Even Death Grew Tired of Killing Me-Chapter 62 - 57

[Third POV – General]

Theo lay motionless on the cold stone floor, breath shallow, eyes unfocused. His body trembled in uneven intervals, as if reacting to something no one else could see. Astrae knelt near his head, still weak but steady enough to keep him from striking himself against the broken tiles. Kyrene stood close, silent, watching.

Theron lowered himself beside Theo without haste.

He did not look worried but more focused instead.

He raised one hand slowly, palm hovering above Theo’s forehead. For a brief second, nothing happened. Then something thin and dark slid from between Theron’s fingers, a strand.

A very thin black strand, almost invisible against the dim light, yet unmistakably present. It moved like silk caught in water, fluid and obedient. Anyone who looked closely would recognize it for what it truly was.

A single strand of Madison’s hair.

Theron placed it gently against Theo’s forehead.

The moment it made contact, the strand flattened and seeped inward, disappearing into skin without leaving a mark.

Astrae felt it immediately. A pressure in the air, subtle but undeniable.

Kyrene’s jaw tightened, though he said nothing.

Theron closed his eyes.

Then he went in.

——

Inside Theo’s mind, chaos raged.

Fragments of memory collided with one another like broken glass thrown into a storm. Images flickered without order. A battlefield that did not belong to this era. Endless skies split by light. Figures towering over mountains. A woman standing alone in the center of it all, calm and terrible at once.

Blood on her hands.

Theo’s anger.

A scream that was not his own.

Everything layered on top of everything else.

Theron stepped into it as though walking into heavy rain.

He did not fight the storm.

He observed it.

The strand of black thread extended from him and moved with intent. It split into smaller filaments, each one slipping between fractures in Theo’s consciousness. Where memories had torn through sealed layers, the thread followed.

Theo’s mind resisted at first.

The war memories surged again.

Explosions of collapsing stars.

Planets turning to dust.

Mountains folding in on themselves.

Madison’s face flickering between tenderness and exhaustion, between strength and something unbearably lonely.

Theron reached deeper.

He did not pull the memories out.

He pressed them down.

Gently but firmly.

Layer by layer, he guided the fragments back toward the deepest part of Theo’s mind, where they had once been sealed. The black thread wrapped around them like stitching along torn fabric.

He pushed.

The battlefield images began to blur.

Voices faded.

The memory of standing against gods trembled and folded inward, shrinking into something distant, like a dream that slips away after waking.

The thread tightened.

Not painfully. Precisely.

Each broken seam was drawn closed. Each crack in the mental barrier was sewn shut with careful, even lines.

Theo’s breathing steadied.

Inside, the storm weakened.

The white came slowly.

Though not all at once.

First, the colors drained from the battlefield. The sky lost its fire. The blood darkened and dissolved. The roaring of collapsing galaxies dimmed to a low echo.

Then the ground disappeared.

The stars blinked out.

The white swallowed everything.

Theo stood alone in it.

He did not know he was standing.

He did not know where he was.

Scenes began to rewind in front of him.

Like an old film playing backward.

Madison’s face blurred and faded, but her eyes remains looking at him.

The war folded into itself.

The gods turned away.

Aetherfall shrank into a distant memory.

The image of the ruined theater vanished.

The Grave Choir Thrall’s scream reversed into silence.

Kyrene’s voice dissolved.

Everything pulled backward, faster and faster.

Until only two things remained.

His parents.

And Tomas.

The white slowed around them.

His parents stood in front of him, not in detail, not perfectly clear, but present. The warmth of their voices, the familiarity of their hands, the memory of simple days that had once felt ordinary.

Then the scene shifted.

Stone floor

Blood spreading.

Tomas collapsing.

Theo kneeling beside him.

Those two memories refused to be pushed deeper.

They did not belong to the ancient war.

They belonged to Theo of this world.

Theron paused.

He did not touch those.

He allowed them to stay.

The white remained.

Still.

Quiet.

Nothing beyond it.

Outside, Theo’s body stopped trembling.

The tension in his shoulders eased.

His breathing evened out.

Theron withdrew his hand slowly.

The black thread slid back out of Theo’s forehead and coiled once around his finger before dissolving into nothing.

Astrae watched him carefully.

"Is it done?" she asked softly, her voice still rough from earlier strain.

Theron opened his eyes.

