Darkness.
Not the vast, suffocating void from before—this was different.
This was the darkness of exhaustion.
Of a mind that had been pushed too far, of a body that had been wrung dry, of a soul that had once again taken up its burden.
Ezra drifted in it.
And for the first time in what felt like centuries , he rested.
---
Then— pain.
A dull, heavy ache pressing against every muscle, every bone. A headache that felt like someone had taken a hammer to his skull.
Ezra groaned, his mind dragging itself out of unconsciousness.
His senses returned in fragments.
The scent of damp stone. The faint crackle of burning wood. The cool touch of fabric against his skin.
He was lying down.
Somewhere real.
His fingers twitched.
"Ah, you're awake."
The familiar voice was too smug.
Ezra forced his eyes open.
His other self sat at the foot of the bed, arms folded, golden eyes watching him with amusement.
Ezra exhaled through his nose. "I hate you."
"Understandable."
Ezra pushed himself up, wincing. His body protested, sore in ways he hadn't even thought possible.
"How long was I out?"
His other self tilted his head. "Long enough."
Ezra's jaw clenched. "Be specific."
A grin. "Three days."
Ezra stilled.
Three days.
That was… longer than he'd expected.
And considering what he'd done, what he'd unleashed and then bound again , it was a miracle he had woken up at all.
His fingers curled into the blanket beneath him. "...Where am I?"
His other self leaned back, eyes gleaming.
"A monastery."
Ezra blinked. "What?"
The grin widened. "An old one. Abandoned. Thought it'd be poetic."
Ezra sighed. "You're insufferable."
"Again, understandable."
Ezra swung his legs over the side of the bed, planting his feet on the cold stone floor.
His body felt different.
Not just from exhaustion—there was something else.
Something… anchored.
The weight of the chains settled against his soul, a presence that hadn't been there before.
His other self watched him, eyes sharp.
"You feel it, don't you?"
Ezra didn't answer immediately.
But he did.
The chains weren't gone .
They were inside him now. Part of him.
Not just as a burden—
But as a power.
His lips curled into a bitter smirk. "So, what? I'm the jailer now?"
His other self laughed. "You always were."
Ezra exhaled.
Right.
The throne had never been his to rule from.
It had been a prison.
And the only one who could lock it again … was the one who had locked it the first time.
He should have known.
He ran a hand down his face. "This is going to be a problem, isn't it?"
His other self's grin turned sharp.
"Oh, absolutely."
Ezra groaned.