(THIS IS NOT HOW THE BOOK ENDS. ITâS JUST ME PLAYING WITH MY OWN EMOTIONS.)
That simple sentence really shouldnât be crushing Rivrinâs world. But it was.
Because those words were a reality.
He remembered screaming, but no sound coming out. He remembered his heart breaking into pieces, but his body staying intact.
The memory flickered and ebbed. Coroâs fingers on his wrist. Eliasâs stunned face, emerald eyes broken. Rhea screaming at Shynah to let her go back to him. Shynah holding her back with a strength she never had.
A piece of them had been left behind in those tunnels. They witnessed a part of their soul leaving them.
Alexos Cesarini. The hero. The boy who was strong. The boy who fought tooth and nail against the odds, against the world itself.
His eyes were stinging. He couldnât move. He desperately wanted to transformâ more than he ever wanted to in his lifeâ
And he was still. He hated it.
He couldnât. He wanted to stay in their dorm, rereading Alexosâs journal over and over. But he did. The ceremony was smallâ the five of them, and his uncle. The Scholarch, who towered above them, yet, he looked more human now than Rivrin could ever remember.
He wasnât the powerful man he knew. This was a humanâ a broken human. No different from the rest of them.
He wondered how close they had actually been. Alexos had always wanted things to be different. He had told Rivrin that time and time again, like if he said it enough, the universe would take pity and turn back time.
Time was a construct. Just as everything else was.
The rain poured down on them, the sky howling in a misery that echoed that of Rivrinâs crying heart. It was like the gods themselves had gathered, and were mourning the loss of a soul that shone brighter than their stars.
Rivrin preferred it this way. He didnât know where his tears ended and where the rain drops began.
No one would see him break.
It had been the night that they had discovered themselvesâ the night that Rivrin had no idea would be his last with him.
He should have. Happy endings donât exist.
So he watched as the casket was lowered into the ground, sealing the fact that Alexos Cesarini was truly never coming back to him.
His blurry gaze landed on the âaâ tattooed into the wrist of his skin, the letter emblazoned by flames and the wings of an angel spreading behind them.
âMy name is Rivrin Mangjol.â
âIâm Alexos. Alexos Cesarini.â
Rivrinâs hands trembled by his sides. His lip quivered. His already broken heart shattered into tiny fragments.
Heâs gone. Spark Plug is gone. Alexos is gone.
He couldnât break. Not now. Not nowâ
Elias touched his shoulder.
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