(THIS IS NOT HOW THE BOOK ENDS. IT’S JUST ME PLAYING WITH MY OWN EMOTIONS.)
That simple sentence really shouldn’t be crushing Rivrin’s world. But it was.
Because those words were a reality.
He remembered screaming, but no sound coming out. He remembered his heart breaking into pieces, but his body staying intact.
The memory flickered and ebbed. Coro’s fingers on his wrist. Elias’s stunned face, emerald eyes broken. Rhea screaming at Shynah to let her go back to him. Shynah holding her back with a strength she never had.
A piece of them had been left behind in those tunnels. They witnessed a part of their soul leaving them.
Alexos Cesarini. The hero. The boy who was strong. The boy who fought tooth and nail against the odds, against the world itself.
His eyes were stinging. He couldn’t move. He desperately wanted to transform— more than he ever wanted to in his life—
And he was still. He hated it.
He couldn’t. He wanted to stay in their dorm, rereading Alexos’s journal over and over. But he did. The ceremony was small— the five of them, and his uncle. The Scholarch, who towered above them, yet, he looked more human now than Rivrin could ever remember.
He wasn’t the powerful man he knew. This was a human— a broken human. No different from the rest of them.
He wondered how close they had actually been. Alexos had always wanted things to be different. He had told Rivrin that time and time again, like if he said it enough, the universe would take pity and turn back time.
Time was a construct. Just as everything else was.
The rain poured down on them, the sky howling in a misery that echoed that of Rivrin’s crying heart. It was like the gods themselves had gathered, and were mourning the loss of a soul that shone brighter than their stars.
Rivrin preferred it this way. He didn’t know where his tears ended and where the rain drops began.
No one would see him break.
It had been the night that they had discovered themselves— the night that Rivrin had no idea would be his last with him.
He should have. Happy endings don’t exist.
So he watched as the casket was lowered into the ground, sealing the fact that Alexos Cesarini was truly never coming back to him.
His blurry gaze landed on the ‘a’ tattooed into the wrist of his skin, the letter emblazoned by flames and the wings of an angel spreading behind them.
“My name is Rivrin Mangjol.”
“I’m Alexos. Alexos Cesarini.”
Rivrin’s hands trembled by his sides. His lip quivered. His already broken heart shattered into tiny fragments.
He’s gone. Spark Plug is gone. Alexos is gone.
He couldn’t break. Not now. Not now—
Elias touched his shoulder.
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