The void dimension’s crackling silence pressed against Cel’s awareness as Silas’s arm settled across his shoulders.
“This means we won’t see each other for a while,” Silas said, his tone carrying that familiar brightness that somehow never quite matched the circumstances. His grip tightened fractionally, turning Cel toward the manor’s entrance with gentle insistence. “Let me see you off properly. It’s the least I can do before Veyron sends me off to who-knows-where with Wrath’s delightful company.”
Behind them, Zara made a sound that might have been disgust or might have been a threat. Hard to distinguish between the two where she was concerned.
Silas guided Cel back toward the manor without releasing his hold. The door opened under his free hand, revealing the entrance hall’s warm light and polished floors. The interior waited exactly as it had before - mundane and comfortable, completely at odds with the impossible void surrounding it.
They moved through corridors slowly. Deliberately. Silas’s usual quick energy had settled into something more measured, like he was savoring the walk rather than rushing to complete it.
“So,” he said after several steps of silence. “Four months in the wilderness. That should be interesting.”
Cel glanced at him. “Interesting isn’t the word I’d use.”
“What word would you use then?”
“Dangerous. Exhausting. Likely to end with someone dead.”
Silas’s laugh came bright and genuine. “See, that’s the difference between us. You look at a situation and see all the ways it could go wrong. I look at it and think about all the stories I’ll have afterward.”
They turned a corner, passing through a sitting room with furniture that looked like it belonged in a noble estate.
“You’ll get to see more of the empire,” Silas continued. “Villages you’ve never visited. Forests that don’t exist anywhere near Stella. And you’ll be protecting people who actually need it - not just sitting in classrooms listening to boring lectures.”
“Besides,” Silas added, his tone shifting to something more teasing. “You’ll have Hestia there. Two months of close proximity. Plenty of opportunities for those feelings you definitely don’t have to develop further.”
Heat crawled up Cel’s neck. “I don’t—”
“Save it.” Silas’s grin widened. “It’s adorable, really. In a tragic, doomed kind of way.”
Cel’s jaw tightened. Arguing would only encourage him. Silence was the better option.
They emerged into another hallway, this one leading toward the front entrance. The door waited ahead - dark wood against stone walls, the boundary between impossible interior and impossible exterior.
Cel stopped.
Silas’s arm slipped from his shoulders as he turned to face him fully. Green eyes met his glacial blue ones with that same open friendliness that characterized everything Silas did.
“Can I ask you something?”
Silas’s expression shifted fractionally - surprise flickering across his features before settling back into warmth. “Sure. Ask away.”
The question had been building for weeks. Every interaction with Silas had added weight to it, accumulated evidence that demanded explanation.
“How can you always be so happy?”
Silence pressed between them. Silas stared at him for a while..
Then he laughed.
Not a small chuckle or brief amusement. Full, genuine laughter that echoed through the hallway and made his shoulders shake with the force of it.
Annoyance flared hot in Cel’s chest. He’d asked a serious question. A genuine one. And Silas was treating it like a joke.
“I’m sorry,” Silas managed between fits of laughter. “I’m sorry, that just—“ Another laugh. “You sounded so serious. Like you were asking about the meaning of existence or something.”
“It was a serious question.”
“I know.” Silas’s laughter gradually subsided, though his smile remained wide. “That’s what makes it so funny.”
Cel’s hands clenched at his sides. “If you’re just going to mock me—”
“I’m not mocking you.” Silas raised one hand, still grinning. “I promise. It’s just... nobody’s ever asked me that before. Not like that. With that much gravity.”
He took a breath, composing himself. The laughter faded but the smile persisted - bright, genuine and somehow more present than anything else in the corridor.
“The answer is simple,” Silas said. “I’m not always happy. Nobody can be.”
Cel frowned. “Then why do you act like you do?”
The question landed with more weight than he’d intended. More accusation. Like Silas’s entire personality was performance rather than genuine expression.
Silas’s smile remained, but something in his eyes changed. The playfulness didn’t disappear exactly - just shifted, making room for something more serious underneath.
“The world is already dark enough,” he said quietly. The brightness in his voice had gentled, become something softer. More deliberate. “And the Reckoning isn’t exactly a beacon of light and joy - we kill people, Celvian. Other Chosen. Humans blessed by the gods. We hunt them down and execute them because the law never will.”
His green eyes held Cel’s without wavering.
