The Anomaly's Path

The room was small and cold, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones and stayed there no matter how many blankets you piled on top of yourself.

A single candle burned on the windowsill, its flame small and weak, struggling against the darkness that pressed against the glass from the outside.

The light it cast was barely enough to reach the corners of the room, and the shadows that gathered there seemed to watch the little girl who knelt on the wooden floor, her small hands pressed together in front of her chest, her lips moving in a whisper that was meant for ears much higher than her own.

She was seven years old, maybe eight, with black hair that fell across her face in tangled strands and amber eyes that were squeezed shut against the tears that wanted to fall.

Her parents had left three days ago, called away to a war that she did not understand and a duty that she could not comprehend.

They had kissed her forehead before they walked out the door, and her mother had promised to return before the snow melted, and her father had promised to bring her a gift from the city, and she had believed them because she was seven years old and she did not know yet that promises were just words that people said to make the leaving hurt less.

She had watched them go from the window, her small hands pressed flat against the cold glass, her breath fogging up the surface until she could not see them anymore.

She had stayed there for a long time after they disappeared, waiting for them to come back, for them to remember that they had forgotten something and the door would open and their voices would fill the empty house.

However... the door did not open.

The house stayed empty.

...And now, three days later, she was still waiting.

"Please," she whispered, her voice cracking on the word like ice breaking under too much weight. "Please bring them back. I will do anything. I will be good. I will help people. I will never complain about anything ever again. Just please... please bring them home."

She opened her eyes and looked up at the ceiling, at the water stain in the corner that looked like a cloud, at the shadows that seemed to lean closer to hear her.

She did not know what the gods looked like. She had never seen them. She had only heard about them in stories and prayers and the whispered hopes of people who had nowhere else to turn.

"I know you are there," she said, her voice stronger now, as if she was trying to convince herself as much as them. "I know you can hear me. I have prayed every night since they left. Every morning too. I have not missed a single one."

She pressed her hands together harder, until her fingers turned white and the bones beneath her skin ached.

"Please. I... am begging you. I do not have anyone else. I... cannot do this alone."

The silence that followed was not the silence of an empty room. It was the silence of a world that had heard her and chosen not to answer. It was the silence of gods who had other things to do. The candle flickered. The shadows danced. The house creaked around her, old wood settling into itself, indifferent to her grief.

She closed her eyes again.

"Please," she whispered one last time.

A knock came at the door.

Not loud or urgent. Just three soft raps, knuckles against wood, the kind of knock that someone makes when they are not sure they are welcome but they have come anyway.

The little girl’s eyes snapped open. Her heart leaped into her throat, and for a moment, she could not breathe.

She scrambled to her feet, her bare feet cold against the wooden floor, her small hands fumbling with the latch on the door. Her fingers were trembling so much that she could not get a grip, and she had to stop and take a breath before trying again.

The latch clicked open.

She pulled the door wide.

A figure stood in the doorway. The light from the setting sun streamed in from behind him, casting his face in shadow and turning his silhouette into something golden and glowing and almost impossible to look at directly.

His hair was black, streaked with white, and his eyes were ocean blue, bright even in the dim light. He was tall and lean, and there was a sword at his hip, and his clothes were covered in dust and blood and the evidence of a long journey.

He was not a god. She knew that. Gods did not bleed — at least that was what her little mind thought. She thought gods were invincible and no one could touch them and they could do anything and make impossible things possible.

But in that moment, with the light behind him and the darkness behind her, he looked like one.

"God...?" she whispered.

_

[Leo’s POV]

The little girl was still in my arms, her small body trembling against my chest, her fingers curled into my shirt like she was afraid I would disappear if she let go.

Her black hair was tangled and matted, falling across her face in strands that stuck to the tears on her cheeks, and her amber eyes were red and swollen from crying. She looked up at me with those desperate, hopeful eyes, and when she spoke, her voice was barely louder than a whisper.

"God...?"

The word hung in the air between us, fragile and aching, and I felt something crack inside my chest.

"I am not a god," I said, and my voice came out softer than I intended.

She stared at my face. Then she shook her head slowly.

"You came," she said. "That is what matters."

She buried her face in my chest, and her shoulders shook with sobs that she had been holding back for years. The sound was raw and broken, the sound of someone who had been alone for too long and had forgotten what it felt like to be held.

I held her tighter and did not let go. Her small body fit against my chest. She was still just a girl who needed someone to hold her.

