Vale was carried through the steel corridors of Sector Zero, Callum’s arms steady beneath him as Alexandria followed in silence. Vale did not speak. He barely moved. His body was present, but his mind was somewhere far deeper, caught in the afterimage of something he could not unsee.

  Only now, after returning from the memory, did the realization truly take hold.

  That angel.

  No, not an angel.

  It had never been one.

  It was something else entirely. A mockery. A deliberate imitation shaped to terrify, a grotesque parody of divinity designed to petrify its victims before devouring them. A false angel, crafted not to guide or protect, but to hunt.

  Vale shuddered as he was carried over the cold steel floor, the sensation distant, unreal. The image clung to him like a stain that would not wash away.

  No one spoke.

  Alexandria refused to break the silence, her jaw tight, her gaze fixed forward. Callum, of all people, seemed lost in thought, his expression unreadable as his mind churned around Artoria, around impossibilities that should not exist. Once, briefly, he forced a faint smile, as though pretending composure out of habit alone. It did not last.

  Nearly an hour passed before they reached Vale’s room.

  Callum gently lowered him onto the edge of the bed. Vale remained there, shoulders hunched, trembling faintly, his stare fixed on the floor as if gravity itself had pinned his thoughts in place. Ember climbed up beside him at once, pressing close and nudging his side insistently. The ravens followed, settling near his shoulders, brushing against him as if to reassure themselves that he was still alive.

  Without a word, Callum and Alexandria turned and left. The bitterness on their faces lingered long after the door slid shut.

  Time passed.

  Vale continued to shake.

  Night eventually fell. Dinner came and went untouched, Vale felt no hunger, no thirst, nothing at all. At some point, Chrome emerged from the console, attempting to speak to him. When Vale did not respond, Chrome approached quietly, dissolving into his metallic arm to monitor his vitals. Heart rate elevated. Stress indicators critical. Alive, but barely grounded.

  As the hours dragged on, exhaustion finally crept in. Vale’s blinking slowed, his posture slackened, yet his vacant stare never fully faded. At last, while still sitting upright on the bed, his eyes closed.

  Sleep claimed him.

  The final thought that drifted through his mind before darkness took hold was that false angel, its smile, its wings, its knowing gaze.

  Then,

  Vale opened his eyes.

  He was standing in an ancient temple.

  Stone pillars rose around him, half-collapsed and blanketed in dust, their surfaces worn smooth by time long forgotten. The air was dry and heavy, unmoving. The structure felt abandoned, no, lost, as though it had never been meant to be found at all.

  Vale looked down at himself with confusion.

  He was wearing unfamiliar clothing: long, desert-colored robes woven from sand-toned fabric. No armor. No gloves. His hands were bare.

  And whole.

  He froze.

  Two arms. Real arms.

  His breath caught as he lifted them slowly, flexing his fingers. No prosthetic. No metal. Just flesh and bone.

  “What… is this?” he murmured.

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  He felt no fear. That alone unsettled him more than anything else.

  Vale turned, searching instinctively for Mirage, but there was no sign of the wolf. No presence in his mind. Only silence.

  “A dream?” he muttered, uncertain.

  He stepped closer to one of the pillars and placed his hand against it. The stone surface shimmered faintly.

  Reflective.

  Vale’s eyes widened.

  For the first time in longer than he could remember, he saw himself clearly.

  Black hair, unchanged. But his eyes,

  They were black as well.

  Not pale. Not white.

  Black.

  “Did they… lie?” he whispered.

  He reached up, touching his cheek, then poked his eye experimentally. Pain flared, real and sharp. He blinked, heart pounding.

  This did not feel like a dream.

  At least, not one he understood.

  “What is this?” he asked again, staring at his hands.

  Something fell in the distance.

  The sound echoed through the darkened reaches of the temple, metal or stone striking stone. Vale stiffened.

  “Hello?” he called out cautiously.

  No answer.

  After a moment’s hesitation, he began walking toward the sound, steps slow and deliberate. His gaze swept the shadows as he moved, every sense alert. The temple offered no exits, only darkness ahead, endless and oppressive.

  He took another step,

  And stopped.

  Cold sweat trickled down his face.

  Then another drop.

  Then another.

