The Devourer's Dominion

The air was still heavy from the battle. Dust clung to Aetheron's skin as he stood amidst the ruins of the temple, his heartbeat finally settling. The shadows that once loomed over the battlefield had faded, but the presence of the Sovereign's essence within him had not. It pulsed, slow and steady, as if watching, waiting.

"Tch." Aetheron flexed his fingers, staring at his hand. The power he had unleashed just now—it was different. Sharper. More refined. But it didn't feel entirely his.

Footsteps echoed in the silence.

"Aetheron." A familiar voice.

He turned to see Lyara approaching. Her silver hair caught the dim light, her golden eyes scanning him like she was searching for something beneath his skin. She wasn't alone. Veyrin followed close behind, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

Aetheron sighed. "What now?"

Lyara didn't answer immediately. Instead, she walked up to him and punched him in the chest.

It wasn't hard, but it wasn't playful either.

"You're reckless." Her voice was quiet, but firm. "That wasn't just your power, was it?"

Aetheron clicked his tongue. He hated how sharp she was sometimes.

"I handled it."

"Did you?" Veyrin spoke this time, his tone edged with something Aetheron couldn't quite place. "Because from where we were standing, it looked like something else was handling you."

Aetheron's jaw tightened. He didn't need a lecture. Not now.

"I won, didn't I?"

Lyara folded her arms. "That's not the point."

Aetheron rolled his shoulders, stepping past them. "It is to me."

He didn't wait for their response. His body ached, exhaustion creeping in now that the adrenaline was wearing off. He needed space, needed to think.

The temple ruins stretched out before him, bathed in moonlight. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted. It was strange—after everything that had just happened, the world still moved like nothing had changed.

But something had changed.

And Aetheron could feel it.

—

The fire crackled softly, the only light in the darkness. Aetheron sat near the flames, sharpening his blade out of habit rather than necessity. Across from him, Lyara leaned against a tree, arms wrapped around her knees. Veyrin sat a bit farther away, staring into the night like he was expecting something to emerge from it.

It was quiet. Not uncomfortable, but not exactly peaceful either.

Lyara finally broke the silence. "We need to talk about it."

Aetheron sighed. "No, we don't."

Veyrin scoffed. "You can't just ignore it, Aetheron. That power—it wasn't normal."

Aetheron dragged the whetstone along his blade, the scraping sound filling the space between them. "Nothing about me has ever been normal."

"That's not what we mean," Lyara said. "That mark on your arm. It's changing, isn't it?"

Aetheron paused. His gaze flickered to the dark sigil etched into his skin, pulsing faintly. It was changing. Growing.

But he didn't know what that meant yet.

Veyrin leaned forward. "What if it's not just power? What if it's something more? Something—"

"Something dangerous?" Aetheron finished for him, smirking. "Since when has that ever stopped me?"

Veyrin's jaw clenched. "Since it might not be you making the decisions anymore."

That made Aetheron pause.

Lyara's voice softened. "We're not against you, Aetheron. We just… we need to understand what's happening. Before it's too late."

Aetheron exhaled slowly. He wasn't used to people worrying about him. It felt strange.

He leaned back, staring up at the sky. "I don't have answers." His voice was quieter now. "Not yet."

Lyara nodded. That was enough. For now.

The fire crackled, its light flickering against their faces. The night stretched on, quiet but not empty. Shadows danced at the edge of the flames, whispering secrets only Aetheron could hear.