The world returned violently.

  Time snapped back into motion with a crack—like a shattered mirror forcing itself into shape. The stillness vanished, replaced by blinding pain.

  Samye fell from the cross-wheel and hit the stone floor hard.

  His body screamed.

  His breath caught.

  His vision blurred.

  Every nerve felt like it was on fire.

  He reached for the ground, but his fingers slipped. Warm blood coated his palms. He blinked rapidly, trying to focus—trying to see.

  But everything was distorted.

  Shapes bent. Colors merged. His eyes worked, yet nothing looked real.

  When his gaze dropped lower, he understood why.

  His right foot was missing two toes.

  Cut.

  Burned.

  Gone.

  Blood dripped freely from the wound, pooling beneath him.

  He coughed—a wet, choking sound—and felt more blood spill from his lips.

  Samye forced himself to move.

  Not because he had strength,

  but because he had purpose.

  The guards in the torture chamber lay scattered across the floor.

  Some unconscious.

  Some twitching.

  Some unmoving.

  Samye didn’t know if he had done this—

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  or if time had.

  He didn’t care.

  He dragged himself upright using the wall as support, legs trembling violently beneath him. Each step felt like knives driving through flesh.

  But he kept moving.

  I have to reach him.

  I have to save him.

  Aren—just hold on—please—

  He limped through the corridor, leaving a trail of blood behind him. His head pounded. His vision flickered. But the only thing that kept him standing was the burning need inside him.

  Pain meant nothing anymore.

  Fear meant nothing.

  All that mattered was Aren.

  He reached the center of the punishment zone.

  And then he stopped.

  Frozen.

  Horrified.

  Broken.

  Aren lay on the ground.

  Small.

  Still.

  Barely breathing.

  His face was pale—so pale it looked like the life had already drained from him. His body shook uncontrollably, blood seeping through torn clothing.

  And his eyes—

  His eyes were gone.

  Empty sockets, red and raw, covered only partially by stained cloth. The air around him smelled of metal and suffering.

  The guards had taken them.

  Taken the one thing that let him look at the world with innocence.

  Samye’s knees buckled.

  “No…” he whispered, the word breaking apart. “No—no—Aren—”

  He stumbled forward, legs collapsing beneath him. He dragged himself across the ground, each inch sending agony through his wounded foot and broken ribs.

  But nothing mattered.

  He had to reach him.

  When Samye finally touched Aren’s hand, it was cold.

  Aren flinched weakly.

  “S…Samye?” he whispered, voice barely audible.

  Samye swallowed a sob.

  “I’m here,” he said, choking on his own breath. “I’m here, Aren… I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

  Aren tried to smile.

  It hurt.

  “I… tried… to be brave.”

  Samye’s chest shattered.

  “You were,” he said. “You were the bravest.”

  Aren coughed, blood running from his lips.

  “I didn’t… want you to see me like this.”

  Samye shook his head, tears falling freely.

  “I should’ve protected you… I wasn’t fast enough…”

  Aren’s fingers tightened weakly around his.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered.

  “You came… just like you always do…”

  Samye leaned closer, trembling.

  “Don’t go. Please—don’t go.”

  Aren’s breath hitched.

  His body relaxed.

  And with one final, fragile exhale—

  He went still.

  Samye stared, frozen.

  The world around him blurred.

  His heartbeat thundered in his ears.

  Something inside him—something fundamental—snapped.

  He let out a broken, silent scream—the kind that tears the soul but never reaches the throat.

  His blood fell onto Aren’s face, mixing with the child’s.

  And the universe listened.