Chapter 37: The Final Page

Umbra's body had vanished from the world of his wives, reappearing in a distant realm that held only the whispers of time. This place, suspended beyond any known reality, was where he had always ended up before. It was a place that felt like a trap, and he could never leave without paying some sort of price.

A group of figures stood before him, shadows with faces he recognized all too well. These were not friends—they never had been. They were the ones who watched his every move, waiting for the moment when they could remind him of his failures.

"Look who finally showed up," one of them sneered, their voice dripping with disdain.

"You took your time," another mocked, arms crossed. "Running away again, Umbra?"

Umbra remained silent, his gaze calm but firm. He'd heard it all before, and their words had long since lost their sting. Still, they circled him like predators, waiting for a reaction.

"You've made a mess of things again, haven't you?" one of the figures taunted. "Your wives tearing apart worlds, your children—ha!—they don't even recognize you. Some 'king' you are."

"Can't even keep your own family together," another voice chimed in, harsher than the last. "You left, and now they're fighting, thinking it's their fault. Pathetic."

Umbra's jaw tightened. He wasn't here to argue with them. He wasn't here for their approval.

Without a word, he approached a large, ancient book resting on a stone pedestal. The figures around him quieted for a moment, watching his every move with twisted amusement.

"What, you think writing in that book will change anything?" one of them laughed. "You think it matters now?"

Umbra ignored them, his hand hovering over the last blank page. He could feel their sneers, their scornful eyes watching him as if waiting for him to falter.

"You really think you have anything worth saying?" a voice whispered close to his ear, cold and mocking.

Umbra took the pen in his hand, his expression unreadable. As he pressed the ink to the page, he began to write, his voice soft but steady.

"So this is how it all started… At the beginning, it was just me. My soul alone, wandering through the endless void."

The figures around him snickered, but Umbra continued, unaffected by their cruel laughter.

"I got lonely. So I made her. A being to keep me company. She was wild at first, like a child. She created worlds just to destroy them, experimenting with everything she could. She learned to feel all emotions, one by one."

Umbra's voice grew softer, his pen moving faster across the page. "And one day, she told me she wanted to feel love. She said, 'Love is both good and bad. It brings happiness but also pain and jealousy. I want to love you, Umbra… because you created me.'"

The figures around him scoffed, but Umbra didn't stop.

"I gave her a body. We created worlds together, made life, built civilizations. We were in love, and eventually, we had children. For a time, we were happy."

The atmosphere shifted slightly as he spoke, but the cold malice of the group never fully faded.

"Then I left," Umbra continued, his voice hardening. "I had to go to one of the worlds we created, but I couldn't come back. I was trapped. Time passed, and everything changed. When I returned, she had become my enemy. Not just her—my children, too. They turned against me, twisted by something I never saw coming."

Umbra finished writing, the ink drying as he set the pen down. He looked at the words on the page, the final chapter of his story now laid bare for all to see.

"Is that it?" one of the figures spat. "That's your great story? You made a mess of things, lost your family, and now you think you can just write it down like it'll fix anything?"

"Pathetic," another figure hissed. "You're nothing but a failure, Umbra."

Umbra turned to face them, his eyes cold and steady. "I didn't write this for you."

His words hit them like a blow, and for a moment, the figures fell silent. Their jeers, their cruelty—it didn't matter to him anymore.

"I wrote it because it's the truth," he said, his voice calm but unwavering. "And no amount of your scorn can change that."

Without another word, a sudden force hit Umbra, as if the very realm itself had decided to cast him out. He felt the pull, but he didn't resist. As the figures faded from view, their mocking laughter echoing behind him, Umbra disappeared from the void.

And for the first time in a long while, he felt something that had been missing for ages—clarity.