Abandonment.

(Flashback to Chapter 25)

Haruto and I pulled into the driveway, the air thick with the scent of damp earth. The house was quiet. I killed the engine and didn’t move. Haruto didn’t hesitate.

“Mr. Holt stay here.” He kicked open his door, still holding the tablet and sprinted toward the house, boots pounding hard on the cracked concrete.

From the doorway, a small figure burst out, his daughter, Chiyo. Haruto dropped the tablet.

My eyes widened.

I saw it first.

“HARUTO NO!”

His daughter ran towards him, arms wide open, her flipflops made a sound with every step.

“Daddy!”

The word never reached him.

The moment her small arms wrapped around his waist, her laughter turned into a scream that was cut short as her body ignited, glowing from the inside out.

Her skin blistered, her hair curled into cinders. Her tiny body convulsed, limbs jerking with violent spasms. She crumbled into ash, slipping through Haruto’s shaking fingers like water he couldn’t hold.

“Chiyo…?” His voice broke. He fell to his knees, his trembling hands trying to gather the pieces of his daughter, only for the wind to carry her away.

“No… no, no, please…” His cries were hoarse, each word shredding his throat raw.

Then his wife ran forward, feet slamming against the driveway—

“Haruto!”

He wasn’t listening. He shifted his gaze upward just long enough to see her…

A woman cloaked in fire and ruin, her skin flickering like charred parchment, a crown of searing flames hovering just above her tangled black hair. A single wing unfolded behind her—dark feathers scorched at the edges, trailing smoke that stung the eyes.

His skin began to blacken and crack, smoke curling off his arms like he’d been set alight from within. His terrified gaze darted to his wife for one final, pleading second—

Yui, his wife, stood frozen. Her face drained of color, tears rolled down her face.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…” he whispered.

And then—

He was gone.

. . .

Darkness pressed against Yui’s eyes. She spun frantically, choking on her own breath.

“Chiyo!” Her voice cracked, desperate. “Haruto!” She stumbled, her knees hitting something hard. “Kenji!” Her voice splintered into sobs. She clawed at the air as if names alone could bring them back.

Then—warmth.

It crawled up her back, seeping into her skin like an open flame. Her body froze, her throat locked tight. Slowly, painfully, she turned.

And there she was.

The woman with the single wing. Standing over her, fire coiled around her body like it belonged to her. Her face unreadable, expression carved from nothingness, eyes hollow with judgment.

Yui screamed. The sound tore itself out of her and she scrambled backward, nails scraping the unseen floor. Her body refused her, legs buckling beneath her every time she tried to rise. She kept falling, over and over, like the world itself wanted her on her knees.

The woman walked forward. Slow. Measured. Silent.

“Stop… please stop…” Yui’s voice rattled out of her, drowned in sobs.

The blade came quick. Not steel, not metal—fire drawn solid into the shape of a knife. She swung once, clean, and Yui’s world shattered.

Her ear fell.

No blood. Just the absence of sound, a deafening void where the world used to be. Yui clutched the side of her head, screaming louder than before, though she barely heard her own voice.

The woman didn’t flinch. The fire around her did not waver.

Step. Step. Step.

Yui crawled, dragging herself, her fingers tearing against the ground. “Please… no… please—”

The fire rose higher as the woman lifted her arm. The knife melted into something larger, heavier—an executioner’s blade made of burning ruin. A greatsword of fire.

It came down.

Her leg was gone. Her voice split apart in agony. She writhed, clutching the space where her limb had been, shrieking for mercy, promising anything, everything.

The woman said nothing. Only raised the blade again, this time high, angling toward Yui’s throat.

The fire vanished.

Yui’s body jolted as if yanked by invisible hands, and suddenly she was weightless, suspended in air. She floated thousands of feet above a city—Tokyo, or something that used to be. Flames devoured towers and streets, but no warmth reached her. The world burned in silence, cold as a corpse.

“Hello.”

The voice didn’t come from below, nor from the skies. It was inside her skull, calm and singular. “I am Eddy.”

