Chapter 44 - Syns of the Past, Part 2 (Patreon)

Over Half A Century Ago…

Edwin stood outside a small door. It was a part of the castle he never would have found without a guide. 

“The boy is here,” said a voice no Primordial would ever fail to recognize: Oberon Syn.

The latch clicked, and the door opened with a groan. A female guard stood in the doorway. She had cropped red hair and orange eyes, the same shade as Edwin’s. Though dressed in a sleek, form-fitting gown, her movements betrayed the weight of concealed knives. Black mana bands shimmered across her fingers, three on each. The sharpness of her presence was undeniable. She was no simple attendant—she was one of the Ancient One’s personal guard. A killer forged to perfection.

Beyond the door stretched a breathtaking garden, a hidden jewel. Its splendor clashed with the austere stone halls of the castle. Vibrant flowers spilled across beds in controlled chaos, their colors clashing yet harmonious. Trees arched overhead, some heavy with fruit, others with curling blossoms that perfumed the air. The low hum of insects drifted lazily, punctuated by the sudden flits of butterflies. Birds chattered among branches, as if this place were untouched by war or ambition. For a moment, Edwin almost forgot he was inside the fortress at all.

At the heart of the garden, beneath the shade of a peach tree, stood two men. One wore dark, severe clothing, antler-like horns crowning his head. The other, clad in a polished military uniform, bore hair streaked with gray and the bearing of a seasoned warrior. Both were tall, both brimming with mana reserves that pressed against Edwin’s senses like a tide.

The officer was Philiam Syn, Commander of the HellKnights and member of the Ethereal Council. His white eyes softened as they swept over the peach blossoms, reflecting a rare moment of reverence.

Beside him stood Oberon Syn—the Ancient One himself. Red eyes burned like embers as they fixed on Edwin. Power radiated from him, filling the air so thickly Edwin felt it cling to his skin, saturating his lungs. Standing so close to Oberon for the first time in his long service, Edwin finally understood what it meant to be swallowed whole by another’s presence.

“You’ve done well, Edwin,” Oberon said with a smile. “Many who share my last name do not boast even a tenth of the accomplishments you’ve earned. Many expect you to take my place someday.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Ancient One.” Edwin bowed his head reverently.

“Of course you would. Why would you accomplish so much if not for power?” rejected Oberon. He didn’t seem angry, though. Proud, mostly. “Your father made a good sacrifice. It outweighed the benefits of his continued existence.”

“I am grateful to hear that, my lord.”

“But enough of the accomplishments.” He gestured to Philiam and took a step back. “There is other business to attend to. Think of me as a mere observer.”

Philiam stepped before Edwin, and Edwin immediately dropped to one knee before him, dipping his head. 

“You have single-handedly reduced abductions in Arcadia to half their annual numbers,” said Philiam.

“If only it could be zero.”

“But it never will. Regardless, it’s a significant accomplishment that demonstrates the power and fluidity of Paradise and the HellKnights.” He opened up his codex, reached into its pages, and pulled out a sword. “It’s worthy of a promotion.

Edwin was already a Colonel. There were only two positions left. Commander and General. The General position technically resided with the Ancient One, leaving the Commander position as a delegated adjunct for Oberon Syn himself. Basically, what Philiam was imply meant—

Philiam’s tone grew quieter, more personal. “I am over three centuries old. I’ve searched for one worthy to succeed me for decades, and none have matched the standards I demanded. Until you. You have surpassed them. I intend to name you as my successor. I will resign as Commander and appoint you in my place until a formal ceremony enshrines it. What say you?”

“I’d be honored, sir.” Edwin bowed his head even deeper. 

“Then let us take the oath.” Philiam lifted his sword and tapped Edwin on one shoulder. 

In that secret garden, under blossoms and birdsong, with power pressing down from all sides, Edwin Syn became Commander of the HellKnights.

•

Edwin was hiding in a purposely emptied harbor home at one of the many ports surrounding Paradise. The capital city of Afterlife sat at the eastern tip of the land, making it a perfect midpoint for traveling between Arcadia, the Broken Bits, and the Human Continent. But the island was far too large for one city to take up the entire landmass. Multiple towns, all owned by powerful Primordial noble families, dotted the interior and coasts. 

Commander Edwin Syn was in one such town on the northern coast, named Solaratta. It was an agricultural settlement blessed with fertile fields stretching southward, but it also boasted an extensive port that absorbed overflow goods from the Broken Bits. The air smelled faintly of salt and tilled earth, a strange marriage of farmland and sea trade. 

Inside the dim, abandoned home, Edwin sat with four other Primordials, all wearing the black armor with red lining that marked them as HellKnights. Each figure carried his own weight of menace. Nafir, of average height with curved horns and black hair, sharpened a dagger casually. Petrov, the tallest and broadest, with cropped hair and a bristling beard, leaned on a wall like a fortress unto himself. Waylen, wiry and sharp-eyed with long blonde hair, kept his bow strung across his back. Sadonis, closest in build to Edwin, wore a rapier at his hip, his thick black hair shadowing a calm but ready gaze. All four bore violet eyes, while Edwin’s orange gaze marked him as distinct among them. 

“The ship should be here any minute,” Waylen murmured, peering out a grime-smudged window at the port. Night blanketed Solaratta, leaving only scattered lanterns and the dull gleam of moonlight across the waves. “The guards will inspect the ship when it docks. We’ll watch for anyone slipping out.”

“Seekers from Agias intend to infiltrate our shores,” Edwin said, his voice calm but carrying a weight that drew all eyes to him. He sat on a dusty barrel in the back of the room, posture steady, words precise. “The Holy King’s and Pope’s elite soldiers—the lapdogs of the Voiced, our sworn enemies.”

Petrov spat onto the dirt-streaked floorboards. “Bastards.”

“Paradise is an apt name for our homeland,” Edwin continued, nodding at Petrov’s sentiment. “We are isolated, free from the meddling of humans, making this a paradise for our kind and any Fey who dwell here. Yet isolation brings constant threat. We are always at war. This island is our fortress, and those yellow-eyed zealots would like nothing more than to end us, to seize our land, and to rewrite the laws of mana itself in our absence.” He dragged a hand across his face, his jaw firm. “But we won’t let them.”

The men stomped their feet three times in unison, the sound echoing like drums through the hollow house. 

