Ash turned around slowly, ready to run or scream or fight. But there was no forest behind him. Instead, he was sitting. His legs folded without him even noticing. He looked down, confused. The floor felt warm beneath him. Soft, almost. And when he looked up again, his heart skipped a beat.
He knew this place. The posters on the wall were the same. The beds. The shelves. The scattered food, everything was the same.
It was his room.
The same room he'd grown up in. Shared with Richie. The sunlight leaked through the thin curtains, painting soft golden lines on the floor. The carpet was old, a little torn near the corner where Richie once spilled glue and tried to rip it off for some dumb reason. The corner of the wall still had that small pencil mark, Ash's height written down when he was eleven.
Ash stood up slowly. His arms were shaky. But the room's warmth, the soft, lived-in smell of laundry, chips, and air freshener hit him harder than anything else.
There were two beds, just like before. His side was still covered with that worn blue blanket with cartoon stars on it. Folded badly, half slipping off the edge. On the edge of the mattress, Ash saw a sock. A single, smelly sock they used to argue about every morning. Ash told him to throw it away. Richie insisted it was his "lucky one."
He didn't even realize his eyes were wet until a tear rolled down and hit the side of his mouth. And then he heard that laugh. That stupid, absolutely ridiculous laugh.
Ash turned his head, heart thudding.
'Richie.'
Sitting cross-legged on the floor, right in front of the wall, facing the movie that was playing across it. The screen wasn't a TV, or a monitor, or even a projector—it was just the wall, but glowing like magic. Richie had spent almost 5 months of his salary to buy that.
He was laughing so hard his whole body bounced with it. His hand slapped the floor twice, and he wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. His red hairs was messy, sticking out at odd angles, his skin was a little brown just like their father's, and he got the grey eyes of their mother.
"Oh my god," Richie gasped between laughs. "Is this seriously how they made me talk? 'I'm not just fire, I'm the whole goddamn sun'? What the hell does that even mean?"
On the screen, an action scene played out. The actor playing Richie flew into the air, surrounded by flames, striking poses mid-fight while dramatic music blared behind him.
Richie snorted. "I swear, I've never moved like that in my life. What's he even doing with his arms?"
Ash felt his lip twitch. He didn't want to laugh. He didn't want to cry either. Instead, he took a small step forward.
Richie didn't notice. He was still talking to himself, mouth half-full of white chocolate. "I can't believe they got the scar on the wrong side. And look! That's not even my stance. Who stands like that in a fight? I look like I'm about to do ballet. I should sue their asses."
Ash sat down. Not too close. Not too far. The floor felt warmer near Richie. It was like sitting next to a fireplace after a cold rain.
He looked at Richie carefully. Every detail was right. The chipped nail on his thumb. The way his left eye always squinted a little more than the right when he smiled. The small mole on his jaw. Even the scar above his eyebrow, the one he got from falling off his bike when they were kids.
Too real.
Far too real for a dream.
But Ash knew it had to be. The creature or whatever that thing was in the forest must've used some kind of dream magic. This was all just in his head.
He'd been through stuff like this before. Too many times. Khonshu used to trap him in dreams like this.
He should be angry. Or trying to break out. But instead… he stayed. Because for just a few seconds, he didn't feel like a cursed soul. He felt like a brother again.
Richie let out a deep sigh and tossed the candy wrapper behind him. "They even made me taller," he muttered, shaking his head. "At least get the hair right."
On screen, the fake-Richie flexed dramatically as lightening exploded behind him. Ash let out a small sound. A half-laugh, half-sob. It slipped out before he could stop it.
Richie turned around, eyebrows raised. "You good, dude?"
Ash didn't answer. He just nodded. Barely.
Richie smiled again. "Man, whoever made this movie clearly never met me. I bet they never even asked you anything either. Typical."
The screen flashed again with explosions, and Richie scoffed. "Cool guys don't walk away from explosions. Cool guys don't cause explosions in the first place. I mean, come on."
