Chapter Text
PROLOGUE:
The silence of the abyss never truly existed.
Even nearly six hundred metres below the surface, deep within the bowels of the celestial well, the world continued to breathe.
Water trickled somewhere in the darkness, striking the stone with an ancient, almost organic regularity. The rock oozed with moisture. Every wall glistened in the white light of the headlamps, covered in a thin film of water that reflected the beams like broken glass.
The air was heavy.
Thick.
Heavy with heat despite the depth.
Breathing required effort; the damp clung to the skin, stuck to their clothes, seeped right into their lungs.
The chamber they had uncovered a few hours earlier was not huge.
A cavity carved directly into the rock face of the chasm, as if the mountain itself had kept this secret within its flesh.
Tree roots, having grown from the surface centuries ago, sometimes pierced the ceiling or walls, thick and gnarled, trapped in the stone like fossilised veins.
Everywhere, pale, untamed vegetation had reclaimed its territory.
Mosses.
Vines.
Delicate ferns.
Harry had spent nearly two hours clearing the room with a machete and a knife, cutting a passable path to the centre of the chamber.
The smell of damp earth and cut vegetation still hung in the air.
Amidst this primeval dampness, the fresco.
Immense.
Carved directly into the black stone.
Time had not erased its lines.
On the contrary.
The water seemed to have nourished them.
The grooves were deep, precise, covered in a fine golden mineral powder that Louis had not yet managed to identify.
Crouching before the wall, his fingers skimming the symbols without really touching them, Louis held his breath.
Beside him, the master watched in silence.
Their lamps glided over the engravings.
Circles.
Constellations.
Entwined bodies.
Converging lines.
A language they had been pursuing for years.
And for the first time, something seemed to respond.
“There.”
The master’s voice cut softly through the thick air.
Louis raised his lamp.
His gaze followed the line he was shown.
Two figures.
Face to face.
Their hands clasped at the centre of a circle carved into the stone.
Around them, patterns he recognised.
Symbols of cycles.
Of rebirth.
Of return.
His stomach tightened.
“That word…” he whispered.
The master tilted his head slightly.
“Translate.”
Louis slowly ran his fingers over the characters.
His mind was racing. Too fast.
He pieced together the forms, the roots, the syntactic structures.
Then his breath faltered.
“Union.”
The master did not reply.
Louis continued.
“Souls bound… across the cycles.”
Behind them, Harry looked up.
Leaning against the doorway, covered in sweat, dirt and dust, he had been watching them in silence for several minutes, leaving the two scholars to their own devices.
His lamp cast an intermittent glow over the contours of the passageway.
His chest was still rising slowly from the effort of clearing the rubble.
“What does it look like?” he asked at last.
Louis glanced at him.
“An old legend.”
The master, for his part, kept his eyes on the fresco.
“No.”
His voice was low.
Certain.
“A memory.”
The word hung in the air.
And somewhere, deeper within the rock, a creaking sound answered.
Louis moved forward again, until he could almost feel the damp coolness of the wall against his skin.
His torch slowly swept over the fresco.
And suddenly, something caught his eye.
Not a word.
A pattern.
A blade.
Long, slender, engraved with an almost absurd precision despite the centuries, the details of stones carved into the hilt far too precise for the era.
Its tip pierced the heart of an open flower, its petals carved with a disturbing delicacy; it almost looked like a sunflower, which made no sense at the bottom of an abyss where the sun never shone.
Louis frowned.
He recognised this image.
Not the fresco.
The image.
Like a vision he’d seen before.
Already carried within him.
His gaze drifted further.
A ship.
Its sails unfurled in a sea of curved lines, guided by a starry circle engraved just above.
A compass.
His breathing slowed.
Then lower down, a rope.
Wrapped around two joined wrists.
A bond.
An attachment.
A promise.
Something twisted in his stomach.
It wasn’t possible.
“Master…”
His voice came out lower than he’d intended.