“They’ve done enough harm to our people and to the world,” Edwin said after a pause. “The least they can do is come here and die. Relish this night, men. Stain your swords in blood until your steel is satisfied.”

“Movement at the docks,” Waylen called softly. 

In a blink, Edwin vanished from the floor and appeared atop the roof, propelled by the Warring style. His speed was inhuman, the leap quicker than an eye could register. The others followed close behind, though none could match his swiftness. Their mana reserves weren’t his equal. 

Below, low-ranking HellKnights stationed at Solaratta approached a lone merchant vessel that had just pulled in. They exchanged words with the captain and prepared to inspect the cargo. The sound of boots on wood and the distant creak of ropes floated upward with the night air. 

“No movement yet,” Waylen reported, crouched beside Edwin.

“Think they swam ashore early?” Nafir muttered. 

“Commander has other units stationed along the coast for that,” Sadonis reminded him. “Signal flares if they see anything.”

“Ah.”

“Pay attention in the debriefs,” Sadonis added flatly.

“Sorry.”

“Quiet,” Waylen hissed. He lifted a hand. “Back of the ship. Near the water. Look.”

Edwin narrowed his eyes. Sure enough, twelve black dots slid off the ship’s stern, vanishing beneath the surface. Without their vantage point, they would have missed it. 

“Would’ve been clever—if we didn’t already know they were coming,” Edwin muttered.

Suddenly, water erupted in tall jets as hidden Naiads stationed below struck. The intruders burst from the sea, sprinting across the water’s surface with mana fueling their steps. 

Edwin flicked his wrist. “Go.”

The four HellKnights lunged, shadows streaking across moonlit waves. Edwin followed, and within moments, they surrounded the twelve men. 

The intruders—humans, clad in black garb—stood tense, their marks glowing with mana, weapons drawn. Ten bore green eyes. One, fiery-haired with orange eyes, held a greatsword in a single hand, his three bands gleaming. He radiated confidence, unshaken by the odds. 

“Not much firepower,” Edwin remarked coldly. “Your masters must not value you Seekers very highly.”

“I am enough,” the orange-eyed man answered, his voice steady.

“You are not.” Edwin flicked his wrist again. “Handle the others. I’ll kill this one.”

The fighters scattered. Steel, earth, and fire clashed across the water as the groups fell into combat. Waves hissed and churned under the force. 

Edwin faced the lone orange-eyed man. “What do they call you, brat?”

“Gideon,” the human answered, his stance braced.

“May your death be painless, Gideon,” Edwin mocked.

Their blades clashed in an instant, sparks bursting. Water surged beneath their feet, mana colliding like lightning. 

“Warring Master?” Edwin asked between strikes. 

Gideon nodded. “And if I kill you, my eyes will change.”

“Do try.”

Gideon ripped a sheet from his codex, runes glowing across its surface.

Edwin’s lips curled. In a flash, he displaced himself, widening the distance.

BOOOOM! 

A deafening explosion tore across the waves, sending shards of steel skyward. One fragment buried deep into Edwin’s shoulder, hot blood streaking down his arm. He hissed but stood firm. 

“Runic Expert, eh?” Edwin chided.

“We call ourselves Writers,” Gideon corrected, lifting his sword again.

“Dull.”

Edwin raised his hand; Gideon mirrored. A torrent of flame, wide enough to engulf city blocks, roared from Edwin’s palm. A geyser of ocean water, whipped by Gideon’s will, surged upward to meet it. 

They collided. Steam blasted outward, a fog rolling thick across the battlefield. The sea heaved under the strain. 

Through the haze, Gideon lifted his sword—only to deflect a spinning blade hurled from nowhere. The steel shrieked as it met his weapon.

Behind him, Edwin burst from the fog, catching the thrown blade mid-air and driving it toward Gideon’s skull. 

If they had been equals, the fight might have continued. 

But they were not. 

Not even close.

The sword split Gideon from crown to groin, sliding effortlessly through flesh and armor before biting deep into the sea. Edwin slid the weapon back into his codex with clinical precision and walked past as Gideon’s body realized its death.

“You’re not the first Seeker I’ve killed,” Edwin said, his voice cold as the tide. Gideon’s body split apart, collapsing into the waves. “And you won’t be the last.”

A sudden surge of energy coiled in Edwin’s chest, searing upward into his skull. His eyes burned, as if molten fire consumed them, then released into a wave of strange bliss. He felt mana leaking from him, trailing down his face like tears. 

“All Seekers dispatched, Commander Syn,” Waylen reported, blood-soaked and breathing hard behind him.

Edwin turned. His men froze, their gazes locked on his face.

“My Lord… your eyes…” they whispered in awe. 

Edwin caught his reflection in the rippling, moonlit water below. Where once his gaze had shone orange, now two cold, gray eyes stared back.

•

Edwin stood before Philiam Syn’s estate with quiet envy, the sight pulling at something buried deep inside him. 

After surrendering his position as Commander of the HellKnights to Edwin, Philiam had turned all his focus to the Ethereal Council. That dual service, one foot in war and the other in politics, had left him wealthier than most Primordials could ever imagine. His estate sprawled across a floating island near Castle Elarindris, a land of sculpted gardens, lush orchards, and sweeping fields that shimmered with dew. Fountains poured into crystal basins, the sound mingling with the distant song of birds. Even the air carried an aura of age-old power, as though the stones themselves remembered centuries of conquest.

It was Edwin’s first time stepping onto this floating jewel, and the sight stirred a new desire in him—an ambition not of war or conquest, but of permanence. Legacy. Someday, he would possess an estate like that. Someday, he would stand atop a domain of his own and call it home, a monument to his immense success.

A servant approached, breaking his thoughts. She was a Theriad with a cropped light-brown bob and kind green eyes. Her long ears twitched despite her effort to remain still, and her cotton-like tail flicked with nervous energy behind her. Yet she carried herself with discipline, her bow deep and respectful. “Good morning, my Lord. Lord Philiam Syn will see you now.” She rose, smiling gently, and gestured him inside with one graceful hand.

The interior dazzled. Sunlight poured through tall windows framed by thin veils of silk. It scattered in molten beams across white marble floors polished to mirrors. Golden inlays gleamed along the archways, their edges worked into delicate Fey runes that hummed faintly with protective magic. The walls bore art from across Paradise—canvases alive with color, furniture carved from silverwood, draperies dyed in pigments so rare they seemed to shimmer as they caught the light. The air smelled faintly of honey, citrus, and fresh parchment. Every corner breathed vibrancy, as if the floating island drank nearer to the sun itself.