  Behind him,

  Crying.

  The cries of babies.

  Vale’s blood ran cold.

  He knew those sounds.

  His throat tightened as he swallowed hard, every instinct screaming at him not to turn around. He stood frozen for a long moment, breath shallow, hands trembling at his sides.

  Slowly, agonizingly, he turned.

  The thing stood before him.

  Pale. Skeletal. Unnaturally tall.

  Its wings were made of infants’ corpses, twisted, screaming, their faces contorted in eternal agony. Umbilical cords dangled from torn flesh like grotesque trophies, swaying gently as if alive. Fresh blood coated its emaciated body, pooling around a hollowed stomach that looked as though something had clawed its way out.

  It smiled.

  A wicked, knowing smile.

  It looked down at Vale as one might regard prey newly discovered.

  And in that moment, Vale understood with perfect clarity,

  The false angel had found him.

  Vale remained petrified, his legs trembling beneath him as the angel slowly raised one skeletal arm. Its smile widened further, stretching into something impossibly cruel as its fingers brushed against Vale’s cheek. The touch was icy, unnatural, devoid of anything that could be mistaken for human warmth.

  Pure malice radiated from it.

  Then the angel began to change him.

  Vale felt it before he saw it. His skin stiffened, a creeping numbness spreading outward from where the creature had touched him. A dull, lifeless grey bled into his flesh, crawling across his face, down his jaw, and along his neck. His body refused to obey him. He could not scream. He could not run.

  'This isn’t real. It can’t be real.'

  The thought echoed desperately in his mind, over and over. But it felt real, and sometimes, he knew, belief alone was enough to kill. Fear did not need truth. It only needed certainty.

  The grey continued to spread, swallowing him inch by inch, reaching his throat, climbing higher. The angel watched in rapt fascination, its hollow smile unbroken.

  Then the grey reached Vale’s eyes.

  Something went wrong.

  The corruption stopped, then reversed.

  The grey tore itself away from Vale in an instant, ripping backward like a living thing, surging into the angel instead. Vale gasped as sensation rushed back into his body. He staggered backward, breath ragged, as the angel recoiled in sudden panic.

  It clawed at its own flesh, shrieking, trying to tear the grey away, but the corruption did not relent. It spread violently across the angel’s blood-soaked body, blooming like a plague. The creature roared, its scream feral and desperate, as it ripped strips of its own skin away in a frenzy.

  Vale could only stare, frozen, chest heaving.

  The angel screamed again, louder, until suddenly it stopped.

  Its hollow eyes snapped toward Vale, now filled with unfiltered rage.

  It lunged.

  But it never reached him.

  Mid-stride, the angel’s body seized. The grey had overtaken it completely, locking it in place like a statue carved from rot and ash. It stood motionless, frozen in a mockery of life.

  Vale remained where he was, gasping for breath, staring at the thing in front of him. Seconds stretched into minutes. Minutes into something longer. Time lost all meaning.

  Then,

  The statue moved.

  The angel’s body began to twist inward. Bone cracked. Flesh folded unnaturally, tearing and reforming as if reality itself were being rewritten. The grey pulsed as the creature contorted, collapsing into itself again and again.

  Vale’s eyes widened in horror as the transformation continued.

  And then it was over.

  Standing where the angel once was stood a boy.

  He looked to be Vale’s age. His hair was a deep, fiery orange, falling in loose waves, regal, almost knightly in its bearing. His eyes were the same striking shade, sharp and alive. There was no blood. No wings. No corruption.

  Just a human boy.

  Vale stared, unable to speak.

  After a long moment, the boy turned to face him, studying him with a puzzled, almost irritated expression. He tilted his head slightly and opened his mouth.

  “What are you still doing here?”

  Vale’s eyes widened,

  And he jolted upright.

  He was back in his room.

  Air rushed into his lungs as he sucked in a sharp breath, heart hammering violently in his chest. His vision swam as he looked around wildly. Steel walls. Familiar shadows.

  Ember stared at him from the bed, head tilted in concern. The ravens watched silently, their dark eyes fixed on him.

  Vale continued to breathe heavily for several seconds before finally sinking back down, his hands pressed against his knees, mind reeling.

  “What… was that?” he whispered.