There was an inexplicable feeling in Alias's chest—a tightness that felt almost like a physical ache, yet it was lighter than any divine burden he had ever carried.
It was the sensation of a thousand missing pieces finally clicking into place, the overwhelming realization that he was no longer an architect looking down at a design, but a piece of the world itself.
Moved by an impulse he didn't need a scroll to explain, Alias raised his pale, trembling hands and finally wrapped them around Theo's waist.
The contrast was jarring. Alias's fingers brushed the coarse, sun-worn fabric of the man's tunic, feeling the immense heat radiating from the skin beneath. Theo felt solid—flesh, bone, and a decade of unyielding strength.
Compared to the cool, ethereal stillness of the heavens, this was a storm of life, and Alias clung to it with everything he had.