Edwin was guided into a broad parlor where the ceiling arched high, painted with constellations in crushed gemstones. Tall bookshelves lined the walls, filled with tomes bound in leather and Feysteel. Ornate lamps glowed with steady white light, casting no shadows. Two vast couches faced a veined marble table at the center, and nearly a dozen servants moved silently, arranging flowers or preparing tea with the precision of ritual. Their efficiency was so flawless that Edwin found himself momentarily reminded of soldiers at drill.

“Please, sit,” the servant said softly. “The Lord will be with you shortly.”

Edwin had scarcely lowered himself into the plush couch when the door opened, and Philiam swept into the room. He carried the air of authority lightly, yet it weighed on the space all the same. His hair, dark streaked with silver, caught the light like steel, and his posture held the precision of a man who had led armies for centuries. 

Behind him followed a Primordial woman of striking beauty. Her long black hair cascaded like ink across her back, her pale-gray eyes so like Edwin’s own that he felt the faintest jolt of recognition. The set of her shoulders spoke of elegance trained into habit, but the coolness in her gaze belonged to no one’s teaching.

“I trust I haven’t disrupted your duties, Lord Commander?” Philiam asked, his chuckle softening the gravity of his words.

“Not at all,” Edwin replied smoothly. “It is an honor to step into your home for the first time.”

“The honor is mine,” Philiam countered warmly. “You’ve accomplished more in under a century than I ever managed in three. I chose well.” He crossed the room and patted Edwin’s shoulder with the ease of a father proud of his son, his grip firm enough to remind Edwin of the strength beneath the courtesy.

“I agree,” Edwin said without hesitation.

Philiam grinned. “Cocky. Good. Earned.” He stepped aside and gestured with a sweep of his arm. “Commander Syn, my daughter, Melania.”

Melania’s presence silenced the room more effectively than any command. She wore an elegant gown of whites and pale blues, the fabric drawn at the waist before spilling to her knees like water. Its high collar framed her delicate face, while the sheen of the cloth emphasized her ivory skin. Yet it was her gray eyes that held the true power—they were cold, distant, and unwilling to yield. Her beauty was undeniable, but it was a beauty sharpened by resistance. Even her silence cut.

Edwin’s gaze locked on her, and something primal stirred within him. Desire. Not love, not affection—just the raw instinct to claim, like a hound spotting a prize it refused to release.

“My Lady,” Edwin said, bowing low with deliberate formality.

“My Lord.” Melania did not return the gesture. Her eyes lingered on him with disdain, as if he were not a guest but another stone wall keeping her imprisoned.

“Sit, both of you,” Philiam said firmly. He gestured to the couches. Melania moved to sit beside her father, but his hand waved her toward Edwin instead. “Over there.”

Reluctantly, Melania lowered herself beside Edwin, leaving enough space between them for three others. The gulf was intentional, a line drawn not in words but in silence.

“I would like you to marry my daughter,” Philiam said plainly, his tone brooking no debate.

“I accept,” Edwin answered at once, his voice clipped and certain. He had expected as much, and the confirmation only sealed what he already considered inevitable.

It was a calculated move. By marrying Melania, Edwin would tie himself directly into the heart of the Syn family, into the Ethereal Council itself. He would secure a legacy that would endure centuries. A perfect consolidation of power.

But it neglected a third voice.

Melania shot to her feet and stormed out, expressionless. Her footsteps cracked like a whip across the polished floor before the heavy door slammed shut behind her.

“She will recover,” Philiam said, waving off the act as if it were a passing breeze. Yet his eyes flickered with something more complicated—an unspoken recognition that he had forced her hand. “If fate hadn’t written this as her destiny, she would have been born a man.”

“To another family,” Edwin corrected, his lips curling faintly.

“Quite right. I would never allow her a life harder than necessary. She has her duty. Visit often, build a rapport. Take the time you need until she relents. But don’t make the mistake of falling in love.” Philliam’s expression sharpened like a blade. “That is poison.”

“Never,” Edwin assured him, his answer swift and absolute.

•

And so, Edwin spent the few days he had off between missions visiting Philiam’s estate to check on Melania. Each time, she ignored him or offered only the briefest words, her tone flat and her expression unreadable. Servants whispered that the Commander of the HellKnights came courting, but Melania gave them no gossip to savor.

On one such day, Edwin trailed her through the gardens, the air heavy with the scent of jasmine, lavender, and freshly trimmed roses. Birds sang in the trees, bees hummed between blossoms, and fountains trickled with silver streams. But Melania’s pace was brisk, her gown swishing as she tried to escape his presence. She did not slow when paths narrowed, forcing him to follow in silence.

“Three children,” Edwin called after her at last, his voice measured but resolute. “And I will give you your own estate. Two sons at least, so they may compete to be my heir.”

“How generous,” Melania said dryly, not looking back.

“I grow tired of these endless discussions, my Lady.” His tone carried irritation. More than once, he had imagined simply forcing her to comply, but political consequences stayed his hand.

Melania stopped abruptly and turned. For the first time, she spoke to him directly. “No children. We never interact. You take a mistress, and I’ll agree to claim whatever mongrel you sire. Use my name, my family, whatever you need. Just leave me in peace.”

“Compelling,” Edwin admitted, pausing to consider. “But there are too many faults with that plan.”

“And so, the talks stall once more.” She spun and marched away.

“They haven’t even begun yet, my Lady.”

“They may have just ended.”

Annoyed, Edwin surged forward, wind mana filling his legs. He cut her off, appearing in front of her in a rush of air. “Tell me why you act this way. Help me understand.”

Melania regarded him coldly, weighing her words as a hawk might weigh its prey. At last, she said, “I have never left this island.”

Edwin’s brow furrowed. “Never?”

“Never.”

“Why?”

“My father is very protective,” Melania said, her expression hardening. “From the moment I was born, he listed criteria I must meet to be fit for a son-in-law. That was my life’s cage.”

“He was thinking about your future.”

“He was thinking about his future and the future of people not even born yet when his daughter, living and breathing, was right in front of him.”

Edwin lost interest in the complaint but seized the spark of an idea. “Would you like to leave then? We can.”

Melania blinked, startled. “What?”

“Would you like to leave?” He extended a hand, his tone daring. “Right now.”

“ I-I don’t know…”

Edwin didn’t wait. He swept her into his arms.

