The sharks carried Jason as far as they could, gliding just beneath the surface with effortless grace. Their powerful bodies sliced through the water, their movements both fearsome and strangely protective. As the shallows neared, their pace slowed, and Jason, still hovering on the edge of consciousness, barely registered the change.

  Then, something else began to shift.

  The weight on his wrists and ankles—the cold, biting metal of the chains that had bound him for so long—felt lighter. The water churned around him, swirling with an unnatural current, almost as if the sea itself had taken notice of his burden. The pressure of the waves grew stronger, wrapping around his limbs, tugging, pulling—until, with a sudden forceful snap, the rusted shackles gave way.

  Jason barely had time to process it before the tide carried him forward.

  The sharks circled once more, lingering as if waiting to ensure he would reach the shore. Then, as if answering some unseen call, they turned away, disappearing into the deep.

  Jason felt the tug of the retreating tide, but beneath him, his feet found the sand. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he stood—unsteady, shaking, but standing nonetheless.

  A breath. Then another.

  Realization struck him like a bolt of lightning.

  He made it.

  A wild, breathless laugh tore from his throat, raw with disbelief. With what little energy remained in his battered body, he turned back toward the ocean and threw his arms up, waving at the retreating shadows beneath the waves. He stumbled, nearly collapsing into the surf, but he didn’t care. He was alive.

  As the last ripples faded and the ocean swallowed his unlikely saviors, Jason finally turned toward the land ahead. Even from here, he could tell—it wasn’t just a small island. It stretched far beyond what his blurred vision could fully comprehend, rolling into the distance with grassy dunes and hints of something deeper inland.

  He took a step forward, the wet sand clinging to his aching legs.

  And then, the strength that had carried him this far vanished.

  The faint blue aura flickering around him shuddered—and with a final pulse, it disappeared.

  Jason fell to his knees.

  The cold rushed back in an instant, like a cruel reminder of how fragile he still was. His limbs trembled, hunger gnawed at his insides, and his throat burned with a thirst so intense he would have gladly swallowed the whole ocean behind him—if only it wouldn’t have killed him faster.

  Slowly, shakily, he crawled away from the tide’s reach, dragging himself higher onto the drier sand. He rolled onto his back, chest heaving, limbs spread out as if surrendering himself to the mercy of the earth itself.

  Above him, the sky, once dull and clouded, had begun to clear. Sunlight pushed through in broken rays, warming the air little by little. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to take the bitter edge off the cold.

  A rustling sound caught his ear.

  Jason’s head lolled to the side, his vision swimming as he caught sight of movement—a flock of seabirds, their dark eyes watching him from a short distance. Medium-sized, sharp-beaked, the kind that probably lived in the grassy lands beyond the shore.

  Jason stared at them.

  His stomach let out a deep, pitiful growl.

  He imagined the scent of grilled meat, sizzling over an open flame, juicy and rich with the taste of something that wasn’t starvation. For a fleeting moment, he almost believed he could stand up, chase them, catch one with his bare hands and feast like a wild animal.

  The birds, as if sensing his ridiculous thoughts, let out sharp, mocking cries.

  Then, with a few lazy flaps of their wings, they scattered, soaring off toward the water to hunt for fish of their own.

  Jason let his head drop back onto the sand with a defeated groan.

  Figures.

  Lying there, staring at the sky, Jason let the exhaustion sink in. Every muscle in his body ached, his stomach twisted in painful knots, and his throat felt like sandpaper. He couldn’t stay like this. If he did, he’d die here—slowly, helplessly.

  No.

  With a deep breath, he forced himself up. His limbs protested, shaking under his weight, but he gritted his teeth and kept moving.

  Survive.

  His eyes swept the shoreline, searching for anything useful. The ocean had taken everything from him, but maybe—just maybe—it could give something back.

  He limped forward, his bare feet sinking into the damp sand. The tide had dragged in all sorts of debris—twisted bits of driftwood, smoothed stones, shattered shells. He knelt down, fingers brushing over the wood. Some of it was still damp, but further up the shore, he spotted drier pieces. That was a good sign. He gathered what he could, stacking them under his arm before moving on.

  Something glinted among the scattered stones.

  Jason crouched, shifting through the mix of sand and rock until his fingers closed around it. A jagged, dark piece of flint.

  His heart gave a small, triumphant beat.

