The world of Myrithil had long forgotten Jespa. Once revered as a force of power and wisdom, she was now little more than a whisper on the wind, a shadow in the periphery of trembling souls. She wandered through the fog-laden ruins of a place she no longer recognized, her form flickering between corporeal and mist. The echoes of her past clung to her like chains, binding her to a torment she could never escape.

  Then, there was Kael.

  A mortal, lost among the wreckage of forgotten gods, his presence was an anomaly in her sorrow-drenched realm. Jespa watched him from the darkness, observing the way his fingers traced the ancient carvings upon the ruins, his voice a breath of awe and reverence. He had not come in fear; he had come seeking.

  When he turned and met her gaze, he did not recoil. His eyes, stormy and relentless, held hers in a way no one had dared in centuries.

  “You are Jespa,” he whispered.

  Her voice, cracked and brittle, betrayed her. “And you are lost.”

  Kael chuckled, stepping closer. “Perhaps. But maybe I was meant to be.”

  She should have turned away then, should have faded into the night and let him wander alone. But loneliness had carved too deep into her bones, and against the howling warnings in her mind, she stayed.

  Days bled into weeks, and Jespa found herself bound to Kael in ways she had never thought possible. He listened when she spoke of things long buried, traced the scars of time upon her with a gentle touch, and whispered vows she had long believed would never grace her ears again.

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  “I will stay with you,” he murmured into her hair one evening, his breath warm against the coldness of her skin. “No matter what, Jespa.”

  Her fingers clutched his cloak, her hollow heart threatening to shatter beneath the weight of his words. She had been broken for so long, yet in his arms, she felt whole.

  She should have known better.

  It was a night drenched in cold rain when she found him in the ruins of her past, his hands upon the sacred relics that held the last vestiges of her power. The moment he turned to face her, she knew. The warmth she had clung to had been a lie, the tenderness a facade.

  His lips parted, but no words came. He had no need for excuses.

  “You never meant to stay,” Jespa whispered, her voice a jagged thing.

  Kael’s gaze faltered for only a moment before he straightened. “I needed to know the truth,” he admitted, stepping closer. “You are powerful beyond measure, Jespa. But you are weak with grief.”

  The dagger of his words sliced through her more painfully than any blade ever could. She staggered back, bile rising in her throat.

  “I loved you.”

  Kael’s expression flickered with something—regret, perhaps—but it was gone before she could grasp it.

  “You were my means to an end.”

  The last thread holding her together snapped. Her scream tore through the heavens, sending the skies into turmoil. The ruins trembled, the ground cracked beneath her anguish. But Kael did not flinch. He merely watched as she crumbled before him, as the last remnants of what she had been burned away under the weight of betrayal.

  He had taken everything.

  She had nothing left.

  The river called to her.

  Blackwater, they named it—a river that bore the sorrow of those who no longer belonged. The wind howled through the skeletal trees as Jespa stood at the edge, her bare feet sinking into the freezing mud.

  The night sky stretched endlessly above her, but there were no stars left for her to wish upon.

  She stepped forward.

  The water was like ice, stealing the breath from her lungs as it wrapped around her ankles, her waist, her chest. She did not fight it. She let it pull her in, let it consume what was left of her.

  She thought of Kael—of his touch, his promises, his lies.

  The water rose above her lips.

  She whispered his name one last time.

  The river swallowed her whole, its cold embrace offering the silence she had long craved. No stars shone above to mourn her, no voice called her back. In the end, Jespa was broken once more.