“H-Hey!” Melania protested, her usually impassive face breaking into alarm. “Put me down!”

“No.” He carried her to the edge of the floating island. “We’ll go together.”

Before she could object, he leapt.

The wind roared past them, ripping at her gown and stinging her cheeks. Melania clutched at him in panic, her stomach lurching as the world dropped away. Though her gray eyes carried the potential of mana, her father had never permitted her to train. Her life’s purpose was only to marry, to extend his reach. She had always accepted her cage, even as she loathed it. Yet now, plummeting through the sky, she felt something utterly foreign. Freedom.

She saw the world from above—the jagged cliffs, the sparkling waves, the endless green beyond the shore, fields that rolled like a sea of grass, towns dotted with flickering lanterns, and the faint smoke of hearths rising in the distance.

And she loved it.

Fear arrived next, sharp and undeniable. The wind battered her ears, adrenaline coursed through her veins, and her survival instinct screamed. For a fleeting moment, she thought it would be better to die in freedom than live forever imprisoned.

Then they stopped, suspended in the open air. The silence of the high sky pressed against her ears, broken only by her own ragged breathing.

“What do you think?” Edwin asked calmly, as though they weren’t hanging over the world itself. “Anywhere you want to see first?”

Melania stared at him, stunned. Her father had told her Edwin was powerful, but she had never cared. He was just another captor. Yet in this moment, her breath caught. “The ocean,” she whispered.

“Ocean it is.”

He carried her to an abandoned shore, far from prying eyes. The beach stretched with white sand that glowed under the sun, and the water shimmered crystal blue. Waves crashed in a steady rhythm, spraying salt into the air. The smell of brine and kelp filled her lungs, and the cries of gulls echoed overhead. Fish darted like living shadows beneath the surface, and dolphins leapt and splashed beyond the breakers.

Melania ran ahead, the sand soft and warm between her toes. She dug her feet into it, laughing as she felt grains cling to her skin. She dipped her feet into the surf, laughing in pure delight as the cold shock of water rushed over her ankles. She splashed at the foam, sending sprays into the air, her gray eyes lit with joy. “It’s so nice!” she squealed. “So beautiful up close!”

“You truly never left the island?” Edwin asked, folding his arms. He found it hard to believe.

“Not once,” Melania said, shaking her head. “I didn’t think I ever would.”

“Ready to negotiate now?”

She pursed her lips, playful for the first time. “Give me a little longer to bask in my newfound freedom.”

Edwin sighed, collapsing into the sand. He stared at the sky, clouds drifting in slow procession. “Tell me when you’re done.”

“How very out of character,” Melania teased, crouching down to draw a line in the sand with her finger.

“You don’t know me.”

“I could say the same to you.”

Edwin frowned, but said nothing. The rhythm of the tide filled the silence between them.

He heard splashing. He heard laughter. He even heard his name called. But he drowned it all out with thoughts of war in Arcadia, of negotiations in the Broken Bits, of duties he could never escape. His shoulders grew heavy beneath invisible armor.

“Hey.” Melania’s shadow crossed him. She leaned over, her wet hair dripping onto his clothes. “You okay, big guy?”

Edwin’s jaw clenched before he forced a small nod. “I’ll manage.”

“Good. Then let’s go.” She beckoned him up with a grin, playful water still clinging to her hair. “Take me more places.”

“Where? And why?”

“A small town. I want to look around and eat.” She paused, smirking. “And because you want me to push three children out of my body.”

Edwin groaned but rose, brushing sand from his clothing. Without another word, he did as she asked.

•

Ten years passed.

They never did come to terms on marriage, but they were a long-lived species. Edwin was barely a century old, and Melania wasn’t even fifty yet. They had decades to decide what to do next, in terms of their relationship, as formal and contractual as it was.

Despite the unresolved expectations, they spent nearly all their time together. 

Wherever Edwin went on his rare days of rest, Melania was there—walking with him through the markets, sitting in silence by the shoreline, or reading alongside him in the library with books neither of them finished. They rarely spoke of affection, and when they did, their tones were cold and matter-of-fact. But in the space between words, they shared everything. Their companionship became routine, the familiarity of one another’s presence weaving them together like an invisible thread. To the world, they looked distant. To each other, they had become something closer than family.

They built habits without realizing it. They ate together at dusk, silent over plates of food. They walked the gardens late at night, listening only to the breeze stirring the leaves. They spoke of politics, of duties, of art and war—but never of themselves. Even so, in those wordless hours, they learned each other’s rhythms: Melania’s measured steps aligning with Edwin’s, Edwin’s dry remarks always met with her sharp retorts. They did not smile often, yet their closeness was undeniable, their bond carved out of monotony and presence.

One evening, Edwin returned to his estate to find Melania occupying a wing of his home. It had once been filled with furniture. Now, canvases of half-started art, palettes smeared with colors, and the pungent tang of oils and pigments littered the area. Stains of cobalt, ochre, and crimson marked the floorboards like a battlefield of her frustrations. Brushes leaned against the walls like abandoned soldiers, and jars of cloudy water reeked faintly of turpentine. The air carried a weight of obsession.

Melania sat in the middle of the room, staring out the window. The home had a perfect view of the ocean and the port. Massive vessels moved in and out of the harbor, transporting people and cargo alike. All the canvases were of the same scene, each abandoned halfway. The one before Melania at the time was no different.

“I can go make the ships stop if they’re ruining your art,” teased Edwin. He found the hobby entertaining. It added color to his return home.

“Could you?”

“Perhaps.”

Melania genuinely thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. “Too much work. I probably still wouldn’t be happy.”

Edwin entered the room and picked up one of the discarded paintings. The brushstrokes looked chaotic to him, smeared and half-abandoned, yet he could see she had labored over them. The faint smell of drying paint clung to the canvas. “What’s the issue?”

“It’s not expressing anything.”

“That’s a good thing.” Edwin turned to Melania. “If you could express something, you’d turn into a Synborn, and I’d have to kill you.”

“I don’t mean it like that.” Melania tapped her paintbrush against her current canvas, frustrated. “We still have selfish feelings. I just don’t know how to imprint what I feel about myself onto something else.”

“Again, a good thing.”

Melania didn’t respond.

Edwin stared at the remaining paintings, trying to discern what Melania was seeking. The brushstrokes seemed repetitive, but he noticed her persistence, the countless hours she must have poured into each attempt.