  He turned it over in his palm, its sharp edges catching the light. Flint. That meant fire.

  Encouraged, he kept searching. Near the rocky outcrop at the edge of the beach, something else caught his eye—an abandoned seagull’s nest. He approached carefully, half-expecting an angry bird to dive at him, but it was empty.

  Inside, he found brittle twigs, scattered feathers, and broken eggshells. He ran his fingers through the materials—dry, light, perfect for kindling.

  This was it.

  Gathering everything, Jason carried his supplies back to a small cove where the wind wasn’t as harsh. He stacked the driest wood in a loose pile, stuffing the seagull feathers and brittle twigs underneath. Then, gripping the flint, he struck it hard against a rock.

  Nothing.

  He tried again, this time angling it better. A spark.

  Jason’s breath caught.

  Again. Strike. Spark.

  The third time, a small ember caught in the kindling.

  Jason leaned in, shielding it from the breeze. Slowly, carefully, he breathed life into the flame. The ember glowed, then flickered into a small, fragile fire.

  Heat.

  Relief flooded through him as the flames grew stronger, crackling softly in the quiet air. For the first time since waking up in that accursed cave, Jason felt something other than pain or despair. Hope.

  Jason was happy, cherishing that moment of fleeting peace, but he couldn’t stop there. He knew the fire was essential—it was his only source of warmth, of safety. He couldn’t let it die.

  With determination, Jason gathered more pieces of wood, stacking them carefully into a small stockpile beside him. His body still felt heavy, his limbs slow, but the fire was a beacon of life that he clung to. He reached for some of the wet wood he had found earlier and placed it around the edges of the flames, letting the heat begin to dry them out. The crackling flames sent small sparks into the air, their warmth caressing his chilled skin. He could feel it—he wasn’t just being warmed by the fire, but also revitalized. The energy, albeit small, was returning to his body, and it filled him with a flicker of hope.

  He warmed his hands and face, closing his eyes for a moment and smiling at the dancing flames. It wasn’t much, but for now, it was enough.

  With the fire secured, Jason felt a spark of hope—if he could keep it going, the fire could sustain him until he found more to eat, perhaps even water, if he was lucky. His stomach rumbled again, reminding him of the gnawing emptiness.

  Turning his attention back to survival, Jason began to scour the rocky part of the beach for anything else that could provide sustenance. His eyes scanned the wet sand and the craggy rocks, searching for shellfish, small crabs, or any stranded fish the waves might have brought in. He needed energy, and he wasn’t going to stop until he found something.

  As he walked along the shore, the rhythm of the waves lapping against the sand created a steady sound in his ears. The sky had begun to clear, and the air felt a little warmer now, but his focus remained on the ground, on the survival instinct that surged within him.

  Suddenly, a massive wave surged forward, splashing Jason down onto his knees. At first, it felt like just another obstacle, but then something strange happened. The wave wasn’t merely a force of nature—it was as if the sea itself had listened to his desperate need. It felt... different.

  From the frothing surf, two medium-sized fish were tossed onto the shore, their bodies flopping in the wet sand. Jason didn’t hesitate. He scrambled toward them, heart pounding, and grabbed a jagged stone, bringing it down with force to strike them. The moment he made contact, he felt a surge of satisfaction, a victory in his struggle for survival.

  It was a turning point.

  He stood there for a moment, just staring at the fish. It felt like things were finally beginning to fall into place. A small glimmer of belief flickered in his chest. Maybe, just maybe, the tide was turning in his favor.

  After catching his breath, Jason gave his search one more attempt. He walked along the shoreline for a few more minutes, his eyes scanning for anything useful. Then, just as if the sea was working in his favor once again, he spotted small crabs scuttling around near the rocks and several shellfish clinging to the surfaces of nearby rocks.

  Without a second thought, he picked up another sharp stone and began to break open the crabs, careful not to waste a single morsel of their fragile meat. The shellfish were harder to crack, but with his growing determination, Jason was able to pry them open with a few swift strikes.

  With a small collection of food in hand, Jason returned to the fire, his spirits lifting. He didn’t need much for now—just enough to stay alive. He could feel the weight of his exhaustion pulling at him again, but the fire kept him focused. As he roasted the crabs and shellfish over the fire, the warmth seeped into his body, making him feel more alive again.

