There was no ground.
Only ash.
And Jay was falling through it—
not down, not forward—
just deeper.
Deeper into a memory of a world that had no place left for him.
At first, there had been fire.
Then silence.
Now, only the fall.
His body—if it could still be called that—spiraled through the dark like a forgotten ember.
Fragments of glass and molten time whirled around him, each one catching the light of memories he could never silence.
Angela, laughing at something stupid he said.
Her hands—gentle—framing the skull he never wanted.
The sleepy hum of her breath as she read beside him.
The last "I love you," spoken like a promise—
before the world shattered it.
Each fragment cut deep.
But he didn't bleed.
Didn't scream.
Didn't flinch.
He just fell.
He opened his mouth to call her name.
No sound came.
There was no breath, no voice, no soul left to shape it.
Only heat.
Only hatred.
And it was his.
Not given.
Chosen.
Once, his fire had been red.
Fierce. Human. Protective.
A shield for those he loved.
That warmth was gone.
Now, his fire burned blue—
cold, twisted, holy in its hunger.
The color of vengeance.
The shade of grief that never stops screaming.
And Jay embraced it.
Because if he didn't burn—
what was left?
Time broke into shards.
Seconds bled into eternities.
Even her name became unbearable.
Not because he forgot it.
But because he remembered it too clearly.
Angela.
Angela.
Angela.
Each repetition carved deeper, until memory itself became the punishment.
Her face, her scent, her smile—
each one another link in the chain wrapped around his soul.
She had been the light in his storm.
And now, the light burned him.
Something cracked.
Not around him—beneath.
He didn't stop falling.
He just… landed.
But there was no ground.
Only absence.
Ash drifted upward.
Gravity forgot how to hold him.
The horizon stretched on forever—black, cracked, whispering.
He stood.
Slowly.
Bone shining faint through translucent skin.
Blue fire coiled through him like veins.
His eyes lifted.
There was no sky.
Only flame.
Far above, it twisted like a crown of serpents.
That's where she was.
And this…
This was where he belonged.
His fists closed.
The fire curled tighter around him.
Not as a prisoner.
As an heir.
He looked at his hands.
No longer his.
They were empty.
They were hollow.
They were hungry.
And for the first time…
He didn't pull them back.
He let the fire take him.
He let the grief sharpen into purpose.
He let his heart turn to ash and his soul to kindling.
And he smiled.
Not because he was saved.
Because he never would be.