The world did not shatter loudly.
It didn't scream.
It didn't collapse into chaos.
It simply… stopped.
Aiden didn't even realize he was running until his lungs burned. Someone had shouted for help. Someone had begged for a healer. Someone nearby had whispered "please," and that word alone dragged him toward the alley where everything was already too quiet.
A small boy lay cradled against his mother's chest.
He wasn't unconscious.
He wasn't sleeping.
He was gone in that still, unnatural way that never looked like rest.
The mother rocked him, slow and desperate, as if rhythm alone could pull life back into him. Her voice had been screaming minutes ago. Now it was nothing but a broken whisper against his hair.
"Please wake up… please…"
Aiden didn't breathe.
Seris dropped down beside them, hand already rising, magic already forming, refusal already carved into her bones.
"Move—I might be able to—"
The spell flickered.
Gathered.
And faded.
No feedback.
No rebound.
No rejection.
Nothing.
Her eyes widened and then closed.
Liora's hand rested on the woman's back, steady, grounding, real. She did not lie to her. She did not offer false comfort. She just stayed. Because sometimes that was all there was left to do.
Aiden knelt in front of the tiny body and understood something with horrifying clarity.
This wasn't dramatic.
This wasn't cinematic.
This wasn't a monster.
This wasn't a villain swinging a blade.
This was a little boy whose body simply couldn't hold on anymore because something larger than him decided that belief belonged somewhere else today.
Aiden reached out with shaking hands and stopped before touching. He couldn't. His fingers hovered uselessly above hair that would never warm again.
"I can… I can do something," he whispered, even though he knew he couldn't. "If I—if I wish—if I try—if I force it—the universe—"
Seris shook her head.
Slowly.
Gently.
Final.
Liora closed the boy's eyes.
The mother broke.
Not loudly. Not violently. Not theatrically.
Just softly, quietly collapsing in on herself while the world watched and could do absolutely nothing.
Aiden stood up and kept walking because if he didn't, he would scream in the street.
---
He didn't remember choosing a rooftop.
He didn't remember climbing.
He just found himself sitting beneath a darkening sky, elbows on his knees, face in his hands, chest aching in ways that weren't physical.
He had seen hurting before.
He had seen fear.
He had seen cruelty.
But this?
This was absence.
Something precious had stopped breathing because the world chose something else instead.
And he had not stopped it.
He didn't feel guilt.
He felt useless.
And that was worse.
"You aren't broken," a calm voice said behind him.
Aiden didn't jump.
He didn't tense.
He didn't do anything.
"I feel like I am," he finally whispered.
Inkaris sat beside him.
No theatrics. No infernal flourish.
Just someone older who had seen too much.
"You are grieving," Inkaris said quietly. "That is different. Broken stays shattered. Grief means you still believe loss matters."
Aiden swallowed.
"He was just a kid."
"Yes," Inkaris replied softly. "And the universe does not rewrite itself simply because someone small deserved better."
"That's not comforting."
"It isn't meant to be."
Aiden gave a humorless laugh.
"I thought… I thought maybe I could wish. Just… for once. Just this one. Just undo this one wrong thing."
Inkaris closed his eyes for a breath.
Then:
"You could not afford the cost."
Aiden's head snapped toward him.
"What do you mean?"
"Resurrection," Inkaris said gently, "is not a miracle. It is a transaction. To force a soul back means something must be taken in equal value. To pull him back would not simply wound fate—it would tear a debt out of the world."
Aiden's voice cracked.
"I would have paid it."
"I know," Inkaris said. "And that is why I am telling you this plainly:
The universe wouldn't have taken the price from you."
Aiden froze.
"It would have taken it," Inkaris continued, "from everyone. From the city. From the weak. From those with no defenses. From people already barely standing today."
Aiden stared downward, horror dawning slowly.
"A child returning… would have cost thousands small invisible cuts. Illnesses worsened. Vitality drained. Despair deepened. Wounds that would never be traced back to you… but would still be yours."
His voice softened further.
"That is why we do not fix everything.
Not because we don't want to.
But because sometimes saving one life breaks a hundred others."
Aiden's shoulders shook.
"That's awful."
"Yes," Inkaris whispered. "And that is reality."
They sat there.
Not in comfort.
In truth.
Inkaris rested a steady hand on Aiden's shoulder.
"When you breathe again… go back to them. They will need you. And you will need them."
He stood.
Paused.
"If you ever gain the strength to change fate," he said quietly, "remember this feeling. Power without this pain becomes cruelty."
Then he left.
Not abandoning him.
Leaving him room to hurt.
---
Aiden didn't know how long he stayed. Just that when footsteps came, he didn't feel alone anymore.
Seris sat beside him without a word.
Close. Real. There.
"I'm scared too," she finally whispered. "I'm supposed to fix things. Today I couldn't. I hate it."
Her voice cracked once.
Aiden leaned.
She let him.
No promises. No lies. Just warmth.
Just breathing.
Just staying.
---
Liora stayed in the alley long after the body had gone.
Hands trembling.
Jaw set.
This wasn't the first time someone died in front of her.
Didn't make it hurt less.
It just meant she already knew how to carry it.
Which somehow felt worse.
---
Tomorrow would still come.
Cruel or not.
And tonight,
it was enough that they were still here.