  He savored the meal, each bite a reminder of his resilience. The fish, tender and salty from the sea, was the best meal he’d ever had in what felt like forever. The crabs and shellfish weren’t much, but they were enough.

  Jason sat near the fire, the heat of the flames soothing his chilled body. He wasn’t fully sated, not by a long shot—his thirst gnawed at him, the meat providing little more than momentary relief. Still, he felt better. The sharp hunger had subsided, and his mind, muddled by exhaustion and despair, had cleared just a little. The fire’s warmth felt like a small luxury, and he found a moment of peace in it.

  He added more wood to the flames, watching as they crackled and roared to life. He felt a sense of satisfaction, a rare joy in such a simple thing—a fire, food, a flicker of warmth. It wasn’t much, but for now, it was enough. His stomach was no longer growling in protest, and that alone was a small victory.

  Sitting there, he warmed his hands by the fire, and as the heat sank deeper into his skin, something strange caught his attention. The fire—the flames—weren’t too hot. In fact, it didn’t burn him at all. It was almost as though the fire recognized him, as if the flames themselves were perfectly attuned to him, never threatening to scorch or harm him.

  He frowned, staring at the fire, his thoughts racing. The strange visions, the dreams of fire, the memories of warmth and light—they were all more than just random flashes. They were signs. Hints. Perhaps even something deeper. But what was it?

  Without fully understanding why, he moved closer to the fire. His skin tingled, a strange pull drawing him in. The flames danced and flickered, and he inched closer still. The heat wrapped around him, but it didn’t burn. He reached his hand toward the flames, and as his palm neared the fire, something unexpected happened.

  The flames didn’t retreat. Instead, they seemed to leap toward him, swirling and wrapping around his hand, clinging to his skin like an eager companion. Jason jerked back in alarm, his heart racing. His instinct screamed at him to pull away, to avoid the potential burn. But as he did, he found no pain, no searing heat.

  The fire held his palm gently, like a familiar, friendly pet eager to be close. The warmth was... comforting, soothing, almost protective. The flames didn’t scorch him; they lingered, curling in a way that seemed oddly intimate.

  For a moment, he simply stared, unable to process what he was feeling. Then, as slowly as it had appeared, the fire seemed to fade, disappearing back into the palm of his hand, leaving only a warm, tingling sensation in its wake.

  Jason stared at his hand in stunned silence.

  A slight buzz of energy ran through him—nothing overwhelming, nothing that would change the course of his life, but it was there. It was something. A gift, perhaps? He didn’t know, but the sensation was pleasant. Subtle, yet undeniable. His mind reeled, the lingering feeling of the fire’s embrace warm against his palm, as if it had chosen to share something with him.

  A small surge of energy.

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  It wasn’t much, but in this moment, it was enough. For the first time in a long time, he felt something other than cold, other than emptiness. Something within him had shifted, even if just a little. And that was enough to fill him with the faintest flicker of hope.

  Jason sat by the fire, staring into the dancing flames as they flickered and cracked, their light casting long, wavering shadows across the sand. His body still ached, his throat still burned with thirst, but in this moment, the warmth was enough. A simple fire, a full stomach—so little, yet it felt like everything.

  He sighed, rubbing his hands together, feeling the pleasant heat against his palms. His voice had been silent for so long, locked away in that prison of stone and darkness. Now, he spoke—not just to hear himself, but to remind himself that he was still here. Still alive.

  "Just who are you, Jason Ignis?"

  The words drifted into the air, carried by the wind that swept in from the sea. He furrowed his brow, staring into the flames as if they held the answers.

  "I can't remember anything... I see flashes of the past, but…" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

  His fingers absentmindedly traced the chains still clinging to his wrists. The weight of them had become so familiar that he barely noticed anymore. But the past—that was heavy.

  "Who knows what changed by this time?" His voice was stronger now, steadier. He needed to say these names. Even if they felt like ghosts.

  "Esméris… D… this name—Gazz…" He frowned. "Are they even alive? And if so… where should I look for them?"

  His gaze drifted down to his hand, where a flicker of orange danced across his fingers. The flames had leapt onto him again, curling around his palm, yet they didn’t burn. He held it up, watching as the fire moved with an almost living pulse. It wasn’t wild or destructive. It was gentle—as if it recognized him.

