CHAPTER 60: CHAPTER 60: WHAT REMAINS UNSPOKEN

The chamber was silent once again.

Saphielle stood near the center, hands folded tightly in front of her, her gaze fixed on the Hollow Echo resting in Noah’s hands. The artifact looked unremarkable now.

And yet, something about it still pulsed. Something deep.

Noah knelt beside it, fingers brushing along its surface. His touch was deliberate—controlled.

"This won’t take long," he said quietly. "And it won’t hurt."

Saphielle didn’t respond. She was holding her breath.

Noah glanced at her, then back to the Echo.

"It doesn’t need blood," he added, almost as if reassuring himself. "It never did."

He paused.

"...But if used wrong—if it’s combined with necromancy or twisted by desire—it can pull something else in."

His voice dropped slightly.

"That’s how things go wrong."

Saphielle swallowed hard, but she nodded.

Noah didn’t elaborate.

’Because I saw it happen. In the game. In more than one route, and that ending wasn’t good..’

Instead, he pressed his palm to the artifact and let out a slow breath.

"Focus on the memory," he said. "Not the pain. Not the grief. Just the bond."

The Hollow Echo stirred.

Faint lights—blue, white, and gold—began to rise into the air around them, floating like fireflies. The temperature dropped slightly, and the sound of their breathing echoed louder against the walls.

The artifact pulsed once.

And then—he appeared.

A man in his late thirties. Broad-shouldered, wearing a mage’s robe. His presence felt solid, his features calm. Not rotting. Not spectral. Just... real. Like a memory come alive.

Saphielle took one trembling step forward.

"...Master?"

The man turned toward her, eyes soft—but laced with something sterner beneath.

"Saphielle."

She froze at the sound of his voice.

Noah stood slowly and stepped back, far enough to give them space, but close enough to intervene if anything went wrong.

He didn’t say a word.

This wasn’t his moment.

This belonged to her.

Saphielle stood motionless.

The illusion didn’t feel like an illusion. His voice, his posture, the way he crossed his arms and tilted his head slightly—it was exactly as she remembered.

But there was something in his eyes.

Disappointment.

He looked at her for a moment longer, then spoke, calm and sharp.

"You almost crossed the line, Saphielle."

Her breath caught.

"You almost committed a taboo."

She blinked.

"I—I didn’t mean to—"

"You tried to bring me back," he said, not unkindly, but without softening the blow. "You sought a path that doesn’t exist. Life cannot be stolen from death. That is the one thing all magic must respect."

Saphielle lowered her head.

"I just... I missed you. I didn’t know what else to do. It felt like the only way."

There was a pause. He sighed—not angry, but tired.

"I taught you better than that."

She winced.

"I know."

"I don’t blame you for mourning. But grief is not an excuse to forget what is right," he continued, his voice firmer now. "You were always strong. You were always capable of enduring pain. I never thought I’d have to remind you of that."

She clenched her fists.

"I’m sorry..."

He stepped closer.

"You were the most brilliant student I ever had. Not because of your talent, but because you understood balance.

His expression softened.

"And then... you let emotion take over."

She looked up slowly, eyes wet.

"I just wanted... to see you again."

His eyes met hers.

"You’re seeing me now. But this isn’t life. It’s memory and mana. A spark of what once was. Nothing more."

She couldn’t answer.

The words were too heavy in her throat.

And the worst part was knowing he was right.

The silence lingered between them, softer now.

Then, her master’s gaze shifted—his expression loosening into something gentler. A breath of warmth surfaced in his eyes.

"I remember when you were six," he said quietly. "You cast your first necrotic seal... by accident."

Saphielle’s lips parted slightly.

"You broke a training dummy. Then tried to reanimate it, just to see if it would move again."

She lowered her eyes, cheeks warming. "It did move. A little."

"Terrified the instructors," he chuckled softly. "But I knew then—what you were."

His voice dropped, reverent.

"You were a prodigy. Born with four affinities. That wasn’t just rare—it was unthinkable."

She said nothing.

He stepped closer, slower now. The distance between them no longer felt like something to fear.

"But it wasn’t just the elements," he continued. "It was you. How you approached them. You didn’t shy away from the taboo. You didn’t ask permission to explore. You just did."

Saphielle’s throat tightened.

"I only wanted to make you proud."

He smiled.

"You did. Always."

She looked up, eyes shimmering.

"Not just as your student," she whispered. "Did you ever think of me as something more?"

He didn’t even blink.

"You weren’t just my apprentice. You were... the closest I ever had to a daughter."

Her breath caught.

"I should’ve told you," he said. "But you never needed me to say it."

A tear slid down her cheek. She didn’t try to hide it.

He reached out—not fully—but just enough for her to feel that warmth. His hand hovered close to her face, not quite touching.

"I’m proud of you, Saphielle."

She wanted to speak, but her throat tightened too much to form words.

His form had already begun to fade.

The edges of his robe scattered into flickers of light. His boots dissolved into mist, and his features blurred—still smiling, still calm, even as the Hollow Echo pulled his memory away.

She stepped forward.

"Wait—"

He raised a hand gently, almost like a wave.

"No need," he said. "You’re strong enough now."

Saphielle’s tears came quietly.

"I wanted to say so much more."

"I heard enough," he whispered.

The last thing to disappear was his voice.

And then... he was gone.

Saphielle stood alone in the ritual chamber, the glow of the Hollow Echo fading beside her. The silence was deafening.

She dropped to her knees.

Tears fell freely now—no shame or restraint.

No one said anything. No one watched.

Except for Noah.

He waited at a distance, seated quietly with his arms folded, eyes on her but without pressure.

Eventually, she stood again.

Her steps were slow but steady. Her breathing shaky, her cheeks streaked with tears—but her gaze was clear.

She walked over to him.

Noah didn’t speak.

When she reached him, he finally turned his head slightly.

"You done?" he asked softly.

Saphielle nodded, brushing her face with the back of her sleeve.

"...Yes," she said.

A breath.

"...I’m done."