He leaned back on his hands, staring up at the ceiling for a moment. The silence that followed wasn't heavy. It was quiet in a good way. Like the pause between songs on an old mixtape. Like two people just being together. No need to talk.
Ash wanted to freeze time. Right here. In this moment. Forget the sword. The monsters. The pain. The blood. The darkness. Being a hero. Everything.
His eyes stung again. A tear slipped down his cheek and landed on his lips. A faint salty flavor washed through his mouth.
And then suddenly he fell. And everything broke. Ash felt like the world itself had opened beneath his feet and swallowed him whole. He didn't scream. There was no time to. The fall was sudden and endless, like being pulled out of a dream into a nightmare.
It was dark, and there were sounds in that darkness too. Not soft sounds. Horrible ones. He heard buildings crumbling. He heard people praying, loud and desperate. Some of them were calling out to Gabriel.
He heard planes. He heard sirens, rising cries that made the world sound like it was dying. And he kept falling. Until suddenly, he hit the ground.
But weirdly, it didn't hurt. He expected pain, something sharp shooting up his spine, but instead there was just pressure. Like he had landed on something soft that pretended to be hard.
He lay there for a moment, breathing heavily, eyes wide open, staring at the sky. Or what used to be the sky. It was grey now. Smoke twisted up from different directions, mixing with the clouds, making it hard to tell where the air ended and the fire began. The sun was somewhere behind all that smoke, but he couldn't see it.
He sat up slowly. Everywhere he looked, things were broken. Roads were cracked open, buildings half-eaten by fire, cars flipped over like toys. A grocery store across the street was crushed under something massive, only the corner of its sign was still standing. He saw pieces of clothes, phones, backpacks, all scattered across the road like people just disappeared mid-step. Some places were still burning. Small fires crawled across rooftops and car hoods. And far off, maybe a mile or more, he saw one of the tall towers finally give up and collapse, sending more smoke and dust into the air like a sigh of defeat.
He looked around, and the more he saw, the worse it felt. There were people, real people, trapped in the debris. Some were crying out. Some were coughing, trying to pull themselves out with broken arms and torn shirts. Blood stained the sidewalks. A little girl sat beside a crushed cart, hugging a teddy bear that was half burnt. Her eyes were open wide, but she wasn't crying.
A little farther down, two paramedics dragged a man across the ground, his leg bent the wrong way, his face pale as paper. They didn't stop. They just kept pulling. And above all of this, cutting across the sky, were the planes.
They flew low, engines howling, carrying whoever they could save. Some were probably full of wounded heroes, others packed with civilians lucky enough to be pulled out in time. No one cheered. No one waved. The planes weren't here to give hope. They were here to escape.
And anyone who couldn't fly was left behind to walk.
Ash looked to his left. A man sat on the road with a woman in his lap. Her eyes were closed. Her hair was covered in ash. The man just sat there, stroking her face slowly, whispering something to her. Maybe he knew she was gone. Maybe he didn't. Either way, he wouldn't let go.
Ash tried to breathe but coughed. The smoke was thick, like it was climbing down into his lungs, spreading out, making him feel like he couldn't fully stand.
And then at some distance, he saw the Titans, standing like statues of war.
Their presence was so big it felt like the air was heavier near them. Just looking at them made Ash feel smaller than he ever had. Smaller than dust.
Richie stood alone on the ground, not doing anything. Not even fighting. Just... watching the sky.
And in front of him stood Dev. His shirt was ripped at the shoulder, blood running down his arm. His face looked pale and tired, and his chest rose and fell like he'd just run for hours.
And next to him were the only two Wargods that were left.
Valhalla stood with his sword digging into the dirt beside him. His face was hard to read, half-covered in ash and blood. His golden armor was cracked in places.
And beside her was Rin. Her torso was covered in old scars and new ones. She had no weapons left. Her hands were bare, fingers slightly curled like she still wanted to fight, but her eyes didn't have that same fire.