The water was cold, far colder than anything Amukelo had ever felt in his waking moments. He was suspended in this dark, crushing expanse, where the only sound was the dull thud of his own heartbeat, muffled by the immense weight of the water around him. The deeper he sank, the more the water seemed to press against him.
Amukelo tilted his head back and looked up. The surface was distant, barely a glimmer in the dark, and even that faint light seemed to shrink as if being devoured by the darkness itself. He watched as it faded, but made no move to swim upward. His limbs hung at his sides, lifeless and heavy, as if the water had leeched away any strength or will he had left. The idea of fighting to breathe, to live, seemed pointless. For what? His vengeance was complete, and yet, instead of peace, there was only emptiness.
A strange, cold sensation unfurled within his chest. He glanced down and saw a dark energy swirling around where his heart should be. It pulsed like a living shadow, expanding and contracting as though it were breathing on its own. Amukelo reached out to touch it, curiosity and dread mingling in his mind. But when his fingers brushed against it, they passed through as if it wasn't there at all.
The surface above him grew dimmer, the last slivers of light snuffed out like dying embers. Suddenly, Amukelo's mouth opened involuntarily, and water surged in, flooding his lungs. The pain was instantaneous and immense, sharp and cold, seizing his chest in a death grip. He struggled, his body convulsing as it instinctively tried to cough, to expel the water, but there was no air left to fight for. Only pain and the crushing realization of his helplessness.
Panic spiked through him, a primal urge to survive that had nowhere to go. The pressure built until it felt like his chest would burst, and just as the pain became unbearable, Amukelo's vision blurred.
Then everything went black.
---
Amukelo gasped as he shot upright in bed, his heart pounding as if it were trying to escape his chest. The pain hit him immediately, a sharp ache that flared from his ribs and spread through every inch of his body. His muscles screamed in protest, but he didn't flinch. Pain was irrelevant; it was nothing compared to the hollow ache within him.
He looked down and saw that his torso and arms were wrapped tightly in clean, white bandages. They felt suffocating, a tangible reminder of wounds that had almost cost him his life. Then Amukelo looked around the room. The bed was enormous, its wooden frame carved with meticulous detail, the sheets thick and heavy. Sunlight streamed through a large window that overlooked Norton.
Amukelo took a deep, measured breath, trying to dispel the dizziness that clung to him like a shroud, but it didn't help. Memories flooded back as he tried to piece together where he was. The fight with Neclord. The moment Amukelo's world should have changed but didn't.
And then, Pao. The final image of her sacrifice was sharper than any pain he felt in his body. He could almost hear her laugh, could almost feel the touch of her hand on his arm. The emptiness deepened, and though his vision blurred, his eyes were dry. They were like glass, reflecting nothing, holding nothing.
The soft creak of the door pulled him from the hollow silence of his mind. A young maid stepped into the room, balancing a tray with a steaming bowl of soup. She didn't notice him at first, her eyes focused on setting the tray down on the small table by the bed.
"Oh!" she gasped, finally looking up and seeing Amukelo's weary, haunted gaze fixed on her. "You're awake. Thank goodness."
Amukelo watched her with an empty stare, the light from the window reflecting off his dark eyes in a way that made them look lifeless. The maid offered a small, nervous smile and gestured to the tray.
"I've brought some soup. Please, eat. I'll go tell my Lord that you're awake," she said, backing out of the room with a quick curtsy.
Amukelo glanced at the bowl of soup, the steam curling up in lazy tendrils. It was a simple thing, meant to bring warmth and comfort, but the sight of it filled him with an inexplicable sense of detachment. He couldn't bring himself to reach for it. He shifted his gaze to the window, where the sun was beginning its climb into the sky.
But to him, the sight held no meaning. The dawn symbolized hope, a fresh beginning, but Amukelo felt neither hope nor renewal. He was a hollow shell, emptied by the very victory he had pursued for so long. The hatred that had fueled him was gone, leaving only the aching space where it once roared. No pride in surviving, no joy in seeing the sun rise another day—only the gnawing, silent grief for Pao, for his friends, and for something more, something elusive that he couldn't remember but that clawed at the edges of his mind.