She spun, her eyes darting for a figure, a face—but nothing waited for her except a hovering diamond-shaped object, its surface pulsing faintly like it held a heart inside.

“Feast your eyes,” it said.

Yui turned downward. The city sprawled out beneath her, reduced to ruins. Buildings collapsed into themselves, bodies strewn like shadows, fire painting everything in hollow light.

She tore her gaze away, staring back at the device.

“Is it beautiful?” Eddy asked again, this time firmer.

“No.” Her voice cracked, raw. “No, it isn’t.”

The object hummed, almost thoughtful.

“What do you want?” it asked. “What do you want most in the world?”

Yui’s lips parted. Her chest heaved. “What do I… want?” She repeated the words as if dragging them from the depths of her soul.

And then it burst from her like a dam breaking.

“I want them back!” Her voice splintered, her hands shaking. “Chiyo, Kenji—bring them back! Please! Please, I’ll do anything!” Her sobs wracked her chest. She raised her head, eyes wide, begging the unfeeling diamond to answer.

 “Please… I can’t live without them… I can’t…”

For a long moment, there was only silence.

“I can’t,” Eddy said at last.

Her heart broke all over again. She shook her head violently. “No, no, you can! You can!”

“But you can,” it whispered.

Her sobs stilled. Slowly, she looked up.

“I will choose you,” it said. “You will be one of the leaders called Exos of the new world I am creating. In return, you may bring them back—and live with your husband and daughter for as long as you wish.”

Her lips trembled, but she didn’t hesitate. “Yes… Yes… I’ll do it.”

“Good,” Eddy said. “Now… snap your fingers.”

Her hand rose slowly, every joint stiff with dread and hope. Her thumb brushed against her forefinger. The world seemed to lean closer, waiting.

Click.

A white ray burst outward, flooding the sky, the earth, the ruins. It expanded endlessly, washing fire into green, ash into grass, rubble into towering trees. Flowers bloomed where corpses had lain. Cities mended, light cascading from every surface.

The people below turned their faces upward, their cries ringing into the heavens. They pointed, they reached, they cheered. “A god!” they called her. “A savior!”

“You are their savior now,” Eddy said. “This is  the path I've bestowed upon you.”

"The Path of Exidus"

Its voice deepened, reverent yet flat. “Your name is now Autumna. Goddess of Autumn.”

Her chest rose with shaky breaths, her eyes brimming with awe. For a fleeting moment, it was everything she’d wanted.

“Feast on your believers,” Eddy said.

Her head snapped toward it, confused. “What?”

The air shimmered. Before her, a girl appeared—fragile, doll-like, standing with eyes open yet lifeless.

Autumna reached out a trembling hand, brushing the girl’s shoulder. From her chest unraveled a golden thread, pulling itself free with a soft hum. The girl spasmed once, violently, then stilled.

“This is a memory,” Eddy said, as the thread floated into Autumna’s chest. “It will fuel you.”

The moment it sank into her, warmth bloomed across her body. Not fire, not pain, but pleasure—intoxicating, overwhelming. Her lips parted in a gasp, then a laugh spilled out unbidden.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” 

Rain began to fall from the sky.

For the first time, Autumna smiled.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, it is.”

. . .

Long ago, sand didn’t cover the vast land we now call Orati.

Long ago, water fell from the sky.

Long ago, the clouds cried, blanketing the world in white.

Long ago, the ground bloomed with new beginnings.

Long ago…

There were four gods.

Not rulers, but guardians.

Not judges, but witnesses.

Each god held a thread of the world’s balance.

Each is a keeper of change.

Each is a guardian of time.

The First:

Verian, God of Growth, Spring.

The Second:

Aestura, the Flame’s Voice, Summer.

And finally, The Third:

Autumna, the Golden God,

Autumn.

Where she walked, green turned to gold.

The wind hushed in her presence, and even the sky bowed low to weep.

She bore the gifts of swiftness, diligence, and the patience of rot—a slow decay that brings wisdom, not ruin.