Aarav didn't cry when Mira left.
He didn't cry when the city chose to die.
He didn't cry when gods lost their power.
He didn't cry when prophecy collapsed.
He broke when no one needed him.
It happened quietly.
No thunder. No visions. No cosmic flare.
Just… a morning where Crossfall didn't call his name.
He woke up and there were no messages. No requests. No crises vibrating in the walls of reality. The multiverse was learning to breathe on its own.
And Aarav had no place in its lungs.
He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his hands. They didn't glow anymore. They barely felt real.
He whispered, "Hello?"
Nothing answered.
Not the universe.
Not fate.
Not even himself.
He stood, walked to the observation ring, and stared into hundreds of worlds.
They were choosing.
Some were failing.
Some were thriving.
Some were burning.
Some were being reborn.
And none of them were asking him.
That was the point.
That was the victory.
And it was destroying him.
Caelum found him hours later, curled against the railing.
"You have not moved," Caelum said.
"I forgot how," Aarav replied.
Caelum sat beside him.
"You are no longer necessary," he said gently.
Aarav laughed.
A real, ugly sound.
"Do you have any idea how much that hurts?"
Caelum said nothing.
Aarav pressed his hands to his chest.
"I used to matter because I could save things," he whispered.
"Then I mattered because I could let things go."
"Now… I don't know why I matter."
That was the real wound.
Not loneliness.
Meaninglessness.
"I don't want to be a symbol," he said.
"I don't want to be a lesson."
"I don't want to be a precedent."
His voice cracked.
"I just want to be… someone."
And that was when it hit him.
Not power.
Not prophecy.
Grief.
He folded in on himself, breath hitching, hands shaking, body trembling like it was trying to hold too many endings at once.
He sobbed.
Not beautifully.
Not heroically.
Messily.
Like a boy who had never been allowed to fall apart before.
Caelum did not stop him.
That was important.
"I lost Mira," Aarav choked.
"I lost my place."
"I lost my purpose."
Caelum replied softly, "You lost your lie."
Aarav looked up.
"What?"
"That you must be useful to exist."
That sentence hit harder than any god ever had.
Aarav shook violently.
"I don't know who I am if I'm not needed."
Caelum answered, "Then now you get to find out."
Aarav screamed.
Not at the sky.
Not at fate.
At himself.
He pounded the floor until his knuckles bled.
"I FIXED EVERYTHING AND I'M EMPTY!"
The multiverse didn't respond.
That was the worst part.
Aarav collapsed, shaking.
Caelum stayed.
Not as a guide.
Not as a constant.
Just… there.
Hours passed.
Then Aarav whispered, "I don't want to be strong anymore."
Caelum said, "Then don't."
Aarav laughed weakly.
"I don't want to be brave."
"Then be afraid."
"I don't want to be meaningful."
"Then be alive."
Aarav closed his eyes.
And for the first time since becoming the Witness
He let himself be small.
Not a savior.
Not a constant.
Not a story.
Just a boy.
And that broke him.
But it also…
Let him breathe.