The trees whispered louder than usual but with memory.
Ex sat at the base of the great tree—the one whose roots had coiled like veins through the earth, gnarled and deep, reaching toward places even light had long forgotten. It was where he had first rested after clawing his way from Hell. Back then, the bark had felt alive—breathing, pulsing with soel beneath the surface.
Now it was darker.
Cracked like dried blood.
And colder than the moonlight that couldn't reach him.
He sat motionless. Back pressed to the trunk, legs drawn in slightly, hands resting like forgotten weapons on his knees. His eyes were open—but they didn't track the branches above, or the stars beyond them. They saw something else. Something red and broken.
Sin Perception.
Still burning behind his gaze, twisting the edges of reality into shards—fractured glimpses of the rot hidden beneath skin. But for now… there was nothing to kill. No voices crying for mercy. No blades drawn.
Only the sound of wind in the trees.
And the weight in his chest.
He should've felt calm. But calm had always been a lie for people who hadn't tasted slaughter.
Then—
A voice.
Soft.
Familiar.
Uninvited.
"You're still angry."
Ex didn't flinch.
Didn't turn.
He knew who it was.
The boy's voice always arrived like breath—barely there until it was too close. But this time, he wasn't standing behind Ex in that spectral stillness.
He was already sitting beside him.
Knees pulled to his chest. Fingers laced.
Like he'd been waiting.
Staring straight ahead—into the woods, into the night, into something Ex couldn't see.
"I'm not angry," Ex said flatly.
The boy didn't move. Just tilted his head a fraction.
"Then you're lying to yourself."
The silence that followed wasn't empty.
It lingered—heavy, deliberate.
Like a truth too old to be spoken quickly.
The wind shifted.
And with it came a scent that didn't belong here.
Not rot. Not decay.
Just… ancient.
Stone dust.
Dry cloth.
Oil.
Iron.
Something forgotten.
And sacred.
Ex's voice dropped lower, more guarded. "Why are you here?"
Still, the boy didn't look at him.
Didn't smile.
Didn't blink.
His eyes—clear as fire without smoke—were locked on the trees like he was reading scripture hidden in the bark.
"To show you," he said at last.
"What mercy costs."
Ex's jaw twitched. His hand curled slightly, a phantom echo of the blade that wasn't in it.
And then—
The earth beneath them shifted.
Not violently. Not like battle.
Gently.
Like a book being opened to a bookmarked page.
The roots of the great tree split—not with force, but with intention.
A light rose from the cracks.
Not golden. Not holy.
Just warm.
It curled upward in threads, soft as a breath, brushing his skin like something that knew him.
Ex shot to his feet. Instinct. Tension snapped taut in his spine.
But the boy raised one hand. "It's not a trick," he said. "And it's not a dream."
The words hung.
A heartbeat.
Two.
And then the forest fell away.
The roots parted like old hands releasing something long held. Earth fell away without sound. The wind quieted. Even the shadows held their breath.
Ex stood still, but his body was coiled beneath the surface—ready. Always ready.
He didn't trust anything sacred.
Not after what they'd done.
The boy rose beside him. No urgency. No fear. Just a quiet acceptance that irritated Ex more than it should've.
The light below began to rise.
It wasn't blinding. It didn't burn or hum with the fake purity of soel conjured by priests or demons pretending to be gods. This light was… simple.
Like the first warmth of sun on stone.
The kind of light that made you remember things.
The boy stepped toward the opening—barefoot, leaving no imprint behind—and looked over his shoulder.
"Come."
Ex didn't move.
The boy waited.
He always did.
Seconds passed like falling dust.
Then Ex sighed, low and sharp. One step forward. Another.
The light caught the curve of his jaw, the tangle of his long hair brushing his shoulders as he descended. Muscles tense beneath the fabric. Eyes scanning. Breathing shallow.
But no threat came.
Only… presence.
They walked. Or maybe fell. Or maybe moved without moving.
It was like stepping through still water. The kind that remembers your name but says nothing. The kind that's too quiet.
Then—
the light dimmed.
And they were there.
A garden.
Olive trees stood hunched under the weight of the night. Branches twisted, shaped by time and silence. The air was cool, heavy with a scent Ex didn't recognize—dirt, crushed leaves, something bitter under the sweetness.
Moonlight spilled across the stones in slivers. Everything looked… worn. Not broken. Just tired.
Ex didn't speak.
Neither did the boy.
They weren't alone.
