Chapter 27:BENEATH THE WEEPING MOON

The wind mourned through the trees, a mournful dirge in the encroaching darkness. Aether, tears finally spent, forced a semblance of calm as Mary spoke, her voice a fragile thread."My precious son," she rasped, "you are the greatest gift I've ever known." Her words, laced with a lifetime of love, brought a choked sob back to his throat."It was back, in Suthmana, all those years ago," Mary continued, her voice trembling. "Under the cloak of night, a creature of ethereal beauty appeared – a visitor not of this world."Aether held his breath. Suthmana, the capital of Sineru, where his mother's story began – a place of tragedy and unspoken suffering. Why hadn't she spoken of this before? Why hadn't she confided in him about the forced servitude that marked her life?Squeezing her hand, Aether fought down the storm of questions raging within him."I thought him a deity, perhaps even the wisdom god himself," Mary whispered, her eyes clouded with a memory far older than her years. "But his aura... it emanated a power untouched by the dusty tomes of Suerus Grand Hall."Despite the blood choking her, Mary pushed on, a fierce spark igniting in her fading eyes. Aether tried to protest, but a weak hand silenced him."No, Aether," she rasped. "This being spoke of a prophecy. He said I would bear the Sun... but my child, fate would bind you to darkness. Unless the very stars themselves burned."Aether's mind reeled. This revelation shattered his understanding of his world, of himself. He wasn't just different; he was a harbinger of darkness, a child of prophecy. And yet, why him? He was never special, just an ordinary boy. Or so he thought.A voice, a whisper on the wind that carried the chill of a tomb, sliced through Aether's grief. "[You are being watched]," it intoned, a spectral blade scraping against his raw nerves. It was a distant whisper, yet it lodged itself in his mind, a cold reminder that even in this moment of shattering loss, unseen eyes observed.Mary's voice, a lighthouse in the storm raging within him, cut through the icy pronouncement. "Tough times lie ahead, my son," she rasped, her voice thick with unshed tears. But her eyes, shimmering pools of sorrow, held a steely resolve – a resolve she wore for him. Aether, already a torrent of grief, his body wracked with sobs that tore at her heart, clung to her like a drowning man to a lifeline.She tightened her embrace, the world blurring at the edges until only they remained, bathed in an ethereal glow. Her own exhaustion warred with the primal urge to weep alongside him. Instead, she anchored herself to his pain, a ghost tethered to the mortal realm by an invisible cord."This being called itself... an Apostle," Mary rasped, the word barely a whisper lost in the storm of his sobs. The weight of it, however, settled like a cold stone in Aether's tear-filled heart. Apostle. A word laden with unknown meaning, yet its significance hung heavy in the air.With a final surge of strength that belied her fading life force, Mary whispered, "Go to the Ruins of Kings, remember." Though the message itself was a mystery, she had delivered the being's words. One thing resonated with agonizing clarity – Aether was special, special beyond measure.Time seemed to suspend its relentless march, a fragile bubble enclosing them in a tapestry woven from memories. Laughter, a bittersweet echo from a happier past, bubbled up in Mary as she recalled Aether as a babe at her breast, his chubby fingers clutching at her with fierce possessiveness. Memories flickered – his childish declaration of "You're the most beautiful person ever!" – precious fragments of a love story etched in time.But the silence that followed, once a comforting shroud, now felt deafening. The wind had stilled, the moon veiled by ominous clouds, even the tireless trees stood frozen, sentinels in a world on the brink. "Mama, I love you," Aether choked out, his voice a mere tremor on the desolate wind.No answer came, only the mournful song the wind picked up, echoing through the night. A desolate wail ripped from Aether's throat, a primal cry mirroring the screams of a world about to plunge into darkness. He was alone, adrift in a sea of grief, the weight of his mother's legacy and the chilling pronouncement a heavy burden on his young shoulders.****Beneath the indifferent gaze of the moon, a wasteland stretched out – a testament to destruction. Ash choked the air, and the only movement came from aimless wisps of smoke dancing on the wind. Suddenly, a shift. The previously gentle breeze morphed into a howling beast, whipping the desolate landscape. Then, a tear in the very fabric of reality.Purple lightning crackled as space itself ripped open, revealing a gaping maw darker than the abyss. From this void, a figure emerged. Its eyes, cold and piercing, scanned the fire-ravaged land. A linger, a sigh – disappointment, perhaps? But in this silent realm of dying embers, who could tell? The figure turned, ready to retreat back into the darkness.But then, a cough. A slow, wracking cough that shattered the desolate hush. The figure whirled back, its eyes lancing through the night until they found the source of the sound. "Alive," it uttered, the voice devoid of emotion yet tinged with a surprising hint of elation. "Splendid!" it declared, the word ringing oddly hollow in the dead air. This wasn't a rescuer, not in the truest sense. It was something else entirely, something drawn to this flicker of life amidst the ashes.