“Do you really think nothing of these?” Melania had been watching Edwin.

“What do you think?”

“That they’re trying to say something. I don’t know what, though.”

Edwin plucked at another one, moving closer to Melania. “That you have too much time on your hands.”

Melania flicked her paintbrush at Edwin, trying to stain him, but he deftly dodged the attempt. She frowned at her failure, a flicker of irritation in her otherwise stoic expression.

Edwin closed the gap between them until he was right in front of her. “Maybe you should rest for the day.”

“How sweet of you to care.”

He gave her a faint smile. “Rest doesn’t have to be wasted time. We can always continue working on an heir.”

“Ha ha.” Melania looked up at Edwin. “Maybe some other time.”

Edwin shrugged. “As you wish.”

Melania’s eyes narrowed.

“What?”

Melania looked at her painting for a moment. Her eyes lingered on the blues and whites. Then they drifted to the paint she hadn’t used. So many vibrant colors yet to touch the canvas. She turned back to Edwin, curiosity in her gaze.

Her head leaned upward.

Edwin flinched. “What are you doing?”

“Trying something,” she whispered.

Tentatively, their lips met. Melania held still, eyes half-shut, waiting for a spark that never came. To her, it felt like pressing her mouth against cold glass—hollow, motionless, sterile. She had hoped, foolishly, that this might awaken something in her, that the emptiness she carried could be filled if only she forced it. But there was nothing. Just the echo of expectation collapsing in on itself.

She pulled back, disappointed. “Never mind,” she murmured, already turning her head away.

Edwin, on the other hand, froze. The warmth of her lips lingered on his own, startling in its softness. He placed his hand over his mouth and stumbled a step back. His chest heaved with sudden heat, his cheeks glowing red, and his mind shook as if some hidden wall had shattered inside him.

An unbelievable wave of sensation rushed through him. The faint salt of her skin, the brush of her breath, the weight of years spent in each other’s company—all of it surged together. His ears rang, and the world seemed brighter, sharper. The silence between them roared with meaning. 

Suddenly, Melania was all he could think about. 

The woman who had shadowed his every quiet hour, who had sat with him in silence, who had tolerated his sarcasm and thrown it back without fear—she wasn’t just a companion. She was essential. Emotions he hadn’t even known he carried broke open like a flood. Love. Fear. Sadness. Lust. Every selfish feeling amplified and attached itself to her, coloring the gray world he once knew with overwhelming intensity.

He wanted to reach for her again, to cling to the feeling before it slipped away. His hands trembled, his breath uneven. For the first time in a century, his heart felt alive.

For him, that simple kiss was everything. It turned years of cold companionship into the spark of devotion, into a wound and a gift all at once.

He had emotions.

He was in love.

•

Edwin tried to kill himself many times after the realization, but his feelings for Melania always stopped him. He could not imagine life without her, yet he could not bring himself to accept death either. For the first time, he understood his father’s killers in a way he never thought possible. His life, his family, his very existence—all of it now fell under a new, terrifying lens that both thrilled and unsettled him. Each day became a battle against himself, a careful act of restraint where he forced his hands away from blades, poisons, or precipices, only to realize that the thought of her kept him anchored in this world.

Though Edwin felt love for Melania, he knew she held none for him. No matter what he did or said, she remained distant and cold like all other Primordials. She sought emotions, but they never found her. That was Edwin’s conclusion, and it gnawed at him endlessly. He loved her as much in silence as he did in her presence, building a bond out of one-sided devotion.

He bore those feelings for many years, silently, never allowing them to escape. They became demons he wrestled with in private, buried beneath layers of iron discipline. At night, when the halls were quiet and the world slept, he found himself staring into the dark, wondering if his heart would ever find peace.

Fortunately, his turmoil never touched his work. He learned to mask his private torment beneath a flawless exterior. He wore only composure and command. No one could guess at the storm inside him.

“We’ve been tracking a group of Seekers attempting to land on our shores,” Edwin reported before the Ethereal Council and Oberon the Ancient One. “We’ll intercept them long before they make contact with land.”

“Excellent,” Oberon said, his voice rolling through the grand chamber like thunder. The hall shimmered with silver lanterns and etched murals of Primordial victories, its vastness echoing with power. Even the air seemed to hold its breath under Oberon’s gaze. It was the same room where Edwin’s father, Agolte, had once been honored, and the memory pressed heavily on him. “You continue to prove your capabilities every day.”

“Thank you, Ancient One.” Edwin bowed. “That is all for my report.”

“Then we shall adjourn.” Oberon rose first, his towering presence filling the space before he left the chamber in silence. One by one, the other council members followed, their footsteps echoing like drumbeats as the great doors closed. Only Philiam remained behind, lingering in the half-light of the chamber.

“You seem concerned,” Edwin said, noting the stiffness in Philiam’s shoulders and the hesitation in his gaze.

“It feels as if we’re missing something,” Philiam admitted. “Their plan is too…”

“Stupid,” Edwin finished. “We’re already checking for other ships or a second assault team we may have overlooked.”

“And you didn’t relay that in the report?”

Edwin glanced toward the doors where Oberon had exited. “No need to burden the Ancient One with speculation. He has enough to consider. This is my responsibility.”

“Admirable,” Philiam remarked with a curt nod.

“Thank you.”

They began down the long corridor together. The torches flickered, their light chasing shadows across the polished stone. Philiam’s tone shifted. “How is my daughter?”

“She is well.”

“Children?”

“Not yet.”

“Work on that.”

“Yes, sir. Every chance I get.”

“Good.”

The hallway was unusually empty. No guards. The silence pressed in on them, and Edwin’s instincts sharpened. His generated a codex. He slipped his hand inside, searching for a weapon, unease tickling the back of his neck.

Shadows lunged from the darkness. Humans dressed in black surged forward with sudden, desperate ferocity, their movements sharp and reckless. Shouts echoed down the corridor, the clash of metal rang out, and the coppery tang of blood already hung in the air. Blades and short spears glinted in the torchlight, leather armor creaked as they rushed, eyes wide with grim resolve. Their boots thundered on the stone floor, a tide of hostility intent on swallowing them whole.

Steel hissed. In a blur, Edwin’s sword cleaved the attackers apart, their blood spattering against the walls in thick streaks. His gray eyes burned, and with the speed of a Warring Monarch, he was untouchable. He moved like a phantom, striking in a single heartbeat, his blade singing through the air. Screams barely formed before they were silenced, cut short as bodies collapsed to the ground with wet thuds.

