After crying for what felt like an eternity—though she had lost all sense of time—Aiona finally calmed down somewhat. Her tears gradually evaporated, dried by the protective numbness that gripped her heart tightly, shielding her from the full weight of her grief. She got up carefully from the ground, gently setting her adopted son's hollow body down with reverence.
"I'll be back," she promised both of them—Grendran and Garam—and then walked further into the devastated city, leaving them behind. All along the way as she walked, there were only the hollows—people who had gotten their souls violently sucked out, now swaying mindlessly in place and murmuring their last words over and over in an endless loop.
She walked steadily toward the pull she felt deep within her chest, completely letting that invisible connection guide her steps. At the end of this path, she knew with certainty that she would meet him. Her mate. Their soul bond was almost completely gone now, severed and dying—but she could still sense him faintly somewhere in the city center, like a guttering candle about to go out.
Aiona just walked forward mechanically, without knowing what terrible scene she would witness at the end of this journey.
"Don't go there..." I tried desperately to tell her from my position as an observer. But these were her memories, events that had already happened long ago. This was something that had already transpired in the past. I was merely a witness to her profound grief, unable to change anything. But still, I felt my own heart squeeze painfully in sympathetic agony, making my eyes water with unshed tears. "Please, I beg you, Aiona... don't see this..."
But she couldn't hear my pleas at all. The only thing she wanted right now—the only thing that mattered—was to find her mate. And she would accomplish that goal even if a thousand burning suns stood directly in her way, blocking her path.
Finally, she set foot into the city center. It was a large public square with an ornate fountain positioned in the middle. Various kinds of vendor tents and market stalls covered the area from all sides, leaving only the central space empty and exposed. At the far corner of the square stood a wooden stage that had been built specifically for the foundation festival, where performances and ceremonies were traditionally held.
Right now, there was something on that stage. A figure.
A man seemed to be standing upright on it, looking off into the far distance as if waiting patiently for someone to arrive.
Aiona's steps immediately got quicker, her pace increasing. Before long, she started running, her feet pounding against the stone pavement. Her heart was beating painfully, almost violently in her chest. She could recognize him from anywhere in the world. That distinctive silhouette was far more familiar to her than her own reflection, despite the relatively short time they had actually spent together.
She murmured his name softly on her lips, letting it float away on the wind. Her tears had started falling again, streaming down her face. She ran and ran desperately, until she was directly in front of the stage. And then she froze completely, her body locking up.
Hunter was dead. He wasn't standing on his own. He had been brutally impaled on a tall wooden stake that was embedded deep into the stage. At the base of the stake was a spreading pool of fresh blood, still glistening wet.
"NOOO...!" Aiona's scream was absolutely gut-wrenching, tearing from her throat. Everything that happened after that moment became blurry and fragmented in her memories. The vision shattered into disconnected pieces of memories that floated here and there without coherent order—that's how completely broken Aiona was in that moment.
One second she slipped on the fresh blood covering the stage, coating herself entirely with her mate's blood—and then frantically scrambled back up. She desperately tried using her healing magic on him, her hands glowing, despite knowing with absolute certainty that he was long gone and beyond any help. Then she was crying again with utmost despair, her sobs echoing. She tried pulling him free from the stake. Then stopped abruptly because she realized she would hurt him further, damage his body. Then she tried again, her hands shaking. Stopped again. She caressed his face tenderly, telling him over and over that she was sorry, so desperately sorry.
It was a complete mess of disconnected actions and reactions. And I didn't know the actual order of those jumbled memories or whether all of them were even real or if some were hallucinations born of trauma. Everything was jumbled together chaotically. The only thing I could truly resonate with and understand was the overwhelming despair that saturated every moment.
I felt myself crying along with her. Silent, sobless tears had started flowing from the corners of my eyes, running down the sides of my face into my hair. This was a pure nightmare made manifest in reality.
Then the architect and maker of this nightmare casually appeared at her side, climbing onto the stage. Jarun.
"How is it, Aiona? Do you like the special present that I prepared just for you?" Jarun asked almost conversationally, as if discussing the weather.
Aiona looked over at him slowly. Strangely, she found that she couldn't cry anymore—her tears had simply run out. She felt the rage brewing deep under the surface of her heart, threatening to spill over and consume everything. But she deliberately put on a calm mask of expression, hiding everything.
