Chapter 8 - The Weightless Heart

“Dad… is that really you?”

Axl’s voice trembled as he stood in the glowing void of snow and memory.

The man before him smiled warmly, the same smile that used to greet him when he returned home from patrol. “It’s me, Axl. I know this feels strange, but it’s real. This place is where the mind and spirit meet. That’s why we can talk.”

Axl’s throat tightened. “I’ve never heard of a Divine being able to do this.”

His father’s expression gentled. “It’s something passed down through Kiah’s line. A rare gift—one that shows itself when the heart is ready.”

Axl stepped closer, almost afraid his father might vanish if he blinked. “Then… this is Kiah’s power?”

His father’s hand motioned toward his arm. “Tell me, have you ever seen your mark glow blue?”

Axl hesitated. “…No. Only red. Always red.”

A shadow of sadness touched his father’s face. “That red glow—the Fallen Form. It twists Kiah’s gift into rage—power bought with pain, exhaustion, and the risk of losing yourself entirely.”

Axl’s fists clenched. “I know it too well. But I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t see past my hatred towards the men who killed you. It still haunts me to this day because I couldn’t protect you.”

His voice cracked. He dropped to his knees. “It was my fault. I revealed my power when I saved Haliee. Her father told Alaric. I led them to us. I ran while you stayed. I ran like a coward.”

The words tore out, jagged and raw. Tears blurred his vision until the snow became a smear of light.

His father knelt down and pulled him close. The embrace was firm, steady—the kind Axl had wished for every night since that day.

“You were just a boy,” his father whispered. “It was my choice to fight. My choice to stay. I would make that choice again, a thousand times, if it gave you another chance at life.”

Axl gripped the cloak in his fists. The years of anger, the fire that burned hollow inside him, cracked open into sobs. He pressed his forehead into his father’s shoulder and let the sound come.

“You were never to blame,” his father continued, voice firm but kind. “But you’ve carried guilt like a chain. It’s weighing you down. Son, you don’t have to carry it anymore.”

Axl pulled back, his face streaked with tears. For the first time in years, his chest felt light—like he’d put down a weight too heavy to bear.

“I love you, Dad.”

“And I love you, Axl. Always.” His father smiled, eyes shining. “Now listen. There are things you need to understand about your bloodline.”

Axl wiped his face quickly, forcing himself to focus.

“There are three gifts from Kiah,” his father said, holding his gaze. “First—the ability to reach across the spirit realm, to hear the voices of those who came before. That’s what allowed this.”

He touched Axl’s arm gently. “Second—the true Divine Form. Unlike the Fallen Form, it requires a pure heart. A purpose rooted in protecting others, not destroying them. With it, your strength will eclipse even your rage. No pain. No confusion. Only clarity.”

Axl’s breath caught. “That… that’s real?”

His father nodded. “You’ve already begun to touch it. That’s why you’re here.”

Axl’s heart swelled, hope breaking through grief like dawn through storm clouds. “And the third?”

His father’s form flickered, edges unraveling like smoke. The light around him dimmed.

“Dad?” Axl reached forward.

His father’s voice wavered, strained by distance. “The third… it is—” His figure cracked, the glow shattering like glass.

“Wait! Tell me!”

But the link was gone. Only his father’s last words lingered, faint and warm:

“I’m proud of you, son…”

The world folded away.

Axl gasped awake. The vaulted ceiling of the Divine council chamber swam into view, painted murals gleaming under shafts of afternoon sun. His lungs pulled in air like he’d broken the surface of deep water.

“Axl,” Scarlet whispered urgently at his side, her hand hovering near his shoulder.

Raymond stood on his other side, watching with quiet intensity. “Steady.”

Axl’s eyes drifted down, almost without thought. His breath hitched.

His arm glowed—not red, not twisted and furious, but a deep, steady blue. The light shimmered like calm water, cool and alive. He stared, mesmerized. For so long he’d only known the red. This felt different. This felt right.

