Ophelia's Point of View
The sun had not yet risen, but Elarion's chamber glowed with a quiet stillness, as if the dawn was holding its breath just beyond the horizon.
I stepped inside again, not to sneak this time, but to speak.
To tell the truth.
He stood by the open window, his face turned toward the distant hills bathed in the faintest light. His eyes—milky and unfocused—did not follow me, yet I felt him watching me.
No… feeling me.
"Your steps," he said gently, "carry the weight of starlight. You don't belong to this ground."
I froze.
Elarion turned slowly toward me. Though his gaze remained blank, it pierced straight through me.
"You don't need to be afraid," he added, voice like silk wrapped in stone. "I may appear commanding, but my heart… is softer than most dare see."
I swallowed and stepped forward, heart fluttering.
"I've known your presence from the moment you entered the temple," he said, walking slowly toward the low sitting area near the altar wall. "Not with eyes. They've long been taken. But with something higher."
He gestured toward the cushion across from him. "Please. Sit. You carry more silence than most souls can bear."
I obeyed.
He sat with practiced grace, folding his hands atop his lap, the air around him humming faintly. Even in blindness, he radiated awareness—not of sight, but of soul.
I met his still, waiting presence.
And I spoke.
"I am not what I appear," I said softly. "My name in this realm is Ophelia, Seraphim of the Fifth Choir."
Elarion tilted his head, but said nothing. The air stilled around us, like even the walls leaned in to listen.
"I was cast down," I continued. "Banished. Stripped of title. Accused of a sin I did not commit."
My throat tightened.
"They said I murdered another seraph. His name was Noel. One of the Pureborn. But I didn't."
My voice wavered, but I kept going.
"I saw him already dead, when they found me at the edge of the breach, they assumed… they chose to assume... that I had turned."
Elarion remained still.
"Andnow," I said quietly, "I've been sent here not only to prove my innocence—but to find the one who truly killed him. And to understand who opened the forbidden portal from the Celestial Realm to Yeneva."
A long silence followed.
Finally, Elarion turned his blind eyes to me and spoke in a tone both reverent and troubled:
"I have heard whispers," he said. "Of the veil thinning. Of songs unraveling. And now your presence here confirms it."
He reached for a scroll beside him and unrolled it slowly with practiced hands.
"It is said," he continued, "that when a seraph is cast down unjustly, the land they walk will stir. The wind will listen. The veil will… react."
He tapped the scroll's center, revealing a familiar mark.
The Sigil of the Veilborn.
My breath caught.
"I've seen this in Hayva," I said. "Carved into the ruins. Painted in blood. Left behind like a warning."
He nodded.
"This symbol has returned in secret places. In old visions. In the dreams of those who serve the light. Something... someone... is tampering with the divine."
His voice lowered.
"If what you say is true, Ophelia—then the veil is bleeding."
I stared at the sigil, my voice a whisper: "And Noel's death was just the beginning
The air in the chamber was still and warm, like breath held in reverence.
I had just finished telling him everything—my banishment, Noel's death, the opening of the forbidden portal. Elarion sat across from me, silent. Though his eyes were unseeing, he felt everything.
Then, slowly, he tilted his head, his expression shifting from thought to something more… searching.
"There is more," he murmured.
I frowned slightly. "More?"
"I can feel it," he said softly. "A thread. A tether. A bond clinging to your soul. It burns faintly—like a memory long buried—but it's there."
His blank eyes lifted in my direction, and for the first time, I felt seen in a way far deeper than vision.
"I may be blind, child of light…" Elarion smiled faintly, "…but my senses are sharper than most with eyes. I see not with sight, but with soul."
My chest tightened at his words.
He was right.
Even if I tried to bury it, even if I told myself Magnus was just a mortal—just a passing chapter—I couldn't ignore it.
That pull.
That echo.
That unspoken recognition.
Before I could respond, I heard my own voice ask, gently, "Why are you blind, Elarion?"
