The Weight of Nothingness

The world around Eryn Noctis felt like a muted echo. He drifted through the hazy forest path, eyes fixed forward, mind somewhere far beyond Yrlith’s fading dusk. Trees stretched upward like dark spires, the silence broken only by the sound of his own footsteps. Eryn barely registered them, each step weighed down by an emptiness as deep as the gathering shadows.

But he was not alone. Beside him walked Eilea, her gaze shifting curiously from the dirt path to his face. She was a light against his shadows, but the contrast only deepened the ache within him.

“Eryn, are you even here right now?” Eilea asked with a teasing smile, nudging him lightly. “Or are you off in some other realm again?”

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, Eryn didn’t respond. His gaze lingered on a point in the distance, mind churning with thoughts he couldn’t quite articulate.

“Why do you stay with me, Eilea?” he asked abruptly, his voice quieter than he intended.

Eilea’s laughter trailed off, and she looked at him with a gentle but intense gaze, as if searching for the source of his question. “Why not? It’s not like I have a grand plan or anything. I think… I stay because there’s more to you than you let on. You may try to keep everyone out, but I can tell you care, even if you don’t want to admit it.”

Eryn’s gaze dropped. “Care? Eilea, I…” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “You’re wrong. I’ve erased people from this world without so much as a thought. Just today, I erased a man—a bandit—because he got in my way.”

A chill silence settled between them, and Eryn waited, almost daring her to look at him with the disgust he knew he deserved. But Eilea’s face softened, and she merely sighed.

“Did he threaten you?”

“No.” Eryn’s jaw clenched, and he stared at his hands, fists clenched at his sides. “He did nothing but inconvenience me. And so, I erased him. No memory, no existence. He’s gone as if he never was.”

To his surprise, Eilea’s expression didn’t shift to judgment or fear. She simply nodded, taking in his words with a somber understanding.

“You know… it’s easy to see you as just a shadow,” Eilea said softly. “But I see someone who’s lost, who’s buried himself under his own power. You can’t just let yourself be empty, Eryn. There’s more to living than merely existing.”

“Living…” Eryn repeated the word as though it were foreign. “What does that mean for someone like me? I can erase, change, alter anything I want. What’s left to do once everything’s within reach?”

Before Eilea could answer, a rustle came from behind them, a sound sharp against the silence of the forest. In an instant, Eryn’s focus shifted. The air grew taut, his senses sharpening. From the shadows, three men emerged—rough, hardened, their weapons glinting in the fading light.

“Well, what do we have here?” The largest of the men sneered, his gaze lingering on Eilea. “A couple of wanderers, eh?”

Eryn’s eyes narrowed, and he positioned himself subtly in front of Eilea, his hand twitching as he felt the familiar hum of power simmering beneath his skin. These men were nothing more than nuisances, easily erased, easily forgotten.

“Turn around. Leave us,” Eryn said, his voice steady but cold. “Or you’ll cease to exist.”

The men laughed, a harsh, mocking sound that grated against his ears.

“Oh, we’re so scared,” one of them jeered, stepping closer. “What are you gonna do, ‘erase’ us? You think we’re fools?”

The words stung, not because of the threat but because of how simple it would be to make them disappear. With a single thought, he could erase each of them from existence without a trace, leaving nothing but empty space in their wake.

Eilea’s hand touched his shoulder. “Eryn… please.”

He turned, her eyes pleading. “Let’s not—just… let’s go around them.”

But as she spoke, one of the men reached for her, a rough hand grabbing her arm.

Without thinking, Eryn’s entire being surged with power. His mind, trained in control, opened like a floodgate, and he didn’t bother to stop it. Reality bent around his will, the world becoming a thin sheet of existence he could cut through like paper.

“No!” he snapped, his voice a command that vibrated through the air. Time itself seemed to waver, and the man’s hand froze mid-motion, suspended in Eryn’s grasp on reality.

One thought, and the man would be gone.

“You’ll regret this,” he murmured, his voice calm, almost too calm, as he raised his hand. But the power he held, the annihilation he wielded, felt strangely hollow, like something he barely cared to use.

Eilea’s voice, soft but urgent, cut through his focus. “Eryn, stop!”

His hand trembled, and he turned to her, seeing the fear in her eyes—not for herself, but for him. It was as if she saw through the power, through the empty space he had surrounded himself with.

“Eryn, if you erase him… it won’t solve anything. It won’t make you feel any better. Please… don’t give into this emptiness.”

A shadow of conflict flickered in Eryn’s gaze, his resolve wavering. He released his hold, and reality snapped back into place, the man stumbling forward, gasping as though he’d been held underwater.

Eryn’s voice dropped to a chilling whisper. “Leave. Now.”

The men didn’t need any more encouragement. They stumbled back, disappearing into the forest without another word, their bravado shattered.

Eilea let out a slow breath. “Thank you, Eryn.”

He avoided her gaze, his hands trembling as the power within him simmered back down. “I could’ve ended them with a thought, Eilea. I could’ve… erased them like they never existed. You don’t understand what that means.”

“Maybe I don’t,” she admitted, her voice soft. “But I know what I see. I see a person who feels too much and hides it behind power because he’s afraid.”

“Afraid?” He laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. “There’s nothing left for me to be afraid of. I can change anything I want, be anywhere I wish. What else could I fear?”

Eilea stepped closer, her eyes unwavering. “You fear yourself, Eryn. Because the power to erase… it’s not as powerful as the courage to live without needing that power. You’re afraid of facing what’s left if you can’t rely on your abilities.”

Eryn stared at her, words caught in his throat. Part of him wanted to argue, to tell her she was wrong. But a deeper part, buried and long ignored, knew she was right. He had locked himself in his own fortress of apathy, barricading himself from meaning, from the ache of hope and disappointment.

They walked in silence for a while, the forest path winding back to the village. He could feel the weight of her presence, as though her words had carved cracks in his defenses, allowing slivers of light to pierce through. He felt her kindness like a tangible warmth in the air, reaching out to him without expectation.

As they entered the village, Eilea glanced over at him, her face softened in a smile. “Eryn, what would you say if I told you that even with all your power… you could still find peace? Even if you let go?”

Eryn blinked, surprised by the question. “Peace? What do you mean?”

“I mean, maybe power isn’t the answer. Maybe letting go, letting yourself feel again, is.”

He looked away, uncertainty gnawing at him. Could he do that? Could he find meaning beyond power, beyond the empty vastness of his own abilities? As they parted ways for the night, Eryn couldn’t shake her words. They lingered, filling the silence of his small room, embedding themselves like a soft hum in the back of his mind.

That night, for the first time in years, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to simply be—without purpose, without control. And though the emptiness remained, there was something new alongside it. A flicker of warmth, an echo of hope, too fragile to name but enough to shift the weight within him.

Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t alone in this after all.

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