"I prayed so many times," she said, her voice muffled by my shirt, the words vibrating against my skin. "Every night. Every morning. I begged the gods to bring my parents back. I begged them to send someone to save us."

She looked up at me, and the tears were still streaming down her cheeks, cutting tracks through the dirt and grime that had settled on her skin. Her amber eyes were red and swollen from crying, but they were clear now in a way that they had not been when I first entered this place.

"...And then you came."

I wanted to tell her that I was not a god. I wanted to tell her that I was not worth praying for, that I was just a broken boy who had failed everyone who ever believed in him, that Roran was dead and Marta was a traitor and now dead and the village was ash and I was not a hero or a savior or anything worth waiting for.

But she was looking at me with those amber eyes that had seen too much pain and still held onto hope, and I could not say any of those things.

So I just held her.

We sat like that for a long time, the fire crackling in the hearth behind us, the snow falling softly outside the window. The warmth from the flames should have reached my skin, but it did not.

The heat was there, I could see it, but I could not feel it.

None of this was real. The house was not real. The fire was not real. The only real thing in this place was the girl in my arms and the weight of everything she had been through.

Her sobs slowly quieted, and her breathing became steadier, and the tension in her small body began to ease. Her fingers uncurled from my shirt, and her hands fell to her sides, and she rested her cheek against my chest like she was listening to my heartbeat.

"...I thought I would never see you again," she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper. "After they took me and Voss started his experiments, I thought I would die in that place without ever knowing if you were alive or dead."

"But I am alive and here," I said.

She looked up at me. "I could feel it. Even when I could not see or hear or speak, I could feel you. Faintly. Like a heartbeat in the distance. It was the only thing that kept me going."

Then the walls around us flickered.

For a brief moment, I saw the laboratory beneath the faded wallpaper. The metal table with its leather straps stained dark.

The tubes and the vials and the tools laid out on a tray, each one crusted with old blood. The green torches casting their sickly light across the stone floor, turning everything the color of sickness and decay.

Then the image faded, and we were back in the warm room.

But... Mia was not a little girl anymore.

She was older now, back to her original appearance. Her black hair was clean, no longer matted with old blood, and her face was free of the bruises that had covered it in the laboratory. She was wearing a simple dress, and she was still in my arms, her head resting against my chest.

I looked down at her.

"This is your soul," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "...The place inside you where the real Mia has been hiding all this time."

She nodded without opening her eyes. "...It is the only place Voss could not reach. The only place he could not break."

"I see. But how did I get here?" I asked. "How did I see your memories?"

She was quiet for a moment, her fingers tracing slow patterns on my chest.

"I think it was because of when I healed you back in Wayford," she said finally, "something happened between us. When I was healing you I felt it. Something hungry was absorbing my power and its wanted more and because of it we have created a connection. A thread that tied my soul to yours."

She opened her eyes and looked up at me.

"I did not know what it was at the time. I thought it was just the drain of using my power. But later, when I was alone in the dark, I could still feel you, faintly. Like a heartbeat in the distance."

She pressed her hand against my chest, over my heart.

"Maybe it was that strange power of yours, those black flames you showed back then, or maybe it was my Soul Weaving. Maybe it was both. But whatever it was, it created a bridge between us. That is why you can see my memories and that is how you are here."

The fire in the hearth crackled, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. The shadows on the walls danced and swayed, and the snow outside the window had stopped falling.

"I cannot stay here," Mia said, her voice soft but steady. "This place is not real. It is a memory, a dream, a house made of snow and wishes. It is not meant to last."

"..."

"My body is still in the laboratory. Voss’s work is still inside me, growing and spreading like roots through soil. If I go back, that soldier or whatever will take over again. I will not be able to control it. I will not even remember who I am."

Her voice cracked on the last word, and fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.

"There has to be another way," I said, my own voice breaking. "...I did not come all this way to watch you die."

She reached up and touched my face, her fingers tracing the white streaks in my hair, following the lines of my jaw. Her touch was warm and soft, and I leaned into it without meaning to.

"My soul is already cracking," she said. "I can feel it. Every time Voss forced me to heal someone or myself, every time he cut me open and watched my body put itself back together, a piece of me broke off and floated away into the dark. I do not know how much of me is left. I do not know if there is anything worth saving."

"Then... then I will find a way to fix you," I said. "I... will find a way to bring you back."

She shook her head again. "You cannot fix something that is already gone, Leo. You can only let it go."

