Beneath his grave

The portal expelled them from the Weaver’s realm into a cold wind and deep night. Stars blinked above them, silent witnesses to a truth neither Lucien nor Celeste could unsee. The vision lingered in Celeste’s mind like smoke—the fire, the ash, the way she had walked away from the man she loved because she feared who he had become.

Lucien walked in silence. He didn’t speak, but Celeste could feel the war raging inside him. The weight of a thousand sins, real and remembered.

After an hour’s hike, they arrived at a forgotten hillside graveyard where moonlight barely touched the earth. The graves here were unmarked, nameless, abandoned by time. But Lucien moved with certainty—guided by something ancient in his blood.

He stopped before a cracked headstone half-sunk in the ground. Moss curled around the edges, and the letters were almost gone. Still, one word remained faint but visible.

VALE.

Lucien stared. “This was me. My first death.”

Celeste whispered, “You were human, then?”

He nodded. “Before the Reapers claimed me.”

He knelt, placing his palm over the soil. His silver eyes dimmed. “I remember nothing of this life. Only fragments… laughter in a garden. A storm. A scream.”

Celeste crouched beside him. “The Weaver said the final key lies beneath.”

Lucien rose and drove the butt of his scythe into the ground.

The earth trembled.

The grave split with a hollow groan, revealing a narrow stone stairway descending into darkness. Cold air hissed up from the depths—wet and ancient.

Celeste looked at him. “You don’t have to go alone.”

Lucien gave her a faint, grateful look. “I know.”

Together, they descended.

⸻

Below the Grave

The stairway led into a forgotten crypt. Symbols lined the walls—reaper sigils, celestial runes, and something older. The deeper they went, the heavier the air became. Whispers curled through the shadows like roots—fragments of old vows, names, and cries of betrayal.

At the end of the corridor stood a door made not of wood or stone but bone.

It pulsed faintly.

Lucien reached out. The moment his hand touched it, a jolt of energy surged through him, and the door melted away into smoke.

Inside was a chamber.

Empty, save for a mirror.

But this was no ordinary reflection.

Lucien stepped forward, and the mirror shimmered—then rippled.

The reflection wasn’t him. It was a boy. Seventeen, at most. Dark curls. Kind eyes. Human.

Then came flashes—visions racing past the surface like lightning.

• The boy standing in a field, arms outstretched, calling someone’s name.

• Celeste, younger, laughing as she placed a flower crown on his head.

• A letter, sealed with red wax, delivered on a stormy night.

• A betrayal. A blade in the back. Blood soaking petals.

• Celeste screaming his name as he bled out in her arms.

Lucien staggered back.

Celeste moved toward the mirror. This time, it responded to her.

Her reflection warped. Her skin turned pale as frost. Her eyes darkened to shadow. Wings—black as night—unfurled behind her.

Lucien’s voice cracked. “What is that?”

Celeste was frozen.

Then a voice came—not from the mirror, but from within the chamber itself.

“She was never meant to love him.”

A figure stepped from the far wall. Cloaked in gray. No face. Just a gaping mouth full of whispering voices.

“She was made to end him.”

Lucien drew his scythe. “Who are you?”

The creature hissed. “I am the Judge. The Balance. When she loved you, she defied her creation.”

Celeste’s breath hitched. “What are you saying?”

The Judge turned to her. “You were not human, Celeste. You were a Seer born of the Ether. You were created to watch the Reapers. Not love one.”

Lucien lowered his weapon slowly. “But she chose me.”

The Judge nodded. “And so the vow was born. A vow unnatural. Forbidden. It corrupted your souls, life after life.”

Celeste stepped forward. “Then why are we still here?”

“Because,” the Judge whispered, “love is more powerful than fate—but not without cost. To break the curse, one must choose. End the bond… or burn

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