The old man looked up at him.
Louis pointed at the stone.
“These symbols… they don’t fit with the rest.”
The master stepped closer.
He looked.
Then his gaze shifted to Louis.
“Why do you say that?”
Louis hesitated.
Because he didn’t want to state the obvious.
Because the obvious was ridiculous.
His fingers instinctively moved up to his own arm, brushing the skin beneath his clothing, where the ink lay. It almost itched; a strange sensation coursed through his veins.
His throat tightened.
“Because I know them.”
Behind them, Harry sat up slightly.
“I don’t like the sound of the rock. We should leave.” He warned them, scrutinising the rocky formations surrounding them.
Louis looked up at him.
His torch briefly illuminated his face.
Then moved down.
His chest.
His arms.
And suddenly—
the correspondence.
The blade.
The flower.
The ship.
The compass.
The blood drained from his face.
No.
No, it was impossible.
The master, for his part, looked alternately at Harry, then at Louis.
And for the first time since their descent, Louis saw something in his eyes.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
As if the Master understood something that had not yet reached him.
Then he placed his hand on a line of text further down.
“Just a few more moments, we’re almost there. Translate this one.” The Master ordered.
Louis forced his gaze away from Harry.
His eyes scanned the symbols.
His mind stumbled.
Picked up again.
Then stopped.
His heart skipped a beat.
“The guardians… will return.”
He said it in a whisper, his voice trembling.
The master remained motionless.
“Carry on.”
Louis swallowed hard.
His eyes hurried down to the next line. The sound of the rock creaking made him nervous.
And this time, the world seemed to shift beneath his feet.
Because the two silhouettes carved higher up—their bodies, their marks—were beginning to seem painfully familiar to him.
As if the stone had not carved a legend.
But a memory.
And deep within the rock, something cracked.
The crackling turned into a rumbling.
Not in the depths.
Beneath them.
The rock vibrated.
A sudden shudder ran up the rock face.
Louis looked up so quickly that his torch shook in his hand.
“What on—”
The ground gave way.
Not entirely.
Just enough.
A black crack opened in the stone, between the fresco and their feet, narrow at first, then gaping.
And in the next instant, water burst forth.
A colossal geyser.
Violent.
Ancient.
A column of pressurised water gushed from the rock with the force of a burst dam.
The impact hurled Louis and the Master backwards like rag dolls.
Harry screamed.
“LOUIS!”
Louis’s body slammed into the opposite wall with a thud.
His head struck the rock.
His body collapsed immediately.
Lifeless.
The master, for his part, was hurled even more violently.
The stone behind him gave way.
The ceiling cracked.
Then it came crashing down.
A monstrous crash shook the chamber.
Dust, water, debris.
Everything descended into chaos.
Harry threw himself through the torrent.
The water pounded against his legs with almost superhuman force, sliding over the black stone, already rising around his ankles.
Then his knees.
The sanctuary was filling up.
Quickly.
Too quickly.
“LOUIS!”
He finally reached his body.
He turned him over roughly.
Blood.
On his temple.
Unconscious.
Weak breathing.
Alive.
A rattle.
Harry looked up.
The master.
Trapped beneath a massive landslide.
Half his torso crushed under several boulders.
Blood mingled with the water.
His fingers trembled.
But his eyes were open.
Conscious.
Lucid.
Harry stood up, panicked, moving towards him.
“No— no, wait— we can—”
The master shook his head.
Slowly.
He knew.
Harry saw it immediately.
There was no time.
The old man raised a trembling hand to his neck.
And tore away the pendant hanging from his skin.
A sun made of fine gold, pierced through the centre.
He held it out to Harry.
His voice came out in a broken whisper.
“Take it. It’s yours”
Harry hesitated.
The master almost forced the pendant into his palm.
His fingers closed around it.
“Save Louis.”
Harry looked at the rubble.
Looked at Louis.
His breath caught.
“I can go back— I can—”
The Master grabbed him by the wrist.