  "Arrigar…"

  The name sent a cold weight through his chest, his fingers tightening around the flame. He saw it—the arena. The bloodstained sand. The chains. The way Esméris had stood beside him, her gaze sharp and unyielding. The torment they endured together.

  His knuckles whitened, his breathing slow and measured.

  "Where the hell is Arrigar?"

  He let the flame roll across his fingers like a small ember, tossing it from one hand to the other. It didn’t flicker wildly like normal fire—it moved smoothly, shrinking slightly with each throw. His body was absorbing it, feeding on it.

  He lay back against the sand, staring up at the clearing sky. Toss. Catch. The fireball dimmed little by little.

  "Bellion…"

  His jaw clenched. The last remnants of flame sank into his skin, disappearing completely.

  "Is it him? The one who locked me in that prison?"

  His hands fell to his sides, fingers curling into the cooling sand. His breath steadied. His body was exhausted, but his mind wouldn’t stop.

  "Did someone try to find me? I wonder…"

  The fire crackled beside him, offering no answers. Only warmth.

  The fire crackled softly beside him, its light flickering gently across his face as Jason’s eyes began to close. The warmth lulled him, his body still aching but finally still. The sky above shifted from hues of amber to deep blue, stars piercing through the darkening veil. The wind quieted. The tide slowed. And Jason… slipped away into sleep.

  Darkness.

  Then—

  Flames. A slow, burning roar.

  Jason stood in a small, circular arena. The ground beneath him was dark, cracked stone, scorched and ancient. Above him loomed a thick, swirling fog, impenetrable, pressing in from all sides like a living thing. The only light came from them—massive, burning doors of molten brass and obsidian that stood tall at the far end of the arena. The heat from them pulsed, alive, thudding like a heartbeat.

  Jason took a step forward, drawn toward the doors. He didn’t know why, but something beyond them called to him. A feeling—like truth, power, memory—was locked behind them.

  He took another step.

  And that’s when he appeared.

  A figure stepped out of the fog—his silhouette familiar, eerily so. As the smoke parted, Jason’s eyes widened. It was… himself.

  But not as he was now.

  This Jason stood taller, prouder. His body was built, powerful. His posture was regal, his expression calm but severe. A majestic staff, black and gold with glowing blue runes, rested in his hand like it belonged there—like it had always been his. His eyes burned with focus, wisdom, and unshakable strength.

  “Who—” Jason began.

  The reflection raised a hand, stopping him cold.

  “You’re not ready.”

  Jason’s brows furrowed. “What?”

  “You are weak. Broken. Hollow,” the reflection said, voice like thunder behind a closed door. “You don’t deserve to walk through those doors.”

  Anger flared in Jason’s chest. “I’ve survived everything thrown at me. I’m still here. Don’t tell me what I deserve!”

  He lunged forward—but his reflection was faster.

  A blur of motion. The staff slammed into Jason’s chest, sending him flying backward. He hit the ground hard, skidding across the cracked stone. He groaned, pushing himself up, but the reflection was already there, towering over him.

  “You think survival is enough?” the figure said, eyes narrowing. “You’ve forgotten who you were. You’ve let fear and doubt take hold. You are not the one worthy of passing through.”

  Jason roared, trying to stand and fight again, but blow after blow rained down. Every movement was sluggish, untrained. Every swing he made was deflected with effortless grace. And finally, the reflection lifted him and threw him—tossing him back like a discarded shadow into the center of the arena.

  He lay there, winded, broken.

  The doors pulsed… but they were farther now.

  So much farther.

  The light behind them dimmed. The fog thickened. His reflection turned its back, stepping toward the gates as if to guard them, each step more distant than the last.

  Jason reached out weakly, blood on his lip, dust on his face.

  “No… wait…”

  But the world began to dissolve into smoke again. The heat of the fire faded. And Jason—once again—was alone in the dark.

  Jason stirred from uneasy sleep, the crackling of the fire still faint in his ears when a sharp cry jolted him upright.

  Shouting.

  His eyes snapped open. The orange glow of his campfire was now dim against the deepening blue of dusk. Voices echoed over the dunes—panicked, angry, and fast approaching. He scrambled to his knees and crawled up a sandy rise, blinking against the evening breeze.

  There—on the shoreline.

  A girl was running, her figure ragged and desperate, her wrists bound in metal shackles that flashed in the fading light. She sprinted along the water’s edge, her feet stumbling in the sand, but the sea had closed off her escape. Two soldiers closed in from either side, blades drawn, their black-and-bronze armor glinting under the setting sun.