His chest burned with emotion. He almost laughed and cried in the same breath.

Gasps rippled through the chamber. Murmurs broke the silence.

“You found your purpose,” Raymond said, and his voice carried pride that filled the hall.

One of the elders—the silver-robed skeptic—leaned forward, unimpressed. “So his arm glows. That erases years of rage? That proves restraint?”

Another elder, her voice smooth as woven reeds, answered, “A blade tempered in hatred can still be sharpened anew.”

The skeptic scoffed. “Then we simply forgive?”

Axl tore his gaze from his arm and faced them. “I don’t expect forgiveness because my mark turned blue.Judge me for who I am now, not the shadow you remember.”

The room stirred with argument. Some nodded, others muttered doubt.

Raymond finally stood. “Enough. We asked for proof. You saw it. That trial wasn’t just a test—it was a way to help him heal. You’ve all watched my nephew carry grief like a millstone around his neck. We gave him a chance to put it down.”

Axl blinked at his uncle. For the first time, he understood—this had never been about catching him in a lie. It was about saving him from himself. His throat tightened, but he bowed deeply. “Thank you.”

The reed-voiced elder inclined her head. “Healing can be its own proof.”

The skeptic, still reluctant, finally muttered, “Then conditions. If trust is extended, it will be watched closely.”

Raymond gave a curt nod. “And so it will.”

The tension eased, but Axl couldn’t let go of the memory. He lifted his head. “There’s more. My father spoke of three gifts from Kiah. He told me the first two. But the third—before he could explain, the vision broke. Do any of you know what it is?”

The chamber hushed. Elders glanced at each other, their silence heavier than doubt.

“Most of us were not present before the massacre,” one admitted at last. “If such a gift existed, it was never taught to us.”

“Perhaps it was lost,” another murmured.

Axl’s jaw clenched. “Then I’ll uncover it myself. I need to know what Kiah truly left behind.”

Raymond’s eyes softened, though his tone stayed firm. “And you will. The archives survived more than you think. Tomes, fragments, histories scattered but not broken. Stay here. Wait for the scouts. Use this time to learn. If there is truth to this third gift, we’ll find it.”

Axl bowed his head. “Understood.”

The chamber doors burst open. A young runner stumbled inside, pale and breathless.

“There’s trouble in the outer court!”

Raymond turned sharply. “What kind of trouble?”

“The human,” the boy stammered. “The one from the gates.”

“John,” Axl said, blood draining from his face.

“He was moved near the hall to wait,” the runner explained quickly. “A crowd formed. Guards tried to control it, but… it’s getting ugly.”

Axl was already striding for the door. Scarlet followed without hesitation. Raymond cursed under his breath and came after them.

The outer court erupted with noise.

Sunlight poured over the square, but the air was thick with taunts and jeers. A crowd of Divine soldiers and citizens pressed tight around one figure in the middle.

John.

His posture was rigid, his jaw clenched. He stood alone while insults rained down.

“Impure trash!”
“Pseudo-scum!”
“Send him back outside!”

He kept his gaze fixed above their heads, trying to hold calm. His hands trembled at his sides, but he did not lash out.

Axl pushed through the steps, shoving past bodies, Scarlet at his side.

But the crowd surged.

A rock arced through the air and struck John’s temple with a dull crack.

He staggered, blood streaking down his cheek. His composure shattered. His eyes flared with grief and fury that he had buried for too long.

“No—!” Axl shouted, still forcing his way forward.

But it was too late.

John’s body trembled, his hands curling into fists as energy pulsed under his skin—wild, unstable. The jeers fell away into silence, the air itself tightening as if holding its breath.

A black radiance flared across his forearms, gleaming like light yet swallowing everything it touched.

The air quaked, heavy as iron, and even the boldest onlookers clutched their throats—strangled by a darkness that hadn’t yet touched them.