The air around them shimmered faintly as Berethia's trembling fingers moved through the air, tracing symbols that glowed faintly green before fading. Her voice was weak, barely above a whisper, as she chanted words that Changra couldn't understand. The spell wrapped around him like a soft breeze, warm and oddly comforting.
Before he could process what was happening, a strange sensation spread through his body. It was as if the very essence of who he had become was being pulled away, layer by layer. He clutched at his chest, confusion and panic flashing across his face.
"What are you doing?" he choked out, his voice cracking.
Berethia didn't answer, her lips forming the last syllables of the spell as a soft green light enveloped Changra. His silver hair faded, the strands returning to their original dark shade. His gray eyes shifted, one now back to its vibrant blue and the other to its haunting crimson. His entire presence seemed to shift, reverting to the boy he had been three years ago—Changra.
When the light faded, Berethia's hand fell limp to her side. She gazed up at him, her face pale but serene. A faint smile graced her lips, warm and genuine, devoid of the madness that had consumed her for so long.
"You're you again," she whispered, her voice fragile but tender.
Changra stared at her, stunned, unable to speak as the weight of her actions settled over him.
Changra's lips parted, his breath shaky as he tried to speak, but Berethia's trembling hand rose, stopping him. Her fingers brushed against his chin, a faint gesture to silence him. She shook her head, the motion weak but resolute, and her dull green eyes met his with a depth of sorrow that made his chest tighten.
"Don't," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Don't say anything. Not yet. Please."
Her hand fell away as she steadied herself, drawing a shuddering breath. She looked at him with an expression that was raw, unguarded—a glimpse of the person she had been before Envy had consumed her.
"I'm sorry," she began, her voice heavy with regret. "For everything. For the lies, the betrayals, the deaths. For Callen, for Tessa, for Liora… for everyone I've taken from you. I can't… I can't undo any of it. I can't make it right."
Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she continued. "I thought I was strong. I thought I could handle it. But from the moment I met you, something inside me cracked. I saw hope, Changra. Real, blinding, beautiful hope. For a brief, fleeting moment, I believed I could change. That you… you could save me."
She laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. "But the truth is, I never stood a chance. Envy isn't just something I feel—it's what I am. It's in my soul, my very being. And no matter how much I wanted to be better, to be something more, it always pulled me back. It whispered to me, fed on my pain, my hatred, my jealousy. It turned me into this… monster."
Her hands clenched into fists, shaking as she spoke. "I hated you, Changra. I hated you for being everything I wasn't. For being chosen, for being important. For seeing me when no one else did and making me feel something other than emptiness. And that hatred… it destroyed me. It destroyed everything."
Her voice broke, and she pressed a hand to her chest, over the wound he had inflicted. "I wanted to be saved. I wanted to believe I could be. But the more I tried to fight it, the more I realized there was nothing left of me to save. Envy had taken everything."
Her gaze dropped to the ground, her shoulders slumping under the weight of her confession. "I don't expect you to forgive me. I don't deserve it. I've caused you so much pain, taken so much from you. And yet… here you are. Still standing. Still fighting."
She looked back up at him, her lips trembling as she forced a faint smile. "You're stronger than I ever was. Stronger than I could ever be. And for what it's worth, I'm proud of you, Changra. For holding on, for not letting this world break you the way it broke me."
A single tear slid down her cheek as her voice softened. "I'm so sorry, for all of it. I just… I hope, someday, you'll find peace. Even if it's not in forgiving me."
Changra stared at Berethia, his chest rising and falling heavily as her words settled over him. His hands trembled at his sides, and his jaw clenched, the conflicting emotions within him bubbling to the surface. He took a step closer, his voice low but firm, his words cutting through the silence like a blade.
"I can't accept that apology," he said, his tone sharp. "You don't get to just say 'sorry' and think it makes up for everything you've done. Callen, Tessa, Liora, Bren, Meryn—all of them are gone because of you. Their lives were worth more than your pain, your envy, or whatever excuses you've been telling yourself."
Berethia flinched, her gaze dropping to the ground. She said nothing, her body still trembling as Changra continued.
"But," he said, his voice softening slightly, "maybe you're right about one thing. Maybe there's nothing left of you to save. Maybe Envy's taken everything. But that doesn't mean there's nothing left of Berethia. And wherever you're going… it's got to be better than this."