  Jason’s breath caught. He crouched behind a driftwood log, heart hammering in his chest.

  “What do I do?!”

  His thoughts raced. I can barely stand. If they’re trained… they’ll kill me. But as the girl tripped near the water’s edge, panting, helpless, something inside him snapped.

  “Damn it!” he hissed through his teeth.

  He turned to the fire. Still glowing, still alive. He thrust his hand into the coals without thinking.

  “Come on! Come on… Please work!”

  At first—nothing. Then the embers stirred.

  A heat surged through his arm—not painful, not burning—but powerful. The flames coiled around his fingers, drawn to him like something familiar. He pulled his hand back, and in his palm, a sphere of fire formed. It hovered above his skin, swirling with yellow, orange, and crimson. Tiny sparks glimmered within it like stars.

  Jason stared, breathless. “Yes…” Then, louder—“Now!”

  He stood, stumbling over the log as he stepped onto the open sand. The fireball pulsed in his hand as he forced his legs to move.

  “HEY!” he bellowed, trying to make his voice sound deeper, stronger. “LET HER BE!”

  The soldiers stopped. One of them—the larger, bulkier man—narrowed his eyes at Jason. The other tilted his head, confused by the sudden intrusion.

  “The hell is that?” the big one muttered.

  “Looks like a beggar with a candle,” the other sneered, but unease crept into his tone.

  Jason walked slowly toward them, the fireball crackling with each step. Shadows danced across his face, and though his body ached and trembled, the flames made him seem almost otherworldly.

  “I said,” Jason repeated, louder now, “let her go.”

  The girl turned toward him, eyes wide with confusion and something else—hope. She backed against the water, watching the fire in Jason’s hand like it was a miracle.

  The large soldier spat into the sand. “You wanna die, stranger? This ain’t your business.”

  Jason didn’t stop moving. “You make it my business when you hunt people like animals.”

  The smaller soldier hesitated, lowering his sword just slightly. “You see how he’s holding that fire?”

  “Yeah,” the big one growled. “And I’m gonna put it out.”

  He roared, charging forward with sword raised high.

  Jason’s grip tightened around the fireball. He dug his heels into the sand, heart racing.

  “Let’s see if you can handle a little heat.”

  “Take this!” Jason shouted, thrusting his arm forward, the fireball blazing in his hand.

  For a split second, the soldier charging him slowed—eyes narrowing, muscles tensing, ready for the impact. Jason, in turn, silently begged every god he didn’t remember believing in.

  Please work. Please just work—

  He hurled his hand forward with all the force he could muster…

  Nothing.

  The fireball stubbornly clung to his palm, flickering but refusing to launch. Jason blinked. So did the soldier.

  Then came the laughter.

  “Pff—HA!” The armored brute nearly stumbled from his own laughter, pointing his sword like it was a joke. “What the hell was that? You trying to scare me with fire tricks, boy?”

  Jason stared at his hand in disbelief. “Oh, come on—!”

  “Cute show.” The soldier raised his sword again, grin twisting into a sneer. “Now let me show you a trick—like how fast I can gut you.”

  He charged once more, boots thundering against the sand.

  Jason backpedaled, eyes wide. “Okay, okay—plan B!”

  The fire still swirled in his hand, hot but calm. He focused, willing it to change, do something, anything. The soldier was nearly upon him, blade ready to swing—

  As the soldier lunged forward with his blade, Jason’s nerves spiked. He stumbled back, trying to dodge—steel slicing through the air, missing his arm by a hair’s breadth. The wind of the strike grazed his skin, and a chill of reality ran through him.

  That was real. That sword could kill him.

  There was no grand flash of memory. No sudden surge of confidence. Just fear. Instinct.

  He clenched his fist, the fireball still dancing weakly across his knuckles, and swung. His flame-covered hand struck the soldier’s helmet with a heavy clang—a burst of heat and pain followed. The fire scattered on impact, extinguished in an instant, and Jason winced, holding his wrist. The soldier reeled back half a step, confused but unharmed.

  Jason barely had time to catch his breath before he heard it.

  A voice—deep, cold, laced with disgust.

  "How pathetic you are… Tarnishing the name Ignis like this."

  Jason's eyes widened. Something inside him snapped.

