Alpha did not sleep.
He wasn't sure if he even could.
The battle had ended hours ago. The Hand of Veyr had retreated into the dark, leaving only their words behind. Yet their presence lingered in his mind like the echo of a sword strike, sharp and unrelenting.
He sat beneath the shattered remains of a stone archway, the ruins of Iskaroth stretching around him. The city was a corpse, its bones scattered across the earth. Fires still burned in the distance, casting jagged shadows across broken streets.
And in his lap, Vanitas rested.
Quiet. Still.
Yet he could feel it watching.
The whispers had faded, but their absence was not comforting. If anything, it was worse. The silence made him listen harder, waiting for something to creep back into his thoughts.
He flexed his fingers around the hilt.
He could still move. Still fight. Vanitas had let him go—for now.
But the weight of it remained.
"You think you are the master."
The Hand's voice replayed in his mind, taunting him. Alpha clenched his jaw. He had won that fight. He was still standing. That should have meant something.
Then why did it feel like a loss?
A breath of wind stirred the ash in the streets. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and blood. He wasn't alone.
A presence slithered at the edge of his awareness.
Slow. Deliberate.
Alpha's grip tightened on Vanitas. "You might as well show yourself."
A chuckle drifted from the darkness. Smooth. Amused.
"Impressive," a voice drawled. "Most don't notice me until I'm close enough to carve a smile into their ribs."
Alpha rose to his feet, turning toward the sound. A figure stepped from the shadows, draped in a tattered cloak, their boots making no sound on the stone.
Their grin was the first thing Alpha noticed. Too wide. Too knowing.
"Who are you?" Alpha asked.
The stranger spread their arms as if greeting an old friend. "Me? Just a humble observer." Their grin sharpened. "And I must say, I am very entertained."
Alpha didn't lower his guard. "That doesn't answer my question."
The stranger sighed, shaking their head. "You wield a blade that eats souls, and I'm the one who needs to explain myself?" They tsked. "Fine. Call me Varyn. It's not my real name, but it'll do for now."
Alpha narrowed his eyes. "You know about Vanitas."
Varyn's grin stretched wider. "Oh, everyone knows about Vanitas. The real question is—do you?"
Alpha didn't respond. He wasn't in the mood for games.
Varyn chuckled. "I'll take that as a no." They tilted their head, studying him. "Tell me, how many of its whispers have you heard?"
Alpha felt his pulse quicken. He kept his face neutral. "None."
Varyn laughed. A genuine, delighted sound. "Oh, you're adorable."
Alpha's patience thinned. He leveled Vanitas at them. "If you have something useful to say, say it. Otherwise, leave."
Varyn eyed the blade with a flicker of something unreadable. Not fear. Not respect. Something else.
Then, they took a slow step forward.
"You think you're wielding it," Varyn murmured. "That it's your strength." Another step. "That it chose you." Their grin faded, voice dropping to a whisper. "But you have no idea what you've picked up, do you?"
Alpha's grip tightened, but something in his chest coiled.
Varyn leaned in slightly, their eyes gleaming. "Tell me… when you fight, do you ever feel like you're not the one moving?"
Alpha went still.
Varyn's grin returned, sharp as a dagger. "Ah. There it is."
Alpha's mind raced, but he forced his voice to stay even. "If you know so much, then tell me. What is Vanitas?"
Varyn exhaled, as if savoring the moment. "Vanitas is hunger." Their fingers twitched, as if mimicking a blade carving through flesh. "It doesn't kill. It consumes."
Alpha's stomach twisted. "That's not an answer."
Varyn smirked. "No, but it's the truth."
A gust of wind swept through the ruins, sending embers dancing into the night sky.
Varyn turned, as if bored. "Well, this has been fun, but I should go before things get… messy."
Alpha frowned. "Messy how?"
Varyn's grin stretched, wicked and amused. "Oh, you'll see."
Then, in the span of a blink—
They were gone.
Only the whisper of laughter remained, curling through the air like smoke.
And beneath Alpha's fingers, Vanitas pulsed.
Like it had been waiting.
Alpha let out a slow breath. He looked down at Vanitas, the eerie glow of its silver veins pulsing gently. If Varyn was right, then this blade wasn't a gift. It was something else. Something that had been waiting for him, watching him.
A tool, or a trap?
The silence stretched between them, and Alpha wasn't sure if he was grateful or wary that the whispers hadn't returned.
Yet a thought gnawed at him.
"It doesn't kill. It consumes."
The bodies of those he had fought flashed in his mind. The way the Hand of Veyr had retreated. The way his wounds no longer bled.
Had Vanitas taken more than just his pain?
His grip tightened. He needed answers.
But Varyn was gone. And the only one left to ask… was Vanitas itself.
The blade did not speak.
But it did pulse. A slow, patient beat, like a second heartbeat beneath his fingers.
Alpha exhaled. Whatever the truth was, he wasn't going to find it tonight.
He slid Vanitas back into its sheath and turned toward the ruins. He needed to move. Needed to do something before his thoughts drowned him.
The fires still burned in Iskaroth. The war hadn't ended.
And whatever Vanitas was, it wasn't done with him yet.