“We have intruders,” Edwin said, already turning, his voice calm despite the chaos. He met Philiam’s eyes. “Help me put the castle on alert.”

Within minutes, the fortress was sealed. Patrols swept every corridor, alarm bells clanged through the night, and squads scoured the halls. The air was thick with the stench of blood and sweat, a testament to the violence that had erupted in the heart of their stronghold.

An hour later, fifteen Seekers from the Human Continent lay dead. The only survivor bit down on a hidden vial of poison before interrogation could begin, frothing at the mouth as life slipped away. His body twitched once, then stilled, leaving more questions than answers.

Edwin spent the following hours reassigning troops and coordinating with Castle Elarindris. He pushed soldiers into new positions, barked orders until his throat burned, and dispatched units to scour the city itself for hidden threats. He forced precision into every command, though his thoughts were anything but focused.

Through it all, his mind remained fixed on Melania. Every sword stroke, every command—beneath it all was a single image: her face. He imagined her cornered, dragged away, slain. The thoughts seared him, each more unbearable than the last. It took every shred of willpower not to abandon his duties and sprint home to lock her away where no hand could touch her. At one point, his fists trembled so violently that his nails dug into his palms, blood dripping between his fingers. The sting grounded him, a reminder that faltering meant failure.

At last, when his duties allowed, he burst through the doors of his estate. The restraint of years shattered. His heart pounded like a war drum, his lungs burned, and fear clawed at his throat. Every step through those halls echoed with desperation.

“Melania!” His shout tore through the silence, raw and desperate. “Melania, where are you?!”

He tore through the rooms, slamming doors open with reckless force, until he found her in her painting chamber. She stood in the center, brushes scattered at her feet, her expression unreadable yet somehow expectant.

Edwin didn’t speak. He crossed the room in three strides, seized her shoulders, and pulled her against him. Relief crashed over him like a tide breaking stone. He buried his face into her shoulder, his body trembling violently. Years of discipline splintered in an instant—the fear of losing her, the desperate relief of finding her safe, the wild, consuming love that had ruled his heart. He clutched her as though letting go meant death itself.

His mind raced even as his body shook. He thought of the halls filled with blood, the echoes of dying screams, and how easily she could die without him around. His throat constricted as though strangled by his own terror. The world could collapse around him, but if she was safe, he could still endure.

Melania’s body was rigid. After a pause, she returned the gesture mechanically, her hand patting his back once. “What happened?” she whispered, her voice steady, detached, unshaken.

For Edwin, it was everything. For her, it was nothing.

•

Edwin spent every waking minute of his life planning retaliatory strikes against the Human Continent. Breaching Castle Elandris had been the final straw. With its walls compromised, the defensive posture built on centuries of pride was gone forever, and with it the pretense that they were anything but aggressors now. His mind churned endlessly, strategies layered upon strategies, contingencies drawn and redrawn until the parchment bled with ink. Even in sleep, he dreamed of wars, and when he woke, he rose with blood still on his hands in thought if not in truth.

His duties kept him away from home, but at home, he worried constantly. The very thought of Melania being a potential casualty, in any way, because of him filled his body with an anger so wild it nearly unraveled his control. Edwin knew he would have burned the world down—even if it consumed him as well.

As he acted, as he thought, Edwin could feel the distance growing between them, though only he seemed to mind. Melania expected this from him, but he dreaded every second he was away from her. Days passed when she offered him no more than a word, a glance, a perfunctory nod. Her silence stretched like a wall between them, yet Edwin told himself that protecting her, even from afar, was worth whatever emptiness he had to endure.

But it didn’t matter.

If he could keep Melania safe, then the sacrifice was worth it—even if it meant they drifted into strangers once again. He would shoulder loneliness for eternity if it meant sparing her from a single wound.

Yet when he returned home, he noticed Melania had…changed.

There were smiles where there had never been smiles before. Quick, fleeting curves of the lips, soft lifts of her cheeks, hints of warmth where once there had only been cold indifference.

The mansion itself felt altered—furniture rearranged, new colors smeared across the walls, scents of unfamiliar flowers drifting through the corridors. Even the maids looked unsettled, whispering when they thought no one would hear. It was as though Melania had become someone new overnight, as though life had been breathed into her when he wasn’t looking.

At first, Edwin thought little of it. He wanted to believe that perhaps she was simply experimenting with art again, or that some rare humor had stirred within her.

Until—

In the dead of night, he came home. The staff were asleep. Dawn was still hours away. His silent steps echoed only in his own ears, hollow and sharp in the empty halls.

As he passed the corridor to his chambers, a faint light glimmered under the door of Melania’s painting room. It flickered, unsteady, as though caught between shadows and flame.

Curious, Edwin approached, slipping soundlessly inside, careful not to disturb her.

Inside, Melania stood at the window, her bare body reflected in the glass.

And she was not alone.

A man Edwin had never seen before held her in his arms. No horns, no tails, no wings. No gills or scales. Just a man—plain and unmistakably human. He, too, wore nothing. His head bent toward Melania with a reverence that chilled Edwin more than any blade.

Yet he held her not like property, not like a possession, but as an equal—steady, unflinching, tender. There was no fear in his stance, no calculation in his grip. Only care.

“Come with me,” the human whispered. His voice was gentle, almost reverent, low enough to seem like a prayer.

“I can’t,” whispered Melania. “But…I want to.”

Melania’s lips curved into a smile Edwin had never seen before. Her posture softened, shoulders no longer tense but loose with ease. The dim lamplight caught the curve of her mouth, gilding her expression. Not the cold politeness she offered him. Not the blank obedience she gave her father. This smile was soft. Alive. Radiant. Even the tone of her breath, a quiet exhale, carried warmth Edwin had never heard in her before. The air seemed to shift with it, the silence of the room breaking under something delicate and new.

That smile gutted Edwin more deeply than the implication of the words or that Melania had slept with a human under his roof. His first thought was that she was under duress, being held hostage. His hand itched toward his weapon, his body poised to strike. But then she looked into the human’s eyes, and he into hers.

In that moment, Edwin saw something unmistakable.

Love.

The love he had carried for her all these years now shone in her gaze—yet it was not for him. It was for this human.