An absurd strength in his old fingers.
His eyes were burning.
“No.”
The ground shook again.
A fresh crack split the room.
The water was rising.
The Master drew a laboured breath.
Then, urgently, with terror—
he whispered:
“Save him.”
His gaze drifted to the unconscious body.
Then returned to Harry.
And his voice broke on the words:
“Louis knows.”
Harry froze.
The Master gripped his wrist.
Tighter.
“Louis knows!”
A stone gave way above them.
The water was roaring now.
The sanctuary was collapsing.
The Master let out a hoarse cry.
Not of pain.
Of command.
“GO! NOW!” The old man screamed.
Harry turned around.
He went back to Louis.
He hoisted him onto his back in a desperate effort.
Then he looked at the Master one last time.
The old man was still there.
Still conscious.
His gaze fixed on them.
As if he were already looking through time.
Then Harry ran.
And behind him— the room collapsed.
The weight of Louis on his shoulders should have crushed him.
But Harry kept climbing.
One hand clinging to the damp rock.
The other holding the body firmly against him.
The passage had become a trap.
The sodden vegetation clung to his legs, the roots slipped from his fingers, the mud swallowed his footholds. The rocks and thorns were tearing at his skin.
Every movement was a struggle.
And yet he carried on.
Because there was no alternative.
Behind him, the sanctuary was collapsing.
Ahead of him, the climb seemed endless.
And between the two—
Between the two was Louis.
His Louis.
Motionless.
Too quiet.
Harry tried to make out his breathing through the jolts.
Listening for the slightest breath.
The slightest sign that Louis was still there.
He prayed to feel the slightest movement, the slightest tremor.
But the higher he climbed, the more fear took hold.
Heavy.
Vicious.
What if this silence was no longer rest?
What if—
His foot slipped violently.
He swore under his breath, just managing to grab hold of the rock, his heart pounding so hard it made him feel sick.
No.
No.
Not like this.
Not him.
And certainly not Louis.
Harry found a rocky ledge covered in thick moss, wide enough to steady them, soft enough to lay his treasure down on.
His arms trembled as he set Louis down on the ground.
Almost in spite of himself.
But he needed…
Kneeling before him, panting, covered in mud, water and blood, Harry stared at his face.
Motionless. Pale.
His hands immediately cupped the back of his neck, lifting his face with an almost painful gentleness.
“Louis.”
His voice trembled. A desperate plea. For the slightest response, the slightest sign of life.
He listened for his breath.
There.
Weak.
But still there.
But it wasn’t enough.
Harry placed a hand on his chest.
Felt the rhythm.
Slow.
Irregular.
Alive.
Fuck.
His forehead fell against Louis’s in a broken sigh. His lips brushed against Louis’, in the tenderest of caresses, trembling.
And everything he’d held back until then gave way.
His shoulders shook.
A sob escaped him.
Short.
Rough.
He ran his hands over Louis’ body as if to make sure he was still in one piece.
The nasty wound on his head. It had stopped bleeding, but he could feel a huge bump forming.
His arms.
His ribs.
His face.
His neck.
As if the touch could keep him here.
As if the warmth of his skin could stop him from slipping away.
“You’re not doing this to me.”
His voice was low.
Broken.
His fingers trembled against his cheek, cold with moisture.
Harry closed his eyes.
And the truth—the one he’d been pushing away for months—finally rose up with a force impossible to deny.
It wasn’t obsession.
Not desire.
Not just that.
It was love.
Complete.
Whole.
Terrifying.
And the idea of living in a world where Louis no longer existed opened up something unbearable within him.
A pain so vast it took his breath away.
Tears finally rolled down.
Free.
Unrestrained.
“Don’t leave me.”
The whisper broke against Louis’s lips.
Harry pressed his forehead harder against his, as if he could hold him there, simply by the force of his presence.
His hands still framed his face.
His thumbs slid over his damp cheekbones.
Anchor.
