, but my loyalty never wavers. Allow me this manifestation, and my obedience shall be absolute."

  His age-spotted hands shook violently under the strain.

  "IGNIS MYTH: CAPTURA!"

  The heavy iron pot violently rattled. The flames beneath it flared into a blinding, blood-red flash before snapping back to a dull orange. A thick, metallic-smelling steam rolled over the rim.

  "It's done..." Orlon exhaled a ragged breath, collapsing back against the wooden wall. "The draught is complete."

  Orlon tipped the heavy iron cauldron with a shaking hand. The bruised blue liquid thickened as it hit the cold glass of the vial, darkening instantly into a stream of viscous, liquid obsidian.

  "You actually finished it?" Riko mumbled, blinking her emerald eyes open and pushing herself off the floor. She stared at the pitch-black glass. "Whoa... it looks like poison."

  Orlon slumped back onto his cot, waving her away. His strength was entirely spent. Riko snatched the warm vial, draped a heavy wool blanket over the Grand Mage, and hurried out of the room.

  Imara had collapsed onto the narrow sofa in the hall. She jolted upright the second the floorboards creaked.

  "Did he...?" Imara's voice cracked. She gripped the armrest, her knuckles stark white against the wood.

  Riko didn't say a word. She just raised her hand. The heavy, black sludge inside the vial caught the pale morning light.

  Lucio, Kian, and Kaito stepped out from the shadows of the kitchen, their faces drawn and exhausted. Together, the CINDERS gathered silently around the bed.

  Eila lay completely motionless. The deep, ragged rasp of his brittle breaths was the only sound left in the safehouse.

  Imara pressed her thumbs gently against Eila's jaw, parting his pale lips. Riko popped the cork on the glass.

  "Here you go, Eila..." Imara carefully tilted the vial. The viscous, pitch-black liquid slid past his teeth. "Please..."

  Eila swallowed reflexively. The moment the dark draught hit his throat, the erratic, ragged hitch in his chest vanished. The violent twitching in his eyelids ceased. His death grip on the heavy wool blankets finally went slack, his hands falling to his sides. He sank into a deep, motionless silence.

  __________

  The void swallowed him.

  Eila opened his eyes. He was lying in a field of white lilies. The pale petals swayed back and forth, dancing to a phantom rhythm. There was no wind. The sky above was a muted, suffocating grey.

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  A heavy, cloying scent filled his lungs. It smelled heavy. There was a sickening, phantom trace of old sap.

  Eila raised a trembling hand to his cheek. His fingertips came away wet.

  "Oh...?" He stared at the tears glistening on his skin. A crushing ache radiated from the center of his chest. "Why am I...?"

  He didn't know. The Paradox Debt had burned the memories and meanings away, leaving only the raw, bleeding emotion behind. He looked at the endless white flowers, and a sudden, inexplicable wave of grief hammered against his ribs. The lilies felt like gravestones.

  A dozen paces away, a figure stood in the sea of white.

  It was a girl. She wore a simple white dress, her long, dark-brown hair spilling down her back. She had her back turned to him, perfectly still amidst the swaying flowers.

  The girl slowly turned to face him. She was young, her eyes carrying a warmth that felt entirely out of place beneath the suffocating grey sky.

  "Hello, Eila." She offered a familiar smile.

  Eila remained completely silent. The air caught in his throat, a heavy knot of grief instantly crushing his windpipe.

  "You don't have to carry the sword here," she whispered, her bare feet stepping lightly through the white petals. "See? The blood washed off."

  Eila looked down. The heavy, blood stained Vanguard plate was gone. He was wearing a simple, worn grey shirt. The fabric scratched against his skin. It was the shirt he used to wear before... before what?

  He reached desperately for the memory, but the Paradox Debt violently snatched it away, leaving only a hollow, gnawing panic. He wanted to drop to his knees and scream at the sheer unfairness tearing at his mind, but his limbs felt impossibly heavy.

  "You know, that day..." The girl leaned closer.

  As she moved, the comforting scent of lavender soap was instantly overpowered by the sudden, sickening stench of old iron and wet pine sap.

  "I waited for you."

  Eila flinched. The words were soft, but they struck him with the force of a physical blow. It was an absolute, devastating accusation.

  "I knew you were far away," she continued, her smile fracturing into something painfully tragic. "I didn't cry. The wood was cold, and the axe didn't even hurt... but the crowd was so loud, Eila. It was so scary."

  The suffocating grey sky fractured. The endless field compressed, leaving Eila sitting in the dirt beneath the sprawling branches of a dead oak tree.

  "I made this for you," the girl said, holding out a freshly woven crown of white lilies. "Do you like them, ...?"

  Her lips kept moving, but the sound was violently deleted from the air. A sharp, jagged spike of static pierced Eila's skull. The Paradox Debt was actively consuming the memory..

  He suddenly felt the delicate weight of the lily crown resting on his head.

  The girl stepped closer, offering him a single, pristine white flower. Eila reached out. The moment his bare fingers brushed the soft petal, it violently hardened. A heavy broadsword dropped into his hands. At the exact same second, the crushing weight of his blood-caked Vanguard armor materialized back onto his shoulders, driving his knees into the dirt.

  Eila stared at the cold steel in his hands. His lungs burned. The hollow ache in his chest finally broke through his paralysis.

  "But..." Eila's tongue felt like lead. "Who are you?"

  The girl skipped backward, twirling in the dead grass. A few white petals drifted upward into the wind.

  "Just an anchor of the past," she said, her voice echoing with tragic, profound warmth. She tucked a strand of dark-brown hair behind her ear, her eyes completely devoid of fear. "But you have a new one now, don't you? Keep her safe."

  Her smile froze.

  A razor-thin line of bright crimson violently split across her throat. The sickening sound of wet silk tearing echoed beneath the dead oak. Her eyes rolled backward into her skull, turning a blank, horrific white.

  The head toppled off her shoulders, hitting Eila's armored lap with a heavy, wet clunk.

  Eila couldn't breathe. The pristine white lilies surrounding them instantly blistered. The petals withered into a diseased pink, then a violent, arterial red, before melting entirely into a thick, bubbling maroon sludge. The stench of old iron and rotting sap choked the air as the world dissolved, plunging Eila into an absolute, suffocating void.

  Eila collapsed forward, his armored arms desperately clutching the severed head against his chest. He opened his mouth to scream, but the air was entirely gone.

  Who was she? The Paradox Debt violently scrambled his brain, refusing to yield the answer. He was weeping over a stranger, his chest physically tearing itself apart for a ghost he couldn't even name.

  The bubbling, maroon sludge of the rotted lilies surged upward, swallowing him whole.

  When Eila opened his eyes again, the blood was gone. The heavy steel plate had vanished, replaced by the weightless, chilling drape of pristine white robes. The dead oak tree and the girl were completely erased. He was adrift in an absolute, soundless void.

  He slowly turned around.

  A pair of glowing white eyes pierced the absolute dark. The irises were completely absent, replaced by the terrifying, familiar pitch-black singularity of the Ashen Veil.

  A figure stepped out from the nothingness.

  He had long, untamed hair and the rough shadow of a beard, his posture completely relaxed despite the crushing gravity of the void. The sharp, hollowed-out features were unmistakable.

  It was Eila.

  The older, apathetic reflection tilted its head, looking at the weeping boy with absolute, crushing indifference.

  He stood right in front of him.