[Tobias's POV]
I leaned back into the hole, fingers still coated with dust, and pulled out what looked like a crumpled piece of parchment, brittle at the edges, like one harsh breath might tear it apart.
It was hidden under the flask—just barely—like it didn't want to be found.
The paper crackled as I unfolded it, the grime sticking to my palms. The ink was faded, but still legible.
I expected nonsense, maybe a receipt or some old scrawled prayer, but then my eyes landed on the first line.
'To our son, Tobias.'
My chest locked up.
No. No way. My name—clear as day. The letters twisted like a cold hand around my throat.
I froze, staring at it. The world suddenly felt too quiet.
What the hell was this?
I took a breath, tried to ignore how my hands were shaking, and forced myself to keep reading.
'We are sorry, our little boy, for being so selfish, for abandoning you, and for placing such a burden upon you.'
My stomach turned. My mouth went dry.
Selfish? Abandoning me? What burden?
I looked up, around the crumbling walls of this house—my house—trying to make sense of it. The floor groaned under me, and the silence pressed in heavier than before.
These were their words. My parents'. And yet... this didn't make any goddamn sense. They didn't leave. They died. They died.
Right?
I lowered my gaze back to the paper, as if it might rewrite itself, offer some clearer answer.
'Tobias, you're a special child. We sacrificed ourselves for a better tomorrow—yours and Elie's. Well, to start from the beginning...'
I blinked hard, heart stuttering.
What the hell was I reading? This had to be some kind of sick joke. Or some cultist drivel planted here to mess with my head.
But no one knew this place existed, let alone that I'd come back.
Then came the next line. And it hit like a punch to the chest.
'We are the last remnants of the church that worshiped the great god of mind and dreams—Veylithar.'
I just stared at the page, dumbfounded.
Nope. Nope. Absolutely fucking not.
I dragged a hand down my face.
"So my parents were cultists. That's just... great. Fan-fucking-tastic."
It was like peeling back a wound and finding rot underneath. A truth I never asked for, handed to me in the form of a dusty letter buried in the floor of a crumbling house.
And now I couldn't unsee it. Couldn't unknow it.
The words clawed their way off the page, each one a knife digging deeper into my chest.
We stayed when everyone else left, and we couldn't bear it anymore—you two living in this filth. So, we prepared the ritual, one whose result lies in the flask.
My hands trembled as I gripped the letter tighter, creasing the paper. The ink was smeared in places, the handwriting rushed. But the meaning came through sharp, like broken glass in the gut.
It's the blood of the great god. We pleaded with it to overwrite your memories, so you could return when you are stronger, when you can bear the weight of it.
I blinked, hard, but the words didn't vanish. They stayed there, etched like scars. What the hell were they even saying? Overwrite my memories? Start over when I was stronger?
No. This wasn't real. This wasn't the truth.
My throat tightened, breath catching as tears welled up—hot, fast, angry. This wasn't what happened. It couldn't be. My parents didn't abandon us. They died. They died of an illness.
But the letter kept talking, like it didn't care what I wanted to believe.
'Tobias, we ask of you one thing. Drink the god's blood. Awaken as its apostle. Rebuild the great church. This is your destiny.'
Destiny. What a load of shit.
'And we are so sorry for leaving. For letting you two live without us. Take care of Ellie for us. We trust your capability. Goodbye, son. And long live the dream.'
I couldn't breathe. My chest burned, my lungs refused to fill. My eyes blurred as tears finally broke free and rolled down my cheeks, unrelenting.
My jaw clenched, and I bit back a sound that wasn't quite a sob, wasn't quite a scream.
Why?
Why did they leave?
Why did they decide I was the one who had to carry it all? To protect her? I was just a kid. I didn't know what the hell I was doing. And she died. She died anyway.
I stood abruptly, the old floorboards groaning beneath me, and flung the letter across the room with a guttural shout.
It slapped against the wall, then fluttered to the floor like it didn't just shatter the last pieces of my past.
My hands were shaking, my chest heaving like I'd sprinted miles. I wanted to burn this place to the ground. To erase every trace of them. Of what they'd done.
They didn't die trying to save us. They left. Willingly. And they put it all on me. All of it.
And now... what the hell was I supposed to do with that?
I clenched my jaw as their faces surfaced behind my eyes—Ma's warm smile, Pop's rough laugh, Elie's endless giggles as she ran through the narrow halls of this crumbling home.
All of it used to mean something. All of it felt worth remembering.
And now?
Now they'd torn it apart with one letter. One goddamn letter.
The version of them I'd clung to for years—kind, brave, selfless—it cracked like cheap porcelain. I was left holding the shards, bleeding.
My eyes fell on the flask. The supposed blood of a god.