The questions, the doubts, the endless concerns that had haunted Edwin’s mind for years melted away in a single, brutal instant. Despair hollowed him. His chest felt caved in, as though struck by a hammer. He wanted to vomit. He wanted to scream. He wanted to kill the man. His heart begged for violence even as his mind pleaded for restraint.

But he didn’t.

As much as he wanted to rage, he wanted Melania to be happy more.

She didn’t love him. She never would. And Edwin now knew the truth of love—what it meant, what it cost. It was the most precious and painful possession he had ever held. It had given him new eyes to cherish what mattered in life. And because he understood, he could not take it from her, not even if it destroyed him.

If Melania had found love in a human, he would endure it because he knew what it meant to feel love and not have it returned. He would never rob her of that gift, no matter the cost to himself.

All he did was stare. His hand trembled at his side, his throat locked against the howl building inside him. The room seemed to tilt, shadows bending as though the world itself mocked his pain.

To Edwin, it felt like days passed, though only seconds slipped by.

When the human bent down and kissed her, Edwin shut the door softly behind him. The latch clicked in the silence like a tolling bell, final and cruel.

His heart pulsed as though pierced through with a hundred knives. Every step down the hallway echoed hollow and slow, his boots dragging against the stone as if the weight in his chest anchored him to the earth. The corridor stretched endlessly, shadows swallowing him with each step, the silence pressing heavier than any battlefield’s roar. His breath shuddered in his lungs, ragged, as though the air itself refused him.

Slowly, he turned a corner and walked away, carrying the unbearable weight of love denied—but still unwilling to steal it from the one person who had taught him what it meant to live. He would bleed, he would ache, and he would endure, because her happiness mattered more than his survival. And so he walked into the dark, his footsteps fading like a requiem in the hollow halls of his home.

•

A month later, the human was still hiding on their estate. Edwin knew it, knew where he stayed, yet he did nothing. He could have dragged the man out into the light of day, could have ended him with a single swing of his sword, but he didn’t. Melania was happier. She showered everyone equally with affection—even Edwin. 

Where before she would have greeted him with a blank mask, she now smiled. That faint curve of her lips, meaningless to her, was everything to him. It was enough to keep him going, to fuel the fragile ember of emotion burning in his heart. He lived off that ember as a starving man lives off crumbs.

“The food’s divine,” said Melania. She sat across from Edwin at their dining table, dressed in a flowing evening gown that caught the lamplight like water. The chandelier above swayed faintly, scattering gold across her hair. For a moment, Edwin almost let himself believe the illusion that they were husband and wife, sharing an ordinary dinner without ghosts between them.

“That it is,” Edwin replied, forcing steadiness into his tone.

“We should save some for later,” she added lightly, her fork pausing midair. “Be a shame to waste something this good and throw it out.”

Edwin knew it was her way of setting aside food for the hidden human. The thought clawed at his chest, tearing like hooked wire, but he forced it down. If it made her happy, he would endure. “Whatever you wish.”

She speared a roasted potato with her fork, lifted it, and pointed it toward Edwin. “Would you like to go to the beach again?”

“Which one?” He already knew the answer, but wanted to hear her say it.

“The one you brought me to the first time I left my home,” she said, her eyes softening just enough to make his heart ache.

“If you’d like.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

“That’s—”

Her words died. Melania’s body lurched forward suddenly. She clamped a hand over her mouth, but bile forced its way out, splattering across the fine tablecloth in a violent spray. 

The dining hall froze. Forks halted in midair. Servants gasped, their faces blanching. The sound of her retching echoed far too loudly for a room that had moments before been full of laughter. The smell of bile and wine tainted the air, sharp and sour.

“Melania?” Edwin was already half out of his seat. His voice cracked, raw with fear, his hand gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles went white.

She wiped her mouth with trembling fingers, eyes wide, as though even she didn’t understand what had happened. The sleeve of her gown was stained, and her breath came shallow and quick.

Everyone knew.

Mana made sickness a rarity among their kind. Poison could be ruled out—her meals were tested three times. Which left only one possibility.

The servants broke into cheers, hands clasped together in delight. Joy spread like fire through the hall, their voices rising in a chorus that filled every corner. Some wept openly, others rushed to fetch wine for a toast. The sound was deafening.

But Edwin and Melania remained frozen.

Edwin’s heart thundered in his chest. If it is mine… he thought, desperate, clinging to the fragile thread of hope. If it is his… The thought finished itself, hollowing him out like a blade driven through his ribs, cold and merciless. His breathing grew uneven, his lips parting without words.

Melania lowered her gaze, unable to meet his eyes. Her hands shook as she set down the fork, the faint clink of metal on porcelain drowned out by the joyous noise around them. The silence between them weighed heavier than the celebration filling the room, pressing like stone against his chest.

Both of them had the same question, though neither dared speak it aloud.

Who was the father?

•

Edwin’s hand reached for warmth and found emptiness in his bed. The cold sheets woke him from his slumber, the chill biting into his skin with fear and realization.

Melania was gone. 

It didn’t take long for Edwin to realize what was happening. The space beside him was too cold, the silence too deep. She hadn’t simply stepped away—she had left with purpose.

He rushed out of the room, searching the house at insane speeds, throwing open doors, startling servants from their sleep. It was empty, save for the live-in staff who blinked in confusion and fear at his frantic movements. 

Afraid, he headed for the exit, but there was no one around. No Melania. No human.

Cursing, Edwin’s mind ran wild. He thought of every possibility—kidnapping, betrayal, some scheme by the Seekers—and with each thought his pace quickened until the halls blurred. Rage and desperation warred in his chest.

And then an idea struck him.

In an instant, he was in the air, the wind lashing his face as he raced toward the beach where he had first brought Melania all those years ago. Every beat of his wings of mana cut the night apart, and in the rhythm of his heart, he felt the terror of what he might find.

On the lone shore, a small fishing vessel was docked. Weathered wood and patched sails gave it away—it had been here for months, prepared in secret. It wasn’t a craft Primordials used. It was human, rough, and humble, a vessel that had no place on their coast.

The Seekers landed here. Edwin realized as his boots sank into the sand.

The human stood on the boat, prepping for a journey across the ocean. He was broad and tall, with light black hair that verged on dark brown, his frame sturdy like one built for toil rather than war. His orange eyes glowed faintly in the darkness, betraying both his mana and his resolve.