Only let it go. Those words echoed in my mind like a stone.

"...I am tired," Mia said. "I have been tired for so long. I kept going because I thought you would come. I told myself every day: ’Leo will come. He promised. He will come. I just have to hold on a little longer and comfort the children.’"

She looked up at me, and her amber eyes were clear now, no longer hollow, no longer empty.

"...And you did. You came and that is enough."

"It is not enough," I said. "I came to save you!"

"Then save me." She took my hand and placed it over her heart. "Free me from becoming a monster. Stop me from hurting the people I love. Release me from Voss."

I felt her heartbeat beneath my palm, slow and steady, the rhythm of a life that was slipping away.

"...You can help me." She squeezed my hand. "Your black flame. It burns souls, not bodies. I can feel it because of our connection. If you use it on me, you will burn away what Voss made. You will free my soul from his grip."

"Absolutely not! You will die! I will never use it!"

"I am already dying, Leo." She smiled, and it was a sad smile. "...My life span is almost over. Voss did not tell me that, but I can feel it. The borrowed time I used to heal myself, the years I spent fighting to survive... there is not much left."

I shook my head and clenched my teeth. "No, there has to be another way!"

"There is not." She reached up and wiped a tear from my cheek. "But it is okay. I am not afraid anymore. I was terrified for so long. Afraid of the pain, the darkness, of dying alone without ever seeing you again."

She took my face in her hands and made me look at her. Her amber eyes were clear now, no longer hollow or empty, and there was something in them that looked like peace.

"But... you are here now," she said, her voice soft and steady. "That is all I ever wanted. That is all I ever needed. And I am glad. I... am so glad you came."

The snow house grew dim around us. The fire in the hearth flickered and began to die, the flames shrinking back from the logs as if they could not bear to watch what was coming.

The warmth faded from the room, replaced by a cold that had nothing to do with the snow falling outside the window. The shadows grew longer and darker, pressing in from the edges of my vision like hungry things waiting for the light to go out.

"I have to go back," Mia said. "My body is waking up."

She looked at me, and her eyes were wet with tears that she was no longer trying to hold back.

"...I will always be with you, Leo," she said. "Even when you cannot see me. Even when you cannot feel me. I will be there."

She leaned forward and kissed my forehead. Her lips were warm against my skin, and I closed my eyes because I could not bear to look at her anymore.

"Please...," she whispered against my forehead. "Let... me go."

I shook my head. Tears were already streaming down my face, and I could not make them stop. "No. I cannot. I do not want to do this."

"You are not losing me," she said. "You are freeing me."

She reached down and took my hand, the one that was resting on my hip where Tempest hung in its scabbard. Her fingers wrapped around mine, and together, we drew the blade.

Shiiing!

The steel whispered against the leather, a soft and final sound, and the black flame that lived in my chest seeped into the metal without me calling it. The edge began to glow with dark fire, hungry and patient, waiting for what it had to do.

Mia took the blade in both hands and pressed the tip against her heart.

"No," I said, reaching for the hilt. "Mia, do not—"

"Please," she said, and her voice broke on the word. "I am tired, Leo. I am so tired. I cannot fight anymore. I cannot hold on anymore. Every day, every hour, every second, I feel myself slipping away. I keep forgetting who I am. What if I forget who you are and the others?"

Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

"I do not want to become the thing Voss is trying to make me. I do not want to hurt anyone else. I do not want to wake up one day and not remember that I ever loved you."

She looked at me, and her amber eyes were desperate and afraid and so full of love that it made my chest ache.

"Please. Let me go while I still know who I am. Let me go while I still remember you and others."

I could not speak. My throat was too tight. My chest was too full. The tears were falling faster now, and I could not wipe them away because my hands were shaking too much.

She took my hand and placed it over hers on the hilt.

"I love you, Leo," she said. "...Thank you for coming for me. Thank you for not giving up." She smiled. It was a sad smile, weak and trembling, but it was real.

"I love you too...," I said. My voice was barely a whisper.

She pressed the blade into her chest.

I felt it slide through her skin, her ribs, her heart. The black flame roared, leaping from the steel into her body, and she gasped but did not scream. Her eyes stayed on mine, and her smile did not fade.

"...Thank you," she whispered.

The world shattered around us.

The snow house crumbled into dust. The walls fell away, and the shadows rushed in, and the light faded from her eyes. Her body dissolved in my arms, turning to ash and light and something that felt like the end of everything.

...And then she was gone.