  Suddenly, his vision blurred. His body moved—but not by his will.

  He was no longer in control.

  In one fluid, unnaturally graceful motion, his hand shot out, grabbing the soldier’s wrist—forcing the blade down. With his other hand, he seized the man by the neck and lifted him clean off the ground.

  The soldier kicked and gasped, his boots scraping at the sand, trying desperately to breathe.

  Jason's face twisted, but it wasn’t his expression.

  He was laughing. A dark, vicious sound that didn’t feel like him at all.

  Then came the flame.

  It roared to life, engulfing his hand in brilliant, scorching light. And with a sickening hiss, it burned through the soldier’s neck. Flesh and armor melted away—until the body dropped to the sand with a heavy thud, head landing several feet away.

  Jason’s voice came out low and monstrous, like a demon cloaked in fire.

  "Inferior creatures… The world will fall beneath my flames."

  The second soldier froze. His eyes widened with shock and fury.

  "Grivol!! Nooo! You bastard!!"

  He screamed and charged blindly.

  Jason raised a hand—fingers curling as if grasping an invisible spear.

  A second later, flames spiraled into shape. A spear of pure fire formed in his grip, burning with a searing white-gold light. Without hesitation, he hurled it.

  The burning spear tore through the soldier’s chest with terrifying force, punching a gaping hole in his torso. The body staggered once, and then—

  Boom.

  The spear exploded in the distance, lighting the sky with fire.

  Silence returned. Only the sound of waves and crackling fire remained.

  Jason turned slowly toward the girl, his burning eyes locking onto her.

  She was trembling, kneeling in the sand, arms shielding her head. Terrified.

  And then—Jason stumbled.

  The power slipped from his fingers like smoke. His breath hitched.

  He dropped to his knees, gasping as if waking from a nightmare. The fire in his veins dimmed. His own hands—his real hands—shook in disbelief.

  What… what was that?

  He looked around. Two dead soldiers. A girl, cowering.

  And fire still licking at the air, hungry for more.

  Jason’s eyes softened as he focused on the girl, crouching down in front of her. The firelight flickered in the distance, casting long shadows over her trembling form.

  “Are... are you alright?” His voice was careful, trying to sound steady, trying to sound like someone who could help her. But inside, doubt gnawed at him. He could still feel the fire in his veins, the aftertaste of violence in his mouth. "Was… was that really me?" His thoughts were a whirlwind. What had just happened? How had he done that?

  Her voice broke through his thoughts, soft and fragile. “Please... please don’t hurt me.” She was terrified, her words barely more than a whisper, as if even the air could hurt her. Her hands clutched her knees to her chest as she shrank back, eyes wide and watery.

  Jason’s heart clenched. He wasn’t used to this. Not anymore. Yet, something in him—a flicker of humanity—pushed him forward.

  He noticed the girl more clearly now. She couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen. Her golden hair hung in tangled strands around her face, and her green eyes were wide with fear, filled with tears she was struggling to hold back. Her small, thin frame was covered in ragged, dirty clothes that spoke of a life full of hardship. Bruises marred her arms and legs, some fading, some fresh. There were scars too, evidence of a past Jason didn’t want to imagine.

  But what caught his eye most were her ears—pointed, delicate, unlike any human’s. She wasn’t fully human.

  Jason instinctively reached forward, offering her a smile that felt awkward and unsteady. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.” He reached out gently, as if the act of kindness could somehow make up for everything he’d just done. He hesitated for a moment, then lightly patted her head, hoping it would comfort her.

  Her eyes flickered up to his, still filled with terror. And then, without warning, the dam broke. She crumbled into sobs, her tears falling freely as she cried. Her body trembled, too exhausted and broken to hold it all in any longer.

  Jason’s chest tightened, and something inside him snapped. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he knew one thing: this girl needed him. He couldn’t let her suffer anymore.

  He moved closer, and before he could even think, he gathered her into his arms, pulling her against his chest. She tensed for a moment, then sagged into his embrace, seeking the comfort she so desperately needed.

  “It’s alright,” he whispered softly, his voice breaking with the weight of the moment. “Don’t be scared. No one will hurt you anymore. You’re safe now.”

  The words felt hollow at first, but as she sobbed into his chest, Jason’s heart began to steady. For the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t feel like a monster. He just felt like someone who could protect her.