Chapter 25: Scorched Symphony

The world had no music anymore. No hum of industry, no laughter of children, no rustling wind through the leaves. It had all been burned away, replaced by silence punctuated only by the distant rumble of collapsing reality.

Skies above the Earth were torn open like paper, bleeding alien constellations into view. The ground itself buckled with Aria's footsteps—each one shaking tectonic plates like ripples across a dying sea.

Less than a billion souls remained, scattered in terrified pockets across what used to be civilization.

The Dying City

Somewhere in the remnants of coastal Argentina, a shantytown of refugees had grown from the ruins of a once-vibrant port city. Their lives were simple—quiet—hollow. But they were alive.

Children played in broken warehouses, adults whispered prayers to long-dead gods. But none of them were prepared for what came next.

The sky split like wet paper.

Chains erupted from the earth, lashing every living being to the ground. Screams followed, echoing off hollow buildings. Torture devices formed midair—spinning, burning, pulsing with malicious intent. The air tasted like rusted metal and fear.

Then she descended.

Aria’s form no longer looked entirely human. Her skin glowed with shifting script, her hair was a liquid white flame, and her eyes—those haunting crimson orbs—held not anger, but detachment.

A thousand voices whispered her name as if the Earth itself remembered it with dread.

And then the agony began.

No pocket dimension. No sanctum. No hiding. Just raw, open devastation.

Skins peeled, minds shattered, souls unravelled. People died, begging for gods who no longer existed.

And through it all, Aria stood serene—until something broke the rhythm.

A single child, wrapped in chains, sobbed—not from pain, but from confusion.

"Why...?" the girl whispered, wide eyes locked on Aria. "Why do you hurt us...?"

Aria raised a hand, and for a moment, the torture paused.

Her fingers trembled.

She looked away.

The girl died quietly, not from her magic—but from fear, from grief. And something in Aria’s chest tightened, though she did not understand why.

The Sanctum Breaks

In the sanctum—now dimmed and whispering with cracks—Ren stood before the mirror-pool, watching.

He had seen enough.

He knew the price. Breaking the seal of the sanctum would wound him. Cost him memories, or perhaps worse. But he would not wait while she destroyed herself.

“I’m coming,” he said, voice hoarse. “Even if you hate me for it.”

He shattered the seal.

Light engulfed him. His soul screamed. Pieces of his past—his father’s face, a childhood melody, his mother's soft embrace, the smell of winter—tore away from him, burned as toll for defying a god.

He collapsed into the ruined world.