Kaelis climbed the spiral stairs, step after step, as if time itself had unraveled and ceased to matter. His legs moved mechanically, driven more by inertia than will. The stone steps, worn smooth by countless ages, curved endlessly upward, disappearing into the shadowed heights above. Each footfall echoed in a way that suggested he might be the only living thing left in the world.
He no longer knew how long he had been climbing — minutes, hours, days. Perhaps an eternity folded into a moment. The monotony was so complete that it seemed time had become circular, looping back on itself, trapping him in a liminal space between moments.
With each step, the light receded a little further. Shadows stretched longer, darker, until even his own outline was devoured by the gloom. The air thinned. The silence deepened. And the darker the world became, the heavier his heart grew — a stone inside his chest, dragged by invisible chains of memory and guilt.
He walked like a condemned man ascending the gallows, every movement echoing the weight of a soul seeking redemption. But there was no judge waiting at the top — only a silent longing. A singular desire that pulled him upward: to go home. To return to the warmth of his family, to the world of sun and sky, laughter and touch.
And then… the cold vanished.
The biting wind that had haunted every corridor of the Inverted Cathedral receded like a receding tide. The blood that had once matted his skin and clung like dried iron flaked away into nothing. The pain in his muscles, the fatigue etched into his bones, the hollow ache that lived behind his eyes — all of it dissipated as if it had never existed.
Kaelis didn't notice when he stopped climbing. The transition was seamless, like slipping into a dream while still awake. One blink — that was all. One blink, and the nightmare was gone.
When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in the Cathedral. Nor was he in the world he had known before.
He lay on a worn but soft sofa, its cushions warm, embracing. Above him stretched a wooden ceiling, rustic and familiar, its beams stained by time and smoke. The floor beneath his feet radiated warmth, as if it had been kissed by morning sunlight. In the corner, a stone fireplace crackled gently, its fire neither too strong nor too weak — just enough to comfort, never enough to burn.
The air smelled of home — fresh-baked bread, roasted herbs, a hint of ash and honey. From the kitchen came the distant clatter of cutlery, the murmur of voices, the unmistakable music of a life well-lived: laughter, footsteps, the quiet rhythm of normality.
For a long moment, Kaelis remained still.
Surely he was dreaming. Surely this was a mirage conjured by a dying mind desperate for peace.
And then, a voice.
"Son?"
It pierced him like a bell tolling across a still valley — strong, warm, wrapped in an intimacy he had not felt in years. His breath caught.
He sat up with a start — and there they were.
Hadriel's mother, standing in the doorway, apron dusted with flour, a soft smile on her lips that radiated a mother's endless patience. The father, upright and solid, like a pillar carved from the earth, strength and pride in his stance. And the little sister — the one Kaelis never had in the waking world, but whom Hadriel remembered in dreams and fragments, like a melody half-forgotten.
She was tiny, hair in loose curls, cheeks flushed with life. Her eyes sparkled when they met his.
It was too real to be false. And yet, too perfect to be true.
Before Kaelis could speak, the girl ran to him with the absolute trust only a child can give and wrapped her arms around him.
A hug. Small. Gentle. So tight and so sincere it bypassed the mind and struck straight at the soul.
Something inside him cracked.
For the first time since the beginning of the Nightmare, Kaelis felt it — not relief, not victory, but something far more elusive: peace. A quiet, tender peace that made his throat tighten and his chest tremble.
"Come, dear," the mother said, her voice like soft bread and firelight. "Sit at the table. You've suffered enough. Here, everything is fine. You can rest now. Nothing has to hurt anymore."
The table was a feast of color and comfort — steaming loaves, bowls of soup, vegetables seasoned with care, sweets that shimmered like memories of childhood. It was abundance without excess, joy without guilt. A dream of domesticity so vivid it stung.
The warmth in the room was not just from the fire — it came from the presence of family, from love longed for and never fully grasped. It was everything Hadriel had lost. Everything Kaelis never truly had.
His composure fractured. The tears came without warning, rising from a place too deep to name. He collapsed to his knees and wept — not from pain, not from fear, but from longing.
Longing for the life Hadriel should have known. For the quiet mornings and messy breakfasts. For arguments over chores and bedtime stories. For the ordinary days that had been stolen. For the love that had never had the chance to take root.
And with that longing came the truth — heavy, undeniable, cold.
Hadriel had tried to end his own life not out of weakness, but out of love. Out of emptiness. Out of a grief too profound to carry alone. Because no one had told him it was okay to say goodbye.
The mother knelt beside Kaelis and gently ran her fingers through his hair, like a lullaby made flesh. The father knelt too, laying a hand on his shoulder, silent and present. The little sister took his fingers and played with them, humming a tune only she remembered.
It was perfect.
Too perfect.
"You are everything he ever wanted…"
"And because you are too perfect…"
"I know you are not real."
The room froze. Stillness fell like ice over water. The fire did not die, but it no longer gave warmth. The scents in the air faded. The light dimmed. The illusion wavered.
Kaelis remained kneeling, tears drying on his cheeks.
"If you were truly still here... I wouldn't have needed to become a devout."
"If this were real… I wouldn't be suffering like this."
"If this were reality… I wouldn't have come this far."
He rose slowly to his feet. The hands that had touched him with love remained — but their warmth had gone. Their skin now felt like marble, cold and unmoving.
Still, he embraced them — one by one. With reverence. With pain. With love.
And he whispered to that fading dream:
"Thank you… for everything you could have been."
The world dissolved. The walls of the house shattered into a cascade of golden dust, drifting away like autumn leaves. The scent of bread vanished. The fire was gone. The wooden floor gave way to the icy marble of the Inverted Cathedral.
The light died.
Silence returned.
The door creaked.
Kaelis turned his gaze to the passage ahead — the path leading to the next stairway. He exhaled, slow and steady. Wiped away the last tear. His expression was weary, but clear.
Something within him had died in that illusion. But in its place, something stronger had taken root — not power, not defiance, but something quieter, rarer.
Resilience.
He stepped forward. Exhausted, but steady. Sad, but unbroken.
"Is this the last floor?"
"Will this hell ever end?"
He wondered, hollowed out by the journey.
And still, even without answers, he moved forward.
Above him, unseen yet present, the Heart God watched.
It did not speak. It did not smile.
It simply observed.
And in that silence, it understood:
Kaelis… was the perfect angel.