Proof.
Presence.
“Please…”
His throat burned.
His gaze fell on his mouth.
Slightly parted.
Silent.
Alive.
Harry closed his eyes.
And understood.
Not in a flash.
Not in a sudden revelation.
In the obviousness of it.
Like a truth that had always been there, simply waiting for him to stop resisting it.
That was it.
It was Louis.
From the very beginning.
From the moment they first met.
From their arguments.
From every lingering glance.
Every restrained gesture.
Every time he’d protected him without even thinking.
It wasn’t an obsession.
Nor a habit.
It was him.
His anchor.
His centre.
The only place where everything inside him stopped fighting.
A tear slid down to his lips.
Harry took a laboured breath.
Then whispered, right up against him:
“I love you.”
Saying it out loud cracked something inside him.
Made it real.
Irrevocable.
His gaze lingered on Louis’s mouth for a second too long.
As if on the brink of a choice.
Then Harry gave in.
His lips touched Louis’.
Not in panic.
Not in fear.
In certainty.
A firm kiss.
Slow.
Filled with everything he’d never said.
Like a promise left there.
As if he were entrusting him with something to take back with him, should he decide to return.
When Harry pulled back, his breath was shaky.
His forehead pressed against his again.
His eyes closed.
His voice broken.
“Come back to me.”
His fingers tightened slightly in his damp hair.
Then he opened his eyes again.
Looked at him once more.
And in his pocket, the pendant weighed against his thigh.
Heavy.
Real.
Like a debt.
Harry froze.
Then he pulled Louis closer to him.
“I love you.”
His voice was steadier this time.
More solid.
A truth now impossible to take back.
“And I won’t let you go.”
So he lifted him up again.
And began the climb once more.
When Harry finally caught sight of the artificial light from the platform, he thought at first that his mind was playing tricks on him.
His arms were shaking so badly that he could barely feel his fingers.
His legs were nothing but pain.
His breath rasped in his throat with every breath he took.
The blood was pounding in his temples.
His back was burning under the weight of Louis.
But he kept climbing.
Still.
Always.
Because he had to.
Because Louis was still breathing.
Because he wouldn’t accept anything else.
When his fingers finally gripped the metal ledge, a clamour of voices erupted above him.
Hurried footsteps.
Shouts.
“HARRY!”
Liam’s voice cut through the din of the chasm.
Shadows appeared above.
Liam.
Zayn.
Niall.
Their faces etched with worry.
Their hands reached out towards him immediately.
But Harry shook his head violently.
Not him.
Louis.
Always Louis.
With what strength he had left, Harry swung the unconscious body onto his shoulder, pushing him towards them with such force that his muscles screamed.
“Take him!”
His voice exploded in a roar.
Rough.
Desperate.
Zayn and Liam lunged forward.
Grabbing Louis under the arms.
Hoisting him onto the platform.
His body rolled across the wet metal.
Motionless.
Pale.
And only when he saw him fully out of the abyss—
Harry let go.
His arms gave way.
His body collapsed in turn.
His knees struck the metal plate violently.
Then his hands.
Then his chest.
He lay there.
Forehead against the floor.
Gasping.
Empty.
His whole body was still trembling.
All around him, everything sped up.
Niall was the first to move.
He dropped to his knees beside Louis, already pulling out his first-aid kit.
His movements were swift.
Mechanical.
Precise.
He checked for a pulse.
Pressed his fingers against his neck.
Then jerked his head up.
“He’s alive.”
Everyone gasped.
Suddenly.
Fragile.
Zayn immediately knelt down on the other side.
His fingers slid through Louis’s hair to his wound.
The blood had dried around his temple.
But the bump was already swelling.
Zayn’s face paled.
“Concussion.”
Perhaps more.
Liam, for his part, remained frozen.
His gaze shifted from Harry to the void behind him.
To the gaping darkness.
To the silence.
Then his expression changed.
“Where is the Master?”
