Morning arrived reluctantly.
It crept in through the curtains like a stranger unsure whether it was welcome. Pale light stretched across the cracked living room wall, illuminating the scars left behind—burn marks shaped like symbols that refused to fade, splintered floorboards, and the faint outline of the great sigil Kael had summoned, still etched into the wood as though burned by memory itself.
Ari had not slept.
He sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on Kael's chest rising and falling. Each breath was shallow but steady. Mika slept curled beside Kael, her fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt, afraid—perhaps even now—that if she let go, he might disappear.
Ari felt older.
Not in the way birthdays made you older, but in the way fear carved something permanent into you. The kind that didn't scream anymore. It just stayed.
The house felt wrong.
It wasn't haunted—not exactly—but it was aware. The walls carried a tension, like muscles that hadn't relaxed after bracing for impact. Even the air felt heavier, pressing down on Ari's shoulders.
Kael stirred.
Ari straightened instantly.
Kael's eyes opened slowly, unfocused at first, then sharp. Too sharp for someone who had nearly collapsed hours earlier. He exhaled and stared at the ceiling.
"So," Kael said hoarsely. "It's still standing."
Ari swallowed.
"You almost weren't."
Kael turned his head, meeting Ari's gaze. For a moment, the man looked… tired. Not just physically, but deeply, endlessly worn.
"You should have slept," Kael said.
"So should you," Ari replied.
A faint smile tugged at Kael's lips—but it didn't last.
Mika shifted, groaning softly, then bolted upright when she realized she was awake.
"Is it back?" she asked immediately, eyes wide.
Kael shook his head.
"No. Not yet."
That answer did nothing to comfort her.
Ari stood.
"You said they'd leave us alone."
Kael closed his eyes briefly.
"I said they might," he corrected. "And only if I stayed hidden."
Ari felt anger flare—hot and sudden.
"So this is your fault?"
Kael didn't argue.
"That thing called you a Warden," Ari continued. "Said the Abyss would come. Said we were marked."
Kael sat up slowly, careful not to disturb Mika. His movements were stiff, controlled, like someone hiding pain.
"Yes," he said quietly. "All of that is true."
Silence fell again—thick and suffocating.
Kael looked at both of them, really looked, as if committing their faces to memory.
"I owe you an explanation," he said. "And I won't lie this time."
Mika hugged her knees.
"Promise?"
Kael nodded.
"I promise."
He stood, walked carefully to the window, and pulled the curtain aside just enough to peer out. The neighborhood looked normal. Peaceful. Too peaceful.
"There are layers to the world," Kael began. "Most people live on the surface layer. They work, dream, grow old, and never realize how thin reality really is."
Ari listened closely.
"Beneath that layer," Kael continued, "are the Depths. Realms born from thought, hunger, fear, and forgotten gods. The Abyss is one of them."
Mika whispered, "Is it evil?"
Kael considered the question.
"It's not evil in the way stories say," he replied. "It's older than morality. It consumes, because that is what it was made to do."
Ari clenched his fists.
"And you?"
Kael turned back to them.
"I was chosen," he said simply. "Long before either of you were born. Chosen to stand between the Abyss and the surface world."
Ari felt something click into place.
"A Warden," he said.
Kael nodded.
"For centuries, Wardens were created, trained, and sacrificed. We sealed rifts. We erased incursions. We kept the Depths from spilling over."
Mika's voice shook.
"What happened to the others?"
Kael's eyes darkened.
"They're gone."
Ari felt a chill.
"All of them?"
"Yes."
The word landed like a gravestone.
"I was the last," Kael said. "And when I realized what the role truly demanded—when I understood that it would never end—I ran."
Ari stared.
"You abandoned it."
"I escaped it," Kael corrected. "I sealed my power. I erased my presence. I chose a quiet life."
"With us," Mika said softly.
Kael's expression softened.
"With you."
Ari's anger wavered, tangled with something else—fear, maybe… or betrayal.
"But it found you anyway," Ari said.
Kael nodded.
"The Abyss doesn't forget its Wardens. And now that I've acted openly again… it's aware."
Ari felt that pressure again—the faint, distant weight.
"I feel it," he said suddenly. "Like something's watching."
Kael stiffened.
"When did that start?" he asked sharply.
"Last night," Ari replied. "Right after the thing left."
Kael approached him slowly, placing two fingers lightly against Ari's temple. His touch was cool.
Ari gasped.
Images flashed—fractured shadows, endless corridors, stars collapsing inward. A vast presence, distant but attentive.
Kael pulled back, breathing hard.
"It's begun," he murmured.
Mika's voice trembled.
"What's begun?"
Kael looked at them both.
"The Abyss doesn't just hunt Wardens," he said. "It cultivates replacements."
Ari's heart slammed.
"No," he said immediately. "No. I'm not—"
"You're not chosen," Kael said quickly. "Not yet. But you're sensitive."
"To what?" Ari demanded.
"To the cracks," Kael replied. "To the pressure between worlds."
Mika shook her head.
"I don't want this."
"Neither did I," Kael said softly.
He straightened, resolve settling into his posture like armor.
"We can't stay here anymore," he said. "This place is compromised. The wards are burned out."
Ari felt a twist in his chest.
"This is our home."
Kael met his gaze.
"And that's why it's dangerous."
Mika wiped her eyes.
"Where will we go?"
Kael hesitated.
"Somewhere old," he said. "Somewhere hidden. Somewhere the Abyss hates."
Ari frowned.
"You already have a place."
Kael didn't deny it.
"Yes," he said. "And once we go there, there's no pretending anymore."
The house creaked softly, as if listening.
Outside, clouds rolled slowly across the sky, darkening though it was still early.
Ari felt it again—stronger this time.
A pull.
Not toward the house.
But toward elsewhere.
"Kael," Ari said quietly. "If I become like you… if I have to—"
"You won't," Kael said firmly. "I won't allow it."
"But what if it's not your choice?" Ari pressed.
Kael didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he placed a hand on Ari's shoulder—heavy, grounding.
"Then," Kael said, voice low, "I will teach you how to survive it."
Ari's breath caught.
Not reassurance.
Preparation.
Somewhere far beyond the sky, something vast shifted.
Not attacking.
Not yet.
Just adjusting its gaze.
And for the first time, Ari understood the truth:
The war hadn't started last night.
Last night was only the moment it noticed him.