“So I figure...” He paused, searching for words. “If I can bring a little brightness to that darkness, even if it’s just a fleeting light, then maybe the weight of what we do becomes easier to carry. For me. For the people around me. For everyone who has to live in a world where organizations like ours are necessary.”
The words settled over Cel like a physical thing. Heavy. Undeniable.
Silas’s smile gained a slight edge - not quite sad, but acknowledging something painful.
“Especially in a place like the Reckoning. An organization full of people who sacrifice pieces of themselves to do something good.” He gestured vaguely, encompassing the manor and everything it represented. “Nobody can kill other humans - Chosen or not - without seeing the darkest side of the world first. Without losing something precious.”
“Someone has to remind the rest of us that we’re still people underneath all that killing.” He shrugged, like the weight of what he’d just said cost him nothing, though his eyes said otherwise. “Might as well be me then."
Cel’s throat worked. The truth of it was uncomfortable because it was obvious once stated. Every member of the Reckoning carried damage. Zara’s barely contained rage. The way even Esrin’s warmth felt carefully rationed. The fact that Veyron had built an entire organization around the premise that official justice couldn’t handle corruption among the blessed.
“So yeah,” Silas continued, his smile returning to full brightness. “I choose to be happy when I can. To joke and tease and make light of things that probably shouldn’t be made light of. Because if I don’t...” He shrugged. “Then the darkness wins. And I’m not ready to let that happen yet.”
Silence stretched between them.
Cel found himself without words. The admission had weight he hadn’t expected. Honesty that cut deeper than any lecture or instruction could have managed.
“You should try it sometime,” Silas said, his tone shifting back toward playfulness. “Smiling more often. Might help with that perpetual gloom you carry around.”
The suggestion landed with surprising sincerity despite the teasing delivery.
Cel considered it. Tried to imagine himself moving through the world with Silas’s brightness. Making jokes during training. Finding levity in circumstances that felt oppressive.
The mental image felt foreign. Wrong somehow. Impossible even.
He attempted a smile.
His lips curved upward.
Silas’s face transformed into something Cel couldn’t quite name.
“Okay.” He raised both hands quickly, urgency entering his voice. “Maybe don’t do that. Actually. Definitely don’t do that.”
Cel’s attempted smile faltered. “What?”
“That expression.” Silas gestured at his face with something like genuine concern. “That’s... that’s not a smile. That’s what serial killers do right before they murder someone.”
Confusion settled over Cel. He’d just arranged his features into what seemed like the appropriate position. How could that be wrong?
“I’m serious.” Silas’s horror hadn’t abated. “If you make that face at the Academy, someone’s going to call the guards.”
Heat crawled up Cel’s neck again, though this time from embarrassment rather than annoyance. He’d apparently failed at something as simple as smiling.
Silas’s expression softened slightly, though concern still marked his features. “Maybe... work on that. Practice in a mirror or something. When no one else is around to witness the nightmare.”
Cel let his face return to its usual neutral state. “Noted.”
“Good.” Silas nodded firmly. Then his entire demeanor shifted. The playfulness drained away completely, replaced by something genuine and unexpectedly serious.
He extended his hand.
“Stay safe, White Death.”
The words carried weight beyond their simple meaning. The codename became something more in Silas’s voice. Acknowledgment. Respect. Genuine concern for someone he’d come to consider a colleague. Maybe even a friend.
Cel’s hand moved to clasp the offered grip. Their palms met, fingers closing around each other’s in the formal gesture of warriors parting ways.
“You too,” he said quietly. “Death’s Friendliest Face.”
Silas’s smile returned - softer this time, lacking the manic energy of his usual grin. “I’ll do my best. Though between you and me, Zara’s probably going to try killing me at least three times before this mission ends.”
“Only three?”
“I’m being optimistic.” He released Cel’s hand, stepping back. “Now go. Before she decides to start early and you get caught in the aftermath.”
Cel nodded once. Then he turned toward empty air, reaching inward for that same intent that had opened the rift before.
Reality tore.
Violet light bled from the vertical slash that appeared before him, energy crackling across its surface in patterns that hurt to track. The rift pulsed patiently, waiting for him to step through.
He glanced back once.
Silas stood in the hallway, one hand raised in farewell. Still smiling. Still carrying that brightness despite everything he’d just admitted.
Cel stepped through the rift.