CHAPTER 363: THE DOOR OF WISDOM WEEPS

"Who’s dead?" Riona asked again, slowly rising to her feet.

Puck, still dazed, instinctively reached out and helped her up. Florian’s face remained streaked with tears, though they had stopped falling. He blinked several times, struggling to make sense of what he was seeing.

"You are... I mean, you were dead," Florian said, voice unsteady.

"Me?" Riona echoed, genuinely surprised—like the idea hadn’t even occurred to her.

Her bewilderment only deepened Florian’s confusion. He had seen her fall—watched helplessly as the ruins of his shattered mind space swallowed her whole. He’d tried to reach her. Tried and failed. Anyone in his place would’ve believed she was gone.

"You weren’t moving," he said. "You fell, and I couldn’t catch you. Then you just... vanished. So I thought..."

Riona let out a breath, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. She reached up and touched Florian’s cheek, holding his gaze. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

"I’m sorry," she said at last.

She had so much more to say—thousands of words knotted in her throat—but only those two escaped without breaking her. And somehow, they were the ones that mattered most.

Just as the weight of her apology began to settle, something slammed into her, arms tightening around her midsection like hardened clay. It was Thorin. He clung to her, face buried against her back. She couldn’t see his expression, but she didn’t need to.

If Florian had thought she was dead, then Thorin must have believed it too—if only for a moment.

"Thorin..."

His grip tightened, and Riona let out a soft exclamation, then a laugh—quiet, but real.

She turned slightly and gathered Thorin into her arms. He adjusted his grip just enough to shift position, but he didn’t lift his head. His shoulders were shaking.

Riona gave him a gentle shake, concern threading her voice. "Thorin? Are you okay?"

He didn’t answer—just shook his head in silence.

She pressed her cheek to the top of his head and rubbed his back in slow circles. "I’m fine. See? I’m here. Not dead. It was all just... a misunderstanding."

The moment was raw and confusing, the silence thick with unspoken fears. None of them fully understood what had happened. Florian was still frozen in a haze, his mind trailing behind his eyes.

It was Puck who finally broke the silence with the question that had been building since Riona woke up.

"What did happen?"

Riona drew in a breath and met their eyes—first Puck’s, then Florian’s. There was weight in her gaze. Then she began to speak.

***

Riona had been prepared to die—of that, there was no doubt. And the Fallen One had steeled himself to watch her die. That, too, was true.

But sometimes, without realizing it, you grow close to someone. Sometimes, the heart shifts so quietly that your purpose no longer matters. That’s what happened to him.

He had believed he could let Riona go if the moment demanded it. If her sacrifice was what it took to save the world, he thought he’d accept it. Willingly. Without hesitation.

But when Riona truly stood on the edge of that choice, when she chose to offer herself, only then did the Fallen One understand what she had come to mean to him.

They had been together for years. Though he was little more than a lingering ghost, an invisible voice at her side, always nagging, never quite helpful, he had grown attached to the Blood Moon child.

Her sarcasm, her indifference—they used to irritate him. Now, he would give anything just to hear her mock him one more time.

He wasn’t ready to lose her.

And suddenly, nothing else mattered—not his name, not his seat, not his legacy. Let the world forget him. Let him be cast out, stripped of every honor. None of it compared to the need to keep her alive.

"You’ve done so much," he whispered. "You’ve sacrificed too much. You’re just a girl with a brother—but the world made you a hero, and him a villain. How could I let you give your life now?"

"No! What are you doing?" Isharka, the Second Ancestor, slammed his fist against the armrest of his chair. His jaw tightened as he muttered a string of curses under his breath. He hadn’t gone to such lengths to help the Fallen One just to watch him throw everything away now.

Domina, the Seventh Ancestor, was already at the Door of Wisdom, crouched low, sobbing. "You can’t leave us!" she cried. "We kept your seat for a reason—we believed in you!"

Isharka tore his gaze away from the shimmering display at the Door. If he kept watching, he knew he’d break. His fists clenched until his knuckles went pale.

If he were still alive, he would’ve had to worry about his blood pressure. But the dead didn’t have to care about bursting veins.

As if he could sense what was unfolding within the Spiritual Circle, the Fallen One lifted his gaze. His expression was solemn, his voice steady but heavy with sorrow.

"I’m sorry," he said. "I’ve failed you again. I know how much you expected from me. I know you were waiting. But I can’t come, Isharka."

Hearing his name spoken aloud shattered Isharka’s composure. He pressed his knuckles between his brows, trying to contain the wave that surged within him, but it was no use. He sobbed, shoulders shaking as memories flooded back.

He remembered the day he first met the Fallen One. He’d been at his lowest—on the brink of ending everything—when the Fallen One found him, offered him a second chance, and asked him to stand as his knight.

Together, they had upheld justice with unwavering resolve. Even after death, as Ancestors, they had fought to preserve that ideal. But no matter how hard they tried, evil had always found a way back in.

Now the Fallen One’s voice echoed once more through the Spiritual Circle.

"I’m breaking my promise to you," he said softly. "But I can’t leave her. She’s not a weapon, not a tool. She’s a person. And we can’t keep pretending otherwise. Of all people, Isharka—you should understand that."

Isharka steadied his breathing, trying to bury the tremble in his voice. Then, speaking in a tone only the Fallen One could hear, he said, "We’ll uphold justice, just as you always wanted. We’ll do our best to guide the mortals away from evil and ruin."

His voice faltered. He paused, fists clenched so tightly they trembled, grasping for control. Then he added, more softly, "Thank you for saving me, Malachai."

The Fallen One—Malachai—smiled. It had been so long since anyone had spoken that name. He thought it had been lost forever. But Isharka had called out to him not as a fellow ancestor, not as a symbol, but as a friend. The sound of it stirred something old and precious inside him.

"I have no regrets," Malachai said, one final time.

And with that, he released everything—his soul, his strength, his entire being—pouring it into Riona.

He gave himself completely, so she could live.