"Why?" she asked simply. She walked over to stand beside the monster. She positioned herself a few feet away from him, looking directly at his golden eyes and not looking anywhere else.
His eyes widened noticeably at that gesture, at the realization that Aiona's complete attention was focused solely on him for once. His eyes actually glistened with genuine happiness, and then they softened considerably. He smiled softly, almost tenderly.
"Because of this exact moment," he said, gesturing at the space between them. "Look at you now—you're finally actually looking at me, truly seeing me as a person—not just glancing past me. What more could I possibly ask for?"
He took several steps closer to Aiona and gently held her face in both his hands, cradling it.
"I'm so happy right now that I could die," he said in a low, reverent voice, his golden eyes never leaving her silver ones.
"Only because of that?" Aiona asked again, her voice flat. "That's the only reason?"
Jarun sighed heavily and let go of her face, stepping away and creating distance.
"Of course not," he admitted, walking over to the edge of the stage and looking down at the hollows below with a disdained, disgusted expression. "It's more complicated than that."
"My whole life I've felt like an alien, a person that didn't belong anywhere in this world," he continued, his voice taking on a vulnerable quality. "No, you can't even call me a person, because I'm not one—I don't even know what I actually am. But I tried so hard, again and again, to be human despite the fundamental fact that I'm not. People instinctively fear me because they can sense on some level that I'm a monster. It was so incredibly lonely."
He paused. "Even my mother, who genuinely loved me, also feared me. And I had to watch her soul breaking into pieces day by day, fragmenting, just because she gave birth to an abomination like me. It destroyed her slowly."
He turned back to face Aiona directly, his long hair flowing slowly in the wind. He looked almost ethereal in that moment, like a god or divine being—if one could somehow forget the fact that he had slaughtered people in cold blood, sucking their souls dry.
"It was hell," he said quietly. "Living felt like constant torture. And that miserable version of me met you—another magical being. You didn't fear me at all. You accepted me for who and what I am. And that's when I finally felt not so alone anymore in this world."
His voice grew more passionate. "It's not strange that I fell deeply in love with you. You were literally the only one in this entire world who could understand me. You were supposed to be my happy ending. I didn't need much from life—I never asked for the throne, never asked for power or wealth. It was all just given to me. But for you, I was ready to let go of absolutely everything."
Then he let out a dry, bitter chuckle.
"But in your vast sky, I wasn't the sun," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "Hell, I'm not even sure if I was a little star tucked away in some forgotten corner. Because you had so many people you loved, so many that you personally cared for deeply. It was like a night sky absolutely filled with countless stars. Even those who died ages ago—you still visited their graves regularly, cleaned them, put fresh flowers on them so they knew they weren't forgotten by you."
He took several steps closer to her again, closing the distance.
"I wanted to be the only star in your sky," he confessed. "I know it's incredibly selfish, but that's all I ever wanted. Even if you hate me forever because of what I've done, that's still all I wanted. To be the only one who mattered to you."
He looked at her intently, and their eyes locked together again.
"I'm sorry," Aiona said suddenly, and she started crying again, her tears falling rapidly down her face. "I'm so sorry. Please forgive me."
She said it again, her voice breaking.
The man visibly panicked at her tears. He tried awkwardly to console her, reaching out—only for her to cry even harder at his touch. It was strangely humane, seeing him so flustered.
"Aiona, please don't cry... please..." he said helplessly. "I don't know how to console you properly... so please stop..."
He stumbled over his words, genuinely distressed.
"Give me a hug," Aiona said through her tears, her voice small.
He stopped all his motion for a long second, completely stunned by the request. And then, with great delight spreading across his face, he expanded his arms wide, inviting her into his embrace.
Aiona moved forward and dove into his arms, hugging him tightly. She wrapped her arms around him inside his loose robe, feeling his bare skin naked under her touch. Then she carefully placed her chin on his shoulder, positioning herself. Then she whispered softly.
"I'm sorry, Ruwana..."
The identity of who Ruwana was became immediately clear the next second.
"Why are you saying sorry to my mother?" Jarun asked, confused and concerned.
But Aiona didn't answer his question.
Instead, she plunged her hand deep inside his flesh, driving through muscle and bone, all the way toward his beating heart. She grabbed the organ firmly and pulled it out of his chest in one violent motion.