A snort escaped me—dry and humorless. "God's blood," I muttered. "Right."
It looked like nothing special. Expensive, maybe. But not nearly enough to carry what it was meant to.
I turned it over, feeling its weight—heavier than it should be, like it was carrying more than just liquid. Like it carried history. Burden. Expectation.
If I drank it… would I finally be enough?
The thought lingered, poisonous and sweet. What if it could change everything? Give me the strength I never had when it mattered. When she needed me. When they all did.
But then another memory hit—Gideon's laughter, the watchers stillness. Last time I trusted a cult, I almost got killed.
And here I was again, staring at another promise dressed as salvation. Another gamble with nothing but pain in the pot.
Still… what was left to lose?
I let out a laugh—bitter, hollow, too loud for the silence around me. It echoed through the rotting walls like something broken had finally snapped.
Even as my mind screamed don't, something else inside—something quieter but stronger—wanted to listen. To give in. Maybe out of desperation. Maybe out of spite.
Maybe… maybe I just wanted to understand why they did it. Why they chose this path, and why they thought I would, too.
I crouched down and picked up the flask, letting it rest in my hands. The metal was cold, almost unnaturally so, and it sent a strange chill through my fingers.
It didn't look sacred, but when I unscrewed the lid, the smell hit me like a wave.
It was… wrong.
Sweet, but sharp. Comforting and terrifying at once—like childhood memories soaked in poison.
Like incense in a room filled with corpses. It curled up into my nostrils and wrapped itself around my brain, tugging at something deep. Something I didn't want to name.
I stared into the opening, heart pounding like war drums in my ears. My fingers tightened around the flask.
"What do I do, Ma?" I whispered, my voice cracking like old floorboards.
I closed my eyes. "Why'd you do this to me?"
I never wanted power. Never wanted gods. I just wanted you. I just wanted us. A family that stayed together. A life that didn't break.
But that was long gone, wasn't it?
Now there was just this moment.
Me. The letter. The blood of a god.
Then—shoving every screaming instinct aside—I tipped the flask back and drank.
The liquid touched my tongue like molten honey. Sweet, warm… familiar. Like the scent of Ma's bread on cold mornings.
Like the crackle of Pop's laugh when we thought the world was safe. Like a lie I wanted to believe in.
I swallowed. Once. Twice. The warmth trickled down, curling in my gut like a sleeping beast—and then it woke up.
The pain hit without warning.
My knees buckled. The flask slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor. I crashed down with it, hands digging into the rotting wood as if that could anchor me.
But nothing could.
Agony tore through me, raw and constant, like my nerves were being peeled from the inside out.
Every breath burned. I screamed—loud and ugly—every curse I knew ripping from my throat. But the pain didn't care. It stayed.
And then the memories came.
mine, forgotten.
I saw their faces again—Ma's eyes filled with guilt, Pop's shaking hands. I saw their bodies—lifeless, limp. Why did I have to see this again? Why now?
I tried to fight it. Tried to close my eyes. Tried to shut it all out.
But it forced itself into me. It wanted to be remembered.
Then—blackness.
Silence.
When I came to, I was flat on the floor, the pain… gone. No dull ache, no phantom sting. Just stillness, like it had never been real.
My body felt light, almost foreign. Like I was borrowing someone else's skin.
I pushed myself up, groggy and breathless.
Then I saw my hands.
Glowing. Actually glowing—a soft pulse of pale light beneath the skin, like veins were threads of moonlight.
"What the fuck…"
I didn't even think. My mind drifted to the lessons I'd half-heard through paper-thin walls—Talia explaining mana control to Rowan.
The way she described letting it flow, like a current through your limbs.
And just like that… I knew.
Mana rose inside me like mist rising from water—unsteady, clumsy, but real. Mine. I could feel it—tingling under my skin, humming in my chest.
It responded when I called. Like it had always been there, waiting.
I sat there for a long moment, stunned. No triumph. No cheer. Just the quiet weight of truth settling over my shoulders.
I turned my head toward the letter, still lying there. Toward the hat, the necklace, the toy—dust-covered relics of a life that had never been as golden as I'd painted it.
That perfect childhood I'd clung to? Just a story I told myself to sleep better at night.
I picked up the letter, stared at the words one last time.
"I still hate you," I whispered. "For leaving. For lying. For putting all of this on me."
My voice cracked, but I kept going.
"But I get it. You gave me something. Even if you forced it on me, even if it cost us everything…"
I stood slowly, letting the new strength in my limbs settle in. Mana still curled around me, a whisper of power in my bones.
"…I'll honor your wishes. Not for the church. Not for your god. But for me."
And for her.
Then I turned away from the ruins of the past—glowing hands clenched at my sides, heart raw, head full of fire—and walked into whatever came next.