Path of the Extra Chapter 422: Heliophagy

With absolute command—consciousness, intent, and exertion—Azriel let out a laugh this time.

A booming, knowing laugh echoed as he took in the scene laid out before him.

And, in a chilling turn, his own laughter perfectly mimicked the sorrowful sounds he’d just heard.

Azriel’s laughter, in the end, was utterly heart-wrenching.

It fractured, much like his own face seemed to, as he forced himself to take one deliberate step after another toward the long table.

Upon reaching the empty seat, he sank into it. Only then did his gaze drift across to the other side.

There he was.

Another version of himself.

An exact replica of Azriel.

His upper body was bare, crisscrossed with deep fissures. Blood coated him from his head to his feet, and the gaping wounds on his skull continued to ooze. He met Azriel's eyes with a somber, mournful expression, one leg casually crossed over the other, arms folded across his chest.

Then, he began to speak, his voice tinged with deepest sorrow.

"He was born beneath a borrowed sky,

with sea-salt in his breath,

a boy who dreamed too often of

the blue beyond his death.

His father shaped him fragile wings

from feathers, wax, and thread,

with trembling hands that knew too well

the warnings left unsaid.

Do not fly low, the father said,

the hungry waters wait.

Do not fly high, my foolish son,

the sun has never prayed."

Azriel's eyelids fluttered.

It was only then that the realization dawned: the other him was reciting a poem.

A poem about Icarus, the boy who flew too close to the sun.

Without conscious thought, Azriel settled further into the chair, captivated, and listened.

"But Icarus heard only wind,

that sweet and silver call,

the voice that tells a lonely boy

he was not born to crawl.

He rose above the prison walls,

above the grief, the stone,

and for a breath, the world below

could claim him not its own.

His father cried, but joy is loud,

and youth is hard to save;

the sky had opened like a door,

the sea below, a grave.

He laughed because the air was kind,

because the chains were gone,

because his heart, so long held still,

had finally found the dawn."

A searing pain shot through Azriel’s right hand and snaked up his arm. Glancing down, he observed that the cracks had advanced further across his skin.

His hand began to shake uncontrollably.

He couldn't stop it.

Oblivious – or perhaps simply indifferent – his other self continued without pause.

"The sun looked down with golden teeth,

the wax began to weep,

and one by one, the feathers fell

like prayers too frail to keep.

His arms reached out for empty blue,

his voice broke into foam,

and all at once the sky forgot

it ever was his home.

He fell, not like a wicked thing,

not punished for his pride,

but like a child who loved the light

and flew too close inside.

His father screamed his name below,

but names cannot undo

the distance between falling boys

and hands they never knew.

The sea received him soft and cold,

as though it meant no harm,

and closed above his broken wings,

his hair, his little warmth.

No thunder spoke. No god bent down.

No lesson split the air.

Only the sun, still bright above,

pretended not to care.

And somewhere under quiet waves,

where golden feathers gleam,

a boy who loved the sky too much

sank gently from his dream."

The recitation concluded.

A profound silence descended afterward.

No wind howled or whispered. No cries. No shouts. No sounds of movement. No clash of combat.

Azriel shut his eyes, seeking solace in the stillness, for it felt…

Right.

For one fleeting instant, his mind felt utterly blank.

Tranquil.

Then, as gently as he could, as if fearful of shattering the peace, he spoke:

"...That was beautiful."

Azriel licked his lips.

"Am I Icarus?"

Because his eyes remained closed, he couldn't discern his other self's expression. Yet, somehow, Azriel knew he had just shaken his head.

His tone remained unaltered.

"You were born beneath a scalded sun, that old, implacable eye, and you called it fortune until fortune began to laugh. Life gave you Death. Death gave you Life. Between them, you walked—as a pale, unlucky thing. Half-boy. Half-omen. A soul calcined clean by grief’s slow alchemy."

Those words prompted Azriel to open his eyes.

His other self gazed back, a profound pity in his eyes.

A sickening flicker of irritation began to spread through Azriel as he met that gaze.

He disliked it.

He disliked this person.

He detested being looked at with such pity.

"Poor child. Poor king. Poor prince. Poor abattoir saint. Poor nobody. You only wanted to save what you loved. But love, too, is a conflagration. It does not ask what must be spared. It only burns, and burns, and burns—until even the sun looks away."

Azriel clenched his fists tightly.

He was about to retort when he abruptly choked on his own saliva. Covering his mouth, he coughed several times, each intake of breath a painful scrape in his throat.

Looking down at his blood-stained hand, still trembling, he noticed a fresh, wet patch spreading across his palm.

New blood.

His gaze grew vacant.

Azriel looked back up at his other self.

"Are you done with your poems?"

"..."

The other him remained seated, engulfed in silence.

Uttering not a single word.

This silence only served to ignite Azriel's fury. He nearly erupted, on the verge of unleashing his pent-up words, but he managed to suppress them, swallowing the rising heat in his throat.

Then, with a more composed tone, he inquired,

"...Who am I?"

"You are me," the other replied, his voice devoid of emotion.

"And I am you."

Clenching his jaw, Azriel could no longer contain himself.

"You don't fucking say? Who would have imagined that the person staring back at me—sharing the same hair, the same skin, the same eyes, the same damned lungs—was actually me? Wow. Truly brilliant. I must be a complete idiot for not figuring that out sooner."

In stark contrast to Azriel's outburst, his other self displayed absolutely no reaction.

He merely stated,

"They intend to shatter not just your mind, but your spirit as well."

Azriel's eyes began to well up.

Following that, a faint hint of a smile brushed across the other him's lips.

Azriel nearly failed to notice it.

"However, the foolish act unwisely by attempting to appear wise."