Last of the Ascension (Verse) - 11
Shadow
He could have stayed—
if staying were allowed.
The cold came without warning—
as it always does.
Not wind—
something thinner.
It entered him—
as if it already knew the way.
Darkness leaned close—
closer than Beck could ever see.
“She carries what you seek.”
The voice did not ask—
it placed.
“Astral etherium—
she has it.”
Hope sharpened—
too quickly.
He stilled—
not wanting to be seen hearing it.
“Shall I tell you where?”
“I know.”
He answered—
before doubt could speak.
“I’m already going.”
The shadow lingered—
approval, or hunger.
He felt it—
and chose not to name it.
Etherium.
A word that promised repair—
without cost.
To restore what had fractured—
to return what had withdrawn.
They always said it cleanly—
as if truth preferred simplicity.
A lie, perhaps.
But—
what if it wasn’t?
That was enough.
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