He knelt down beside her, his eyes locking onto hers with a mixture of anger and something softer—pity, perhaps, or understanding. "I don't forgive you," he said, his voice steady. "I don't think I ever will. But I can at least hope that, wherever you're going, you'll find the peace you couldn't find here."
Berethia's lip quivered, but no words came. Changra let out a slow, shaky breath, his hand clenching into a fist as he spoke again. "Before you go… I need to know one thing. Lysa. Where is she? What did you do to her?"
Berethia's gaze flickered, her green eyes dull but filled with a faint flicker of recognition. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words seemed to catch in her throat. She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. "Lysa… she's alive."
Changra's heart jolted, a surge of hope and dread washing over him. "Where?" he demanded, his voice rising. "Where is she?"
Berethia's lips trembled as she forced out the words, her voice faint and faltering. "They… they took her. The Crimson Dominion. They want her… for the same reason they wanted you."
Changra's fists tightened, his knuckles whitening as rage coursed through him. "What reason?" he growled, his voice dripping with barely restrained fury. "What do they want with her?"
Berethia's head fell back slightly, her body sagging as the last of her strength began to wane. Her eyes fluttered shut, and her voice grew faint. "They think… she's… part of the prophecy."
Changra leaned closer, his voice shaking with desperation. "Berethia," he said, gripping her shoulders tightly. "Where is the Crimson Dominion? Where did they take Lysa? You have to tell me!"
Her eyes fluttered open, but they didn't focus on him. Instead, they stared somewhere far away, lost in the fog of her fading mind. A faint smile played on her lips, but it wasn't directed at him—it was at something deep within her memories.
"My sister," she whispered, her voice trembling. "She was always the favorite. Perfect in every way. They loved her more than anything… so much more than they ever loved me."
Changra's jaw clenched, frustration and helplessness boiling within him. "Forget your sister!" he snapped, his voice laced with panic. "Berethia, focus on me! Where is Lysa? Please, just tell me where she is!"
But she didn't seem to hear him. Her trembling fingers reached up weakly, brushing at the air as if she were reaching for someone only she could see. "I hated her," she murmured, her voice cracking. "I hated her so much… but I loved her too. Even when they ignored me, even when they hurt me, I still loved her."
Her words faltered, her breath growing weaker. "She's still alive, you know," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Frozen… waiting. If someone would just… just awaken her. My perfect sister… she deserves to live."
Changra's throat tightened as her words hit him like a hammer. His grip on her shoulders loosened slightly. "Berethia," he said softly, his voice trembling. "Why are you telling me this? I can't… I can't help her if you don't help me."
Her gaze flickered slightly, as if she heard him for a fleeting moment, but then her lips quivered into a faint smile. "And you," she said, her voice fragile but full of something almost tender. "You saved me, Changra. Even if you didn't mean to. Even if it was too late. You saw me. You made me feel like I mattered, even if only for a moment."
Changra froze, his chest tightening. "I didn't save you," he whispered, guilt heavy in his voice. "I couldn't."
Her trembling hand reached up, brushing lightly against his cheek. Her touch was cold, her movements unsteady, but there was a strange warmth in her gaze as she looked at him.
"You did," she said simply, her voice barely audible. "Not by forgiving me. Not by sparing me. But by giving me something to hold onto… even if it was just for a moment."
Her body shuddered, her strength fading. Changra's breath hitched as he felt her slipping away. "No, no," he muttered, his voice rising in panic. "Not yet! Don't go yet! I need you to tell me where they took her!"
Her lips moved, her final words a faint whisper that seemed to carry more weight than he could bear. "Thank you… for letting me feel… alive."
Her body grew heavy in his arms, her green eyes dimming as her breathing slowed to a stop.
Changra sat frozen, his hands trembling as he cradled her lifeless form. Tears streamed down his face as he stared at her, his voice cracking as he whispered, "Why couldn't you just tell me? Why couldn't you just tell me where to find her?"
The battlefield was silent, the faint rustle of the wind the only sound. Changra held her close, the weight of her words and her death pressing down on him like an unbearable burden. He had lost her, and yet, for the briefest moment, it felt as though he had truly seen her—not as Envy, but as Berethia.