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September 7 - September 19, 2025
Long ago, I told you a tale of a chosen girl who fell to the darkness. Now I will tell you the tale of a boy who was born within it.
And he cared about none of it, because he was losing the love of his life.
Going on a mission to save the world with my friend’s dead father was not at all what I expected to be doing in death.
“I’m giving credit to its rightful owner. I did not kill Atroxus. Mische Iliae did, and she deserves to have her name painted in the stars for it.”
But to claim that the woman who had literally changed the course of the divine world, who had saved countless lives and touched countless souls, would ever be forgotten . . . Never. Mische Iliae would be remembered by the bones of time itself, and I knew it because I would write her story there with my blood if I had to.
As if the gods had seen some beauty in mortality but failed to realize that the imperfection of it was what made it remarkable.
“Fate and luck are twin sides to the same coin.”
And a voice, quiet and booming at once, said, “Get your hands off my wife.”
“There is a certain peace in a tempest that you can only appreciate from its center.
“For whatever of your mistakes, Mische Iliae,” he said, quietly, firmly, “for whatever of your faults, for whatever unintended pains you may bring this world, I will love you anyway.”
A flicker of hurt, then anger, wrenched over her perfect, alive face. But I kept going, approaching her step by step. “I already told you that I would never watch you die again. I made that decision in an Ysrian prison. Have more respect for me than to think I’d break it so easily.”