The world seemed to stand still.
Harry slowly raised his head.
His breath caught in his chest.
His gaze wavered.
Then it broke.
“He was trapped.”
The words came out too quickly.
As if they were being torn from his throat.
Harry shook his head again, gasping for breath.
His hands trembled against the metal.
“The landslide… The water swept them both away, but the master… He took the full force of it. And the stones…”
His voice cracked.
He ran a trembling hand over his face, smearing mud, water and blood.
“I tried. I wanted to…”
Harry’s gaze drifted into the void.
As if he were seeing it all again.
The master beneath the rocks.
The blood.
The pendant.
The look in his eyes.
“I wanted to pull him out…”
His chest heaved violently.
His breath trembled.
“But he was trapped.”
His throat tightened.
His eyes fell on Louis.
His lifeless body.
His face, too pale.
And the panic came back all at once.
Brutal.
Vivid.
“Louis was unconscious… he was bleeding… I—”
The words died in his mouth.
Harry closed his eyes for a second.
As if to keep from breaking down.
“Shen Wei ordered me to take him.”
The silence weighed heavier than a boulder.
“He told me to save Louis. He knew I couldn’t save them both.”
His fingers clenched the metal plate until they turned white.
His jaw trembled.
“I had no choice.”
The last word came out lower.
Almost broken.
Not like a certainty.
Like a defence.
Like something he was still trying to convince himself of.
No one replied.
The chasm behind them was still breathing.
Immense.
Alive.
As if it held the master’s body within it.
Then a movement.
Tiny.
Niall sat up abruptly.
“Harry”
The tone snapped Harry out of his daze.
His gaze fixed on Louis.
Louis’s body had just twitched faintly beneath their hands.
Harry crawled across the platform on his knees.
Almost crawling.
His hands slipped on the damp metal before he finally reached Louis.
His body was still there.
Too still.
Too cold in the damp.
The movement they’d seen had lasted only a second.
A spasm.
Nothing more.
And now—
nothing at all.
Harry froze.
The fear came back so suddenly it took his breath away.
“What was that?”
His voice was barely more than a whisper.
Niall kept his fingers pressed against Louis’s neck.
Calm.
Focused.
His gaze was analysing. Calculating.
“I don’t know yet.”
The “yet” was worse than anything.
Harry felt his stomach churn.
Zayn stayed by Louis’s head, monitoring his breathing.
Liam had stepped back just enough to give them space, but his gaze never left Harry.
As if he’d suddenly understood something he’d never really looked at before.
Niall stood up abruptly.
“Oxygen. You need oxygen. Both of you. And water. Water and oxygen”
He rushed over to the equipment.
Harry, for his part, didn’t move.
He stayed there.
On his knees.
Facing Louis.
His gaze drifted over his face.
His pale lips.
His motionless eyelashes.
The dried blood on his temple.
As if he were searching for a sign.
Any sign at all.
His hand hesitated.
Hovering above him.
The urge to touch him.
To take him.
To hold him fast.
But an invisible force held him back—modesty, perhaps, though this was fought by stronger urges; he could not resist the need for his hand to find Louis’s.
He squeezed it.
Tightly.
His cold fingers against his own.
“Come on…”
His voice trembled.
Broken.
His eyes fixed on his face as if looking at him might be enough.
“Come back.”
Niall came back, immediately placing the oxygen mask over Louis’s mouth and nose.
Then he handed the other one to Harry.
“Here.”
Harry shook his head.
Without even looking.
“Not me. He has to come back first.”
His voice was dry.
Choked.
Niall hesitated.
Then understood.
Harry leaned closer.
His fingers tightened their grip on Louis’s hand.
His thumb rubbed his skin mechanically.
Like a call.
Like a taut thread whilst, with his other hand, he traced the outline of the compass tattooed on Louis’s arm.
“Lou…”
The nickname fell into the silence.
And all around them, everyone heard it.
Harry too.
But he couldn’t stop now.