On shore, Melania waited. She stood in plain clothes, no jewelry, no finery—as though she had stripped herself of the Syn name before she even left it behind. The sea breeze tugged at her hair, the waves lapping gently at her feet as if welcoming her home.

Edwin darted toward her, ignoring the human, and held her face in his hands. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” His voice cracked, a raw mixture of fear and pleading.

Melania smiled sweetly. “I’m fine.”

Hearing those words, Edwin finally looked at the human. Anger swelled in his chest, hot and choking, filling his throat until it felt like fire. He was ready to strike, ready to erase this man from existence, but Melania touched his chest lightly with her fingers, softening all the bile in his soul. The gentle weight of her hand restrained him more than chains ever could.

Their gray eyes met. Both were filled with depths unspoken, centuries of silence speaking all at once.

Melania was the first to look away. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words carried away by the sea breeze yet cutting into him all the same.

Edwin’s heart shook. The silence that followed was deafening.

“You love him,” Edwin said. It was not a question.

“Yes.” The word hung in the air. It was an answer that wasn’t needed, yet had to be spoken. It struck harder than any blade.

Edwin grasped her hands. His heart was so heavy with love that it felt as though it might burst from his chest. “I love you.”

“…I know.”

Edwin would have preferred being stabbed in the neck to hearing those cold words. They fell like ash upon his heart.

“And I’m sorry,” she said again, softer, as if trying to lessen the wound she had just inflicted.

It only made the pain worse. His body trembled as he cupped her face, desperate to hold onto something slipping from his grasp.

“You don’t have to leave,” Edwin whispered after a long silence. He rested his forehead against hers, the cool touch of her skin steadying him even as it tore him apart. “I don’t care if you need him. I don’t want to lose you.”

“…I’ve never wanted to live here.” Melania’s voice broke faintly, quivering like a string plucked too hard. “And I don’t want to take that risk for my baby.”

“It could be our—”

“It’s not.” Her certainty cut him off, sharp and merciless.

Edwin sucked in a sharp breath, his chest convulsing as though pierced through.

“If you truly love me, you’ll let me go,” she whispered, her eyes brimming with quiet resolve.

His jaw tightened. “A cruel thing to say.”

“I know.”

His body shook as memories of the decades they had shared flooded his mind, the happiest of his life. He wanted to create countless more with her. But—

Edwin pulled away, turning toward the human. “What is your name?”

The man hesitated before standing tall. “Myros Creed.”

The last name struck Edwin like a thunderclap. “You’re Trigon Creed’s son?”

Myros nodded once, unwavering.

Edwin glanced at Melania, wounded. “It’s bad enough you fell in love with a human, but the Holy King of Agias’s son?”

“We don’t choose who we fall in love with,” Melania said softly, her voice almost breaking with honesty.

Edwin could not argue with that. The truth of it was a dagger he could neither block nor return.

In a blur, he stood before Myros. Melania gasped and ran after him, pleading for Edwin not to harm him, her hands clutching at his arm.

Instead, Edwin placed a firm hand on Myros’s shoulder, his grip strong enough to crush bone yet held in restraint. His voice was low, each word vibrating with the fury of a storm. “Protect her. If she dies, you’d better kill yourself too, because I will find you and slaughter you. If the world must burn for me to seek revenge, so be it.”

Myros met his gaze without flinching. “I will not harm her,” he promised. His tone was steady, carrying no bravado, only conviction.

Edwin said nothing more. He knew words would not mend what had already broken.

In a flash, he vanished into the night sky, leaving Myros and Melania behind on the lonely shore. The wind rushed against him, carrying with it the faint echo of her voice, the image of her smile—now belonging to someone else.

From afar, he watched their craft depart. The patched sails caught the wind, carrying them slowly into the horizon. Tears blurred his vision, hot and unrelenting, staining his cheeks as an unimaginable pain rippled across his heart. Each breath felt like shards of glass. The further the boat drifted, the heavier the ache grew, until it seemed his heart itself might tear apart. Yet he did nothing. He simply watched, suspended in the agony of love denied, letting the waves take from him the only happiness he had ever known.

•

Less than nine months later, the colorful, painful world Edwin had been trapped in snapped like a fraying cord.

He sat at his desk in the silent halls of his estate, quill abandoned, parchment empty. A chill passed through him—subtle at first, then tearing—and he felt something deep within him rip away.

The feelings he had for Melania, the ones that had driven him to the edge of cliffs and the barrel of blades, the feelings that had made every hour an agony he could not escape, were gone. The ache, the fire, the desperate longing, all of it dissipated.

In its place was…nothing.

The numbness Edwin had lived with for most of his life returned to him like an old companion. Cold. Familiar. He searched himself for grief, for sorrow, for the searing torment that had once defined him, and found only emptiness. The memories of what he had felt weren’t enough to rekindle the flame. They flickered in his mind like ghosts, insubstantial, powerless.

He was free.

But freedom came at a cost.

“She died,” whispered Edwin.

The words broke from his lips like a confession, jagged and trembling. For a fleeting moment, every remaining fragment of emotion burst outward—grief, rage, love, despair—all carried in those two syllables. They screamed into the air, raw and unbearable, then vanished.

And then there was nothing left for him to reach. Only silence. Only selfishness. Only the void where she had once lived inside him.

•••

Edwin felt his entire life flash before his eyes, sucked into his head, then burst like a roaring fire through his mind, body, and soul.

He collapsed back against the earth, spiraling, staring at the endless stretch of sky. The vast blue dome and its drifting white clouds were all that tethered him to the moment. He lay there, breath ragged, as if the heavens themselves were pressing down on him.

Then Yen appeared above him, her face blotting out the sun. Concern furrowed her brow as she leaned closer. “Hey,” she said softly. “You okay, big guy?”

Edwin’s heart tore in two.

The memories that had just ripped through him lingered like open wounds, leaving behind emotions he had long forgotten. They were raw, jagged, like a life-ending cut threatening to tear him apart.

And in the wake of that storm, the feeling surged forth, uncontainable, and imprinted itself on Yen, the living reflection of a desire once lost.

A deep, unimaginable, possessive love, buried for decades, flared in his chest again.

It hurt.

It gave him purpose.

It burned him alive.

And yet, he longed for the release of death.

As his gaze fixed on Yen, the world exploded back into color. Shades and hues he had thought lost forever filled his vision, vibrant and terrible and intoxicating. He had never wanted to forget them again. He could not.

For the first time in years, Edwin truly felt alive.

And it was agony.