Amukelo sat there, staring out at the sun that promised life and warmth, feeling as if he were watching it from the bottom of the dark water in his dream.
After a longer moment the door opened, and three figures entered—Eliss, her father Lord Roland, and her mother, Madam Fliss. Amukelo looked at them, his face was empty.
Lord Roland inclined his head, acknowledging Amukelo in a way that felt both respectful and calculated. "You have done a lot of good by weakening the Nameless Dynasty," he said, his voice steady and formal. "It's not going to trouble the people anymore. I have to thank you for this."
Amukelo nodded slowly. He had pursued Neclord not because he wanted to damage Nameless Dynasty, but because of his personal revenge. Now, hearing it spoken of so simply, almost as if it were a favor to the kingdom, felt hollow.
Madam Fliss, whose demeanor was softer than her husband's, stepped forward. "We can't thank you enough for saving our daughter," she said. "Tell us, is there anything we can do for you? Anything at all?"
For a long moment, Amukelo said nothing. What could they do for him? Nothing they could offer would fill the void left by the loss of purpose, by the memories of Pao's last moments. Finally, he shook his head, his voice barely a murmur. "No. Thank you."
Madam Fliss seemed almost taken aback by the quiet refusal, but she nodded, her eyes flicking toward her husband with a subtle worry. Lord Roland, however, continued watching Amukelo. There was something in Roland's gaze that suggested recognized, the depths of despair Amukelo had plunged into.
Eliss, who had remained quiet was about to speak, but before she could say anything, Lord Roland raised a hand, halting her words.
"You know, young man," Roland began, his voice softening as he crouched down to Amukelo's eye level. "It doesn't feel good, does it?"
Amukelo looked at him, his gaze sharpening slightly, though his expression remained empty. He didn't respond.
Roland continued, as though speaking to a son or a younger version of himself. "Achieving your revenge. It never does."
Madam Fliss stepped closer to her husband, her face creased in concern. "Pst… What are you saying?" she whispered, placing a hand on his arm as if to stop him from treading on such sensitive ground.
But Roland paid her no mind. "You feel like there's no more reason to live for," he said, his tone softening further. "I don't know your story, young man, but I know that emptiness well enough. And it never goes away on its own."
Amukelo's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of something appearing in his otherwise vacant stare.
"You have to know," Roland went on, "that sooner or later, you will find that reason. And sometimes, the best way to begin is by living for something beyond yourself. For me, I chose to live for God. He saved me… saved my daughter from the darkness of a dungeon. And I believe He will save you, too."
Amukelo's expression barely shifted, but a thought flitted through his mind. *Saved his daughter from the dungeon? What nonsense.* It felt absurd, especially after the difficult fight Amukelo had to win to save his daughter.
But Roland's gaze didn't changed. "And I know, that you might think it was your own strength that saved Eliss. And yes, it was. But maybe, just maybe, He brought you here so you could save her. He works through people, you see. Through you, through me."
The man spoke as though he truly believed these words, as though faith alone could mend wounds that left people hollow. But for Amukelo, such words felt distant, almost as though they were meant for someone else.
Roland straightened. "I know it's hard to believe now, but in time, I am certain someone, or something, will come along to give you purpose. It might not be one person, but that path will reveal itself. And when it does, you'll know it wasn't for nothing."
With that, he gave a final nod, turning to leave the room. "Stay as long as you need," he said, his voice carrying a warmth that felt almost fatherly. "And remember… God loves you."
Amukelo's eyes flicked up, watching as Roland and his family turned to leave. Eliss wanted to say something, but her father placed his hand on her shoulder as of saying to give Amukelo some time.
Alone again, Amukelo stared at the empty space where they had stood, Roland's words echoing in his mind. *Loves me?* The words felt hollow. *He must hate me,* he thought bitterly, *or be a very unfair God.*