They didn't speak for a long time after Selene vanished.
The road grew darker, swallowing what little warmth the day had left. When Alpha finally led them off the path and into the thin shelter of twisted trees, the boy collapsed beside the dead embers of an old campfire, too tired to pretend he wasn't afraid.
Alpha remained standing.
Vanitas pulsed in his hand—slow, rhythmic, like a heart that beat only when it chose to remember.
He stared down the road. Elaris loomed ahead, though he couldn't yet see it. He could feel it. A pressure building, distant but insistent. Like something remembering him before he had a chance to forget it.
"Do you think she was telling the truth?" the boy asked quietly, his voice small against the wind.
Alpha didn't answer right away. "Truth wears a lot of faces."
"She knew about the sword."
"She knew of it," Alpha corrected. "That's different."
The boy rolled onto his back, staring up at the empty sky. "I hate the quiet."
Alpha understood. It was the kind of quiet that felt watched.
Vanitas twitched once in his grip. A shiver—not of warning, but recognition.
That night, Alpha didn't sleep.
The boy eventually drifted off, curled beneath his thin cloak, his breath soft and uneven. Alpha kept his back to the fireless pit, eyes fixed on the forest beyond. The shadows had teeth tonight. Not the kind that bared themselves—no, the kind that waited patiently, just out of reach, where light refused to touch.
Vanitas rested across his knees, silent.
Until it wasn't.
At first, he thought it was the wind. But the sound was too steady, too deliberate—a low hum threading through the air like a string pulled taut. It vibrated against his bones.
His hand tightened around the hilt.
Do you feel it?
Alpha's head snapped up.
The voice didn't come from outside. It came from within. From Vanitas.
The blade was still. Cold. Silent.
But the thought had not been his.
Alpha rose slowly, scanning the dark. The trees groaned softly in the breeze, but the hum continued—low and insistent.
He turned.
Something stood across the road.
No footsteps. No warning.
Just presence.
A shape cloaked in the black of midnight, indistinct—like shadow peeled off the world and stitched into the form of something that had forgotten how to be human.
It did not move. It only watched.
And then…
It knelt.
Its head lowered in something like reverence—or obedience.
Alpha didn't blink.
The figure's hand reached forward and pressed into the dirt. When it pulled back, a faint glow pulsed beneath the soil—a sigil, etched in light, delicate and strange. Curved lines, like a serpent swallowing its own tail, wrapped around a single glyph.
A name.
Alpha.
Then the figure was gone.
No shift. No sound. Just absence, like it had never been.
The sigil faded.
And Vanitas?
Vanitas was warm.
The boy woke to find Alpha still seated, sword in lap, eyes hollow.
"What happened?" he asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
"Nothing," Alpha replied, too quickly.
The boy stared at him. Then glanced at the earth beside the road. The dirt was untouched—but he frowned, as if something still lingered.
They broke camp without a word.
Approaching Elaris
The road began to change.
It was subtle at first—grass grew in strange patterns, curling away from the center. Trees leaned, not from wind or weight, but as if bending from something ahead.
Even the birds were silent.
Alpha felt it before he saw it.
The pressure.
Like the air was thicker, not heavier, but aware.
The boy stepped closer, not because he was afraid—but because something pushed him to.
"Why is it so quiet?" he whispered.
Alpha didn't answer. He couldn't.
Because now…
Now he could hear the voices.
Not loud. Not real.
Just soft impressions. Echoes sliding along the edge of thought. Words that weren't in any tongue he knew—but felt known, as if he'd heard them in a dream long forgotten.
Vanitas pulsed again.
This time, angrily.
Outer Wall of Elaris
They reached the edge by dusk.
The city of Elaris loomed before them—silent, still, but not dead.
Its massive outer wall stretched across the horizon like a scar. Towering spires rose in the distance, too perfect, untouched by time or war. That in itself was wrong. Everything else in the world had suffered—but this?
This had endured.
The main gate stood slightly open, just enough for a man to pass through.
A caravan sat abandoned outside, its horses long gone, its wheels broken. Supplies spilled into the dust, untouched. No signs of struggle. No blood.
Just stillness.
The boy stepped behind Alpha. "I don't want to go in."
Alpha didn't respond.
Vanitas hummed again.
Not in warning this time.
In recognition.
As if the sword remembered this place.
And remembered what waited inside.
Then… from within the gate… came a sound.
A whisper. Not one voice—but many.
Layered. Echoing.
Calling his name.
"Alpha…"