“Come on, baby…”
His voice broke.
Zayn looked up at him abruptly.
Liam too.
Even Niall paused in his movement.
Because suddenly, it was all there.
Clear.
Naked.
Terrifying.
Harry could see no one else.
Only Louis.
“Sunshine…”
The word came out in a trembling whisper.
Intimate.
Instinctive.
Almost sacred.
His eyes were burning.
-”Come back to me.”
His throat tightened
His forehead almost touched Louis’, right on the edge.
Without crossing the distance.
Not here.
“Please.”
His voice pleaded, broken.
The silence around them had grown immense.
The wind.
The metal.
The breath of oxygen.
And then—
a movement.
Tiny.
Almost invisible.
A sharp spasm shot through Louis’s body.
His fingers clenched violently around Harry’s hand.
His chest rose in a ragged breath, too quick, too short, as if his body were gasping for air without knowing how to take it.
Harry froze, holding his breath.
“Lou—”
His voice broke.
Niall leaned in immediately, one hand against his neck, the other steadying his jaw.
“Gently. Let him come round.”
Louis’s eyelids fluttered.
Once.
Twice.
Then finally opened.
Not quite.
Not properly.
His gaze was empty at first.
Disconnected.
His pupils searched without focusing.
His breathing remained irregular beneath the mask, too rapid, too shallow.
Disorientation.
Confusion.
His body was still trying to figure out where he was.
The metal beneath his back.
The cold air on his damp skin.
The smell of earth, blood, mud.
Then his gaze found Harry.
And fixed on him.
Immediately, like an anchor.
As if everything else could remain a blur as long as he was there.
Harry saw him.
Really saw him. The return.
The awareness behind his eyes.The presence. Alive.
And all the tension in his body gave way at once. His breath broke and his shoulders slumped.
A short sob escaped him despite himself. His eyes closed for a second.
A tear rolled down his cheek, sudden, honest, pure relief.
Louis felt it fall on his skin, cool, real.
And in Harry’s gaze, he saw everything.
The fear still clinging to him.
The relief.
The terror he had borne alone.
And something else.
Something vaster.
More intimate.
Something Louis couldn’t quite put a name to yet, but it was there. Undeniably there.
The world came back then.
In fragments.
The sounds of others bustling around him, the smell of earth, the dampness.
And the pain exploded.
Inside his skull.
Violent.
Throbbing.
His vision wavered.
A sudden wave of nausea rose in his throat.
His face contorted.
His dry throat forced the words out with difficulty.
Weak.
Broken.
“Shen Wei?”
Then his memory returned.
In fragments.
The fresco.
The water. So much water. The force that had struck him square in the chest.
The stone.
Shen Wei. His scream. And Harry’s voice shouting his name. He remembers with striking clarity knowing that, with Harry there, despite everything, he feared nothing.
Then darkness. Nothing until he opened his eyes again.
His throat tightened.
His voice came out a little less weak.
“Shen Wei?”
The world stopped.
And Harry changed.
Instantly.
Like a door closing.
His face went blank.
His fingers clenched one last time around Louis’s hand.
Then he let go.
Abruptly.
As if the touch were burning.
And he stepped back.
Barely.
But enough.
Enough for Louis to feel it.
The heat snatched away.
The void left behind. He saw Liam physically pull Harry further away and sit him on the floor; he saw him hand him water and start cleaning wounds Louis hadn’t seen. He saw their lips move, urgently. He saw Harry’s body go completely limp, almost lifeless, and Liam’s eyes bulge in terror as he sat him up, frowning sternly.
Meanwhile, he sensed rather than saw Niall and Zayn bustling about him, near his head, tightening the oxygen mask; he saw compresses pass before his eyes, white on the way out, then red on the way back.
And the panic returned.
Violent.
Incomprehensible.
His breathing quickened.
Too fast.
Not enough air.
His chest rose and fell violently beneath the mask.
His fingers instinctively searched for something.