He was quiet for a moment, as if weighing something delicate in his heart. Then he leaned back, hands resting lightly on his knees.
"I have not told this story in many lifetimes," he began, his voice low and calm, but heavy with memory. "Not even to the High Circle."
He took a breath.
"I was not always a priest. Nor always blind. In my earliest form, I was… closer to the stars. I was not a seraph like you—but I was bound to the light. An ancient soul. A keeper of balance."
His fingers brushed over the scroll between us as if tracing the past.
"And once, a long time ago, I fell in love."
I stilled.
"She was radiant," he said, a shadow of a smile crossing his face. "Fierce. Kind. A warrior among the veiled. But her fate was bound to flame. A vision came to me—a prophecy of her death. A moment I saw before it arrived."
His voice lowered.
"I had a choice. Let the future unfold… or break the laws of fate to save her."
I whispered, "And you chose to save her."
He nodded once. "I traded something sacred. My divine gift of sight. A forbidden exchange. In doing so, I bent the flow of destiny—shielded her at the cost of my vision."
"And did she…?" I hesitated. "Did she love you back?"
Elarion's smile was soft and sad. "No. Her heart belonged to another. And I knew it would, even before I chose. But I did it not for love returned… but for love to be given."
My throat tightened.
"And so," he finished quietly, "I have wandered since. Blind, yes—but open in other ways. I have seen through bonds. Through grief. Through light and shadow alike."
His face turned gently toward me.
"And that is how I know… the soul your heart aches for is still alive. And still searching for you, even if he doesn't understand why."
The silence between us wasn't empty.
It was full of understanding. Of shared sorrow. Of two celestial beings cast from the sky, scarred by love and sacrifice, still walking the paths set before them.
The candlelight flickered softly between us.
Elarion had just finished telling me how he gave up his divine sight to save a woman he loved—knowing she would never love him back.
But he didn't stop there.
He exhaled slowly, the weight of centuries shifting in his chest.
"I want you to understand something, Ophelia," he said, his voice low and distant, like wind brushing over old ruins. "Giving up my sight was not the end of my sacrifice."
I watched him closely as he paused, fingers loosely interlaced.
"It was only the beginning."
He leaned back, head tilted to the ceiling as if searching for stars he could no longer see.
"When I lost my vision, the world did not fall silent… it grew louder. Too loud. The memories of past lives—the weight of every lifetime—became unbearable."
I said nothing, heart heavy in my chest.
"To live as an old soul is not wisdom," he continued. "It is stagnation. You are stuck in a loop where time moves forward, but your soul drags behind. You remember everything. The mistakes. The losses. The faces of those long turned to dust."
His jaw clenched, just slightly. "There were days I forgot what decade I was in. Days I would call out for people who had died centuries ago. Days where I could hear their laughter, feel their touch—and know that I would never find it again."
The words tore through the silence, not loud, but cutting.
"It is torment," he said quietly. "To outlive everyone you've ever loved. To remember the details the world forgets. The tone of someone's laugh. The color of grief in their eyes. The sound of their footsteps before they turned and left you."
My throat tightened.
"And worst of all…" Elarion's voice broke for a moment. "You lose parts of yourself. The young man I was—the one who felt joy, who saw beauty I hardly remember him. He is a stranger to me now."
He turned his face slightly toward me, his clouded eyes solemn.
"That is the true price of my love. Not just my vision. But the stillness of my life since. A slow decay. A soul unable to move forward."
I swallowed hard, blinking tears I didn't know had formed.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
But he shook his head gently.
"No. Don't be. It was mychoice. And now…you're here, guided by fate"
His voice softened again.
"Someone who is still searching. Still feeling."
....
The silence stretched between us again—deep, full of memory and grief—but now with something else beneath it.
Understanding.
And for the first time since I fell from Hayva, I didn't feel completely alone.
Because across from me sat a man who had lost everything,
but still reached for the light.