CHAPTER XXI:- Aimer dans le silence

  Orrath’s arms began to swell, stone crawling over them, thickening, hardening, as if the earth itself was answering his call. The rocky mass grew denser, heavier, until his limbs no longer looked carved but forged. With a single wide sweep of his arm, he covered the entire battlefield.

  The impact struck Ashron before he could brace himself.

  He was thrown back violently, his body crashing into the wall behind him with a thunderous crack. Pain exploded through his ribs, his vision blurring for a moment. Before he could even draw breath, Orrath struck again, his other arm smashing down like a falling cliff. Ashron was flung sideways this time, stone scraping against armor, bones screaming in protest.

  Another blow followed. And another.

  Each strike came without mercy, each one carrying the weight of a collapsing mountain. The ground beneath Ashron fractured, dust and debris filling the air. His body burned. His breath came in ragged gasps. Any normal man would have already been reduced to pulp beneath such relentless force.

  But through the chaos, through the pain and ringing in his skull, Ashron saw something.

  Cracks.

  Thin, jagged fractures running across Orrath’s stone-covered arms. Imperfect. Unstable. The titan’s strength was immense, but his form was not flawless. The more Orrath struck, the more those fractures spread.

  That was it.

  That was the end of Orrath.

  Ashron pushed himself up, ignoring the screaming protest of his muscles. He leapt forward, channeling everything he had into a single, focused blast. The force collided with Orrath’s chest, shattering stone and sending fragments flying. Before Orrath could recover, Ashron followed through, Grivemourn flashing as it struck directly into the cracks.

  Stone split.

  Pain surged through Ashron’s body as the curse answered. The sharper the agony, the stronger he became. His movements grew faster, heavier. He slashed again and again, not caring where the blade landed as long as it carved deeper into the fractured formation.

  Rock broke away in chunks.

  As Orrath’s core weakened, his titan form began to collapse inward. Ashron seized the moment, tearing away the remaining stone with brutal force. He grabbed Orrath and dragged him out of his shattered shell, stone crumbling away to reveal the being beneath.

  What followed was not a battle.

  It was humiliation.

  Ashron struck him with his fists, each punch fueled by pain and rage. He kicked him to the ground, then again when Orrath tried to rise. Orrath struggled, crawling, trying to escape, but Ashron grabbed his leg and snapped it with a sickening crack. Then the other.

  Arms followed. One. Then the other.

  Orrath screamed, but Ashron did not stop. He grabbed his head, fingers digging in, and ripped it apart completely. With a final violent motion, he punched through what remained and pulled out Orrath’s spine, slick and broken. From within, he tore free the first fragment of the Trinitas Vitae.

  As the key fragment left his body, Orrath turned to dust.

  Ashron stood there, breathing heavily, his armor soaked in blood and dust. He raised his helmet instinctively, but there was nothing to take. No blood. No offering. Orrath’s essence was gone.

  With no strength left to linger, Ashron turned and left.

  The walk back to the village was slow. Every step sent pain shooting through his body. His vision swam, the world tilting slightly with each breath. By the time he reached the village outskirts, he was barely standing.

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  Alis saw him.

  Her eyes widened, and she ran toward him without hesitation. She supported his weight as best she could, guiding him inside her house. Gently, carefully, she treated his wounds, cleaning what she could, binding what she couldn’t. Ashron barely registered any of it.

  Exhaustion finally claimed him.

  When he woke, the first thing he felt was silence.

  The second was fear.

  Alis was asleep beside him.

  His mask was gone.

  It lay near her, untouched. His armor and clothes had been removed. He realized with a jolt that he was almost naked. She had seen him. His face. The face he never wanted anyone to see.

  Quickly, he reached for the helmet and put it back on. His movements were hurried, clumsy. He searched for his armor and began fastening it piece by piece, metal clinking softly in the quiet room.

  The sound woke her.

  Alis stirred, then sat up, her expression instantly filled with worry. She began signing rapidly, her hands moving urgently. Ashron didn’t understand a single word. Frustrated, she grabbed a piece of charcoal and a board and began to write.

  You are injured. You should rest. Why are you always wearing that cursed armor?

  She erased, then wrote again.

  There are sharp nails inside the chest plate. The helmet has nails too. Doesn’t it hurt all the time? Why do this to yourself?

  She erased again, writing faster now.

  Please rest. Take it off.

  Ashron watched silently until she finished.

  “I have to wear it,” he said, his voice rough and strained. “For a specific reason. And I can’t rest anymore. I’ve rested enough.”

  She wrote again.

  Why all this? I’ve been curious about you since the first day. I want to know more about you.

  “I can’t,” Ashron replied.

  She stood up and grabbed his hands, pleading. Her grip was firm but gentle. Ashron pulled away sharply.

  “DON’T.”

  The word echoed in the room.

  Alis froze, startled. Ashron turned and walked out without another word, leaving her standing there. He returned to his hut, but sleep did not come easily. Her face stayed with him all night.

  The next morning, Ashron approached the Seer.

  “Orrath… after I took the key, he kind of vaporized,” Ashron said. “I couldn’t put his blood into my helmet.”

  “And you shouldn’t,” the Seer replied calmly. “Their blood is not made like that. You can’t consume it.”

  Ashron nodded and went to train.

  She was there again.

  Watching him.

  He stopped, looked up at the sky, then down at the ground, sighing deeply. After a moment, he walked toward her. Alis looked nervous but didn’t run.

  “I’m sorry for last night,” Ashron said. “You helped me, and I didn’t even thank you. Instead, I screamed at you. I’m sorry. And… thank you for treating my wounds.”

  He bowed.

  Alis relaxed, smiling softly, and gestured for him to follow her. They walked through the village bazaar together. She tried on necklaces and rings, holding them up and watching his reaction. Ashron pretended not to care, but something inside him eased. The chaos faded. The day passed quietly.

  Days followed.

  She watched him train, her expressions filled with admiration. Afterward, she taught him sign language, patiently correcting him. One evening, sitting together, Ashron finally told her the truth.

  About the curse. The armor. The pain. The blood. Aetherion. His family.

  “I need power,” he said quietly. “To save my sister. And… her. Elanthra. She was family too.”

  Alis’s smile faltered for just a moment. Then she signed:

  I know you will save them. I believe in you. I’ll support you.

  “Thank you,” Ashron said.

  She signed again, playful this time.

  I don’t even know if you’re smiling behind that helmet.

  She giggled.

  After a long pause, Ashron did too. Soft. Almost silent. But real.

  “OI, EXILIUM!” the Seer shouted. “You’re not here to spend holidays. Get over here.”

  Ashron turned to Alis. “See you.”

  She nodded.

  “I hope you trained well,” the Seer said. “Because now it’s time for the second gatekeeper. Morvane. And sadly, I know nothing about him. You’ll head toward him blindly.”

  Ashron sighed, then nodded.

  Prepared once more, he set out to claim the second fragment of the Trinitas Vitae.