A man knelt near the center of the grove. Cloak dusted with soil. Shoulders shaking—not from cold, but from something deeper. Something heavy. His hands were clasped tight, knuckles white. His forehead pressed to the earth.
He wasn't praying like the people Ex had seen before—loud, dramatic, showy.
This was different. Quieter. More desperate. Like the words hurt to speak.
Ex's throat tightened. He didn't know why.
The man trembled.
"…Abba…"
His voice was hoarse. Raw. It scraped the air like a blade pulled across stone.
"…if it is possible… let this cup pass from me…"
He paused.
And when he spoke again—
he sounded like someone burying themselves.
"…Yet not My will… but Yours."
Ex blinked.
The pain in that voice—it wasn't fear of death. He'd heard fear before. He knew its tone, its smell. This wasn't that.
This was the weight of knowing.
Knowing what was coming.
And still choosing to walk into it.
The man fell forward slightly, catching himself with a shaking hand. Blood touched the ground. Not a wound. His sweat—tainted red. Ex's eyes narrowed.
He didn't understand. Not fully.
But the silence around them stretched long and wide—like creation itself was listening.
The boy finally spoke.
"He could've left."
Ex didn't look at him. His eyes stayed on the man. "Then why didn't He?"
The boy stepped closer. His voice was softer now. Not childlike—just… full.
"Because mercy isn't weakness," he said. "It's the strongest thing a god can choose."
The words fell between them.
Ex didn't respond. His hands were clenched. Shoulders tight.
The man in the garden lifted his head, face streaked with sweat and blood. Eyes full of something too deep to name. He looked toward the trees—toward them. For a moment, Ex thought he saw him.
And he did.
Their eyes met.
And in that breathless instant, Ex felt it—
the weight He carried.
The price He accepted.
For people who would mock Him.
Spit on Him.
Forget Him.
Including Ex.
The connection broke.
The man rose. Staggered slightly. The moment was over.
But something had shifted.
Inside Ex.
A crack. A question. A seed.
He didn't say a word as the garden dimmed, shadows swallowing the moonlight.
The boy's voice came again.
"Do you want to see the rest?"
Ex hesitated.
"…Yeah."
The quiet didn't last.
It was a silence meant to be broken.
Leaves rustled. Not by wind—but by movement. Feet. Dozens of them. Fast, purposeful, like wolves descending on prey.
The man stood still in the center of the garden.
Unmoving.
Ex watched, eyes narrowing. Muscles tightening without command. It was instinct—old as blood. He knew ambushes.
From the edge of the grove, torches bloomed. Orange tongues licking the dark.
Men stepped into view—soldiers, cloaked figures, faces twisted by resolve and fear. Armor rustled. Hands rested on hilts. A swarm clothed in shadows and fire.
And at the front of them—
Judas.
The name wasn't spoken.
But Ex knew.
The man's gait, his posture—torn between guilt and purpose. Eyes darting, heart stuttering, mouth tightening with every step. He looked at the man he had once followed… and didn't look away.
He walked right to Him.
The betrayal wasn't with steel.
It was with something worse.
Judas embraced Him. A kiss to the cheek. Gentle. Hollow.
And the world cracked.
Not with sound—but with silence.
The kind that splits open everything you thought you understood.
Ex didn't move.
Couldn't.
He wasn't watching a story.
He was watching truth.
The kind that made no sense and yet explained everything.
The soldiers seized Him.
No resistance. No soel. No blade summoned. Just… surrender.
It made Ex feel sick.
Not because of weakness.
Because of the strength it took not to strike.
One of His followers rushed forward, sword flashing, a yell ripping the air. Steel met flesh. An ear fell to the dirt.
ex laughed slightly
The man—Jesus—raised His hand.
"No more of this."
The voice was calm. Stern. Piercing.
He touched the wound.
Healed it.
Even His enemies.
Ex stepped back without meaning to. His thoughts knotted.
"This doesn't make sense."
The boy didn't reply.
Because what was there to say?
The man who had power beyond the stars…
Chose not to use it.
Not here.
Not yet.
Ex's jaw clenched. "He could kill them all."
"He could," the boy said, eyes still fixed on the scene.
"But He won't."
The weight of those words slammed into Ex like a fist to the ribs.
They dragged Him away.
Torches faded. The garden returned to stillness, but not peace.
The olive trees groaned in the wind that now stirred. Branches swayed like mourners.
Ex's breath came slow.
He didn't speak.
Not for a long time.
They stood there—two figures in the dark, one timeless, the other unmoored—while history bled quietly into the ground beneath their feet.