"For now," he replied calmly.

Kyrene studied Theo’s face, searching for any sign of lingering disturbance. "He won’t remember?"

Theron glanced at him. "He will remember what he is meant to remember."

Astrae frowned slightly. "And the rest?"

"Buried," Theron replied evenly. "Where it belongs. Until it doesn’t."

He straightened, rolling his shoulder once as if he had merely finished adjusting a cloak instead of sealing fractured layers of memory that could collapse worlds.

Kyrene stepped closer to him, lowering his voice just enough that Astrae would not fully catch the tone.

"You leaving?" Kyrene asked, irritation hidden beneath casual phrasing.

Theron gave him that familiar reserved smirk, the kind that never quite reached his eyes. "I’ll be watching."

Kyrene clicked his tongue softly. "You always say that."

Theron glanced at Theo, then back at Kyrene. "Finish soon here. We’ll see each other at Madison’s."

Kyrene waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

Theron’s gaze lingered for half a second longer, assessing something only he seemed to see. Then the shadows around him folded inward, swallowing his outline. The air shifted, a faint ripple like heat distortion, and he was gone.

Theo stirred.

His fingers twitched first, brushing lightly against the cracked stone beneath him. Then his brows tightened, face creasing as though he were waking from a dream too heavy to hold.

He inhaled sharply.

"Madison!"

The name tore out of him before his eyes even opened.

He jerked upright too fast, breath uneven, gaze unfocused for a moment as if searching for someone who was not there.

Astrae blinked in surprise. "Madison?"

Kyrene froze for a split second, then masked it quickly.

Theo’s eyes darted around the ruined theater, confusion settling in when he realized where he was. His hand moved to his chest unconsciously, pressing against fabric as if checking for something lost.

He swallowed.

"...What happened?" he murmured, voice hoarse.

Astrae leaned closer, relief softening her features now that he was conscious. "You fainted."

Kyrene forced a small grin, tone deliberately light. "You really need to work on your mental defense."

Theo exhaled slowly and pressed his fingers to his temple. There was an ache, dull and lingering, but nothing else. No battlefield. No collapsing stars. No sense of cosmic war or broken timelines.

Only weight.

And Tomas.

His expression darkened.

"Right," he whispered. "Tomas..."

That memory remained clear, painfully real.

He lowered his gaze, breath steadying.

Astrae studied him carefully. "Who is this Madison?" she asked, voice quieter now, more curious than suspicious.

Theo blinked, caught off guard. "She’s... someone who helped me. That’s all."

He did not elaborate, and Astrae did not press.

Behind them, in the dim edge of shadow where Theron had stood moments earlier, a faint ripple remained.

Kyrene’s eyes shifted toward it.

From within that fading dark, Theron’s voice emerged, low and thoughtful.

"Hm."

Kyrene didn’t turn fully, but his posture sharpened slightly.

"There’s still a lingering memory of her," Theron observed calmly. "I was certain I cleared everything out."

Kyrene’s expression softened in a way that did not match his usual bravado. "It wasn’t a memory he was recalling."

Theron waited.

Kyrene exhaled lightly. "It was... something else."

Theron tilted his head a fraction.

Kyrene’s voice lowered further. "Not the kind you can stitch closed."

Theron’s ruby eyes narrowed slightly, calculating.

Kyrene shrugged one shoulder. "You can bury images and events. You can suppress what he saw. But some things aren’t stored in layers like that."

A pause.

"Call it... alignment," Kyrene added casually. "Or whatever term makes you comfortable."

Theron studied him for a long second.

Then a faint sound escaped him, something between acknowledgment and mild amusement. "Hn."

He did not argue.

He did not question further.

The shadow behind him thickened again, folding around his outline.

Without another word, he vanished completely.

Kyrene kept staring at the space for a heartbeat longer before shifting his attention back to Theo, who was still sitting on the stone floor, unaware of the quiet exchange that had just passed over his head.

Theo rubbed his face once and muttered under his breath, "Why did I call her..."

Astrae tilted her head slightly. "You seemed... distressed."

Theo gave a weak half-smile. "Probably just stress."

He did not know why the name had escaped him so urgently.

He did not know why, even with everything sealed and rewound, something about her presence still felt near.

And somewhere beyond memory, beyond logic, beyond even fate itself, a thin invisible thread remained uncut.