Silence.
Endless.
Total.
The world was gone.
No cities.
No oceans.
No stars.
Only fragments of what once was —
drifting like dust through a vast, broken void.
In the middle of that endless nothing…
someone breathed.
Slow.
Shallow.
Alive.
Barely.
Arin.
Her body was broken beyond recognition.
Her armor shattered into dust.
Her Light Sigil cracked and faded,
its last glow flickering weakly against the black.
Above her, pieces of reality floated:
a half-burnt tree branch.
a twisted sword.
a torn page of a book.
Ghosts of a dead world.
She coughed.
Blood.
Pain.
Memory.
For a long time,
she didn't move.
What was the point?
The world was dead.
The war was over.
There was nothing left to save.
And yet…
and yet…
somewhere deep inside her ruined chest,
a heartbeat.
A spark.
A refusal.
Slowly, painfully,
Arin sat up.
Her hand brushed the floating dust.
It disintegrated between her fingers.
There was no life here.
No time.
No gods.
No future.
And yet…
Arin looked around the void.
Looked at the endless black.
Looked at the silence.
And whispered:
"Is anyone left…?"
Her voice echoed strangely.
Not bouncing off walls.
Bouncing off memories.
A glimmer.
A flicker.
A shadow in the distance.
Her heart thudded once.
Weak.
Hopeful.
Terrified.
She forced her broken body forward,
dragging herself through the drifting remnants of lost worlds.
Each breath burned her lungs.
Each heartbeat cracked her ribs.
But she moved.
Because moving meant living.
Because living meant fighting.
Even if there was nothing left to fight for.
As she dragged herself closer…
she saw him.
Floating among the ruins.
Still.
Silent.
Asura.
Or what was left of him.
His body was broken.
Cracks ran through his markings.
His abyssal crown had fallen —
shattered into pieces scattered across the void.
And yet…
he breathed.
Barely.
Arin stared at him.
Memories flooded her mind.
The boy he was.
The king he became.
The dream they both destroyed.
She reached out a trembling hand.
Stopped inches from his chest.
"Should I save you…?"
"Or should I let you fade…?"
Her hand shook violently.
Because deep inside…
she didn't know the answer.
Not anymore.
The world was gone.
The war was over.
But dreams…
Dreams sometimes survived even death.
Arin whispered into the void:
"Maybe…
Maybe we can still build something.
Not from victory.
Not from power.
But from the ashes.
From the wings we broke.
From the ruins we bled for."
A single tear drifted into the darkness.
And the world, broken and silent,
waited for her choice.