The temple is quiet now, long abandoned by the faithful. Its once-pristine marble is cracked, the offerings at its feet left to wither and rot. You stand in the middle of the ruin, your breath shallow, your knees aching where you’ve knelt too long.

Phainon is there, watching you, always watching. His golden eyes—once warm, once filled with the sunlit glow of kindness—are cold now, sharper than any blade. He stands in the shadows, the dim light catching on the angered expression etched across his face.

“You shouldn’t be here.” His voice is low, steady, but there’s an edge to it that you can’t ignore.

You bow your head, unable to meet his gaze. The guilt is too thick, too heavy, pressing down on your chest like the weight of the stone columns above. “I came to—”

“To what?” he cuts you off, stepping closer. His footsteps echo across the broken floor, each one driving the air from your lungs.

The words burn on your tongue. You clutch the small trinket in your hand—a pendant, the one he gave you years ago, before the world turned to ash. It feels like fire against your palm, like it knows you don’t deserve to hold it anymore.