Someone.
Harry.
But Niall was already on top of him.
“Hey, easy, easy—”
His hands readjusted the oxygen mask.
Zayn held his shoulders firmly in place.
“Breathe, Louis. Look at me. Breathe.”
But Louis was looking for Harry. He was struggling, fighting.
Over their shoulders.
Over their hands.
Harry, curled up further away, his gaze downcast.
As if he could no longer bear his presence.
And Louis understood.
Not everything.
But enough.
Because Shen Wei wasn’t there.
Because Harry wasn’t answering.
Because Harry couldn’t answer.
“Where is he? Where is the Master?” he asked, louder this time, even though his voice was muffled by the mask.
His voice commanded.
The silence lasted too long. Harry curled up.
Then Niall took a breath.
Calm.
Precise.
As always.
Even in the midst of disaster.
“Shen Wei hasn’t come back up.”
The words fell cleanly.
Without beating about the bush.
And Louis felt the world slip away.
His gaze fixed on Harry.
He wished it had been him.
Not Niall.
Him.
He wished he’d heard it from his own lips.
Seen his face.
Understood.
But Harry remained motionless.
Closed off.
As if he’d shut himself away behind something inaccessible.
On the other side of the platform, Liam had knelt down in front of him.
A water bottle in his hands.
“Drink.”
Harry obeyed without a word.
Mechanically.
His hands were shaking too much.
The water ran down his chin.
He was still gasping for breath.
And in his head, it all started again.
The landslide.
The blood.
Shen Wei’s gaze.
The choice.
Louis’s body on his back.
The weight.
The delay.
And one thought, growing ever more brutal, kept returning.
I could have got them out sooner, as soon as I sensed something was afoot. Before everything exploded.
I could have gone faster.
I could have tried again.
I could have got him out.
His throat tightened.
The pendant in his pocket suddenly felt as heavy as a tonne.
Like proof.
Like a judgement.
Liam was watching him.
His hands continued to clean the wounds on his face, his arms, his shoulders.
Methodically.
Precisely.
Whilst Harry was still trying to catch his breath.
His eyes kept drifting towards Louis.
As if to make sure he was still breathing.
That he was really there.
Liam wrung out the blood-soaked compress.
Then asked, in a low voice:
“What the hell was that?”
Harry looked up.
His stomach clenched immediately.
The explanation came out all by itself.
Too quickly.
As if he’d been rehearsing it in his head ever since he’d left the room.
“I had no choice.”
His throat was dry.
His voice cracked.
“Shen Wei was trapped. Louis wasn’t. The ceiling was collapsing, the water was rising, I couldn’t—”
Liam shook his head.
Cut him off.
“Not that.”
Harry froze.
Liam put down the compress.
Looked him straight in the eye.
“With Louis.”
Silence fell.
Harry frowned.
Immediately shut down.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Liam held his gaze.
Motionless.
Then:
“The whole bunch of nicknames?”
The word was enough.
And Harry felt it all come flooding back.
Lou.
Baby.
Sunshine.
Torn from him in a panic.
Out of control.
Unfiltered.
His jaw tensed.
He looked away.
The silence stretched out.
Liam waited.
Then asked, more gently this time:
“How long has it been?”
Harry stared into the void in front of him.
The sound of the wind in the well.
The breathing behind them.
The rubbing of the compresses on Louis’s skin.
Then his answer came.
Simple.
True.
“Probably forever.”
Liam remained silent.
Because he understood what that meant.
Not just for a few months.
Not since they met.
Something deeper.
Something older.
His gaze drifted towards Louis.
Then back again.
“And him?”
Harry swallowed hard.
His eyes found Louis once more.
The mask.
The blood.
His blue eyes still fixed on him.
Alive.
And that simple reality took his breath away.
His voice dropped to a whisper:
“I fucking don’t know.”
The oxygen mask had finally slipped from Louis’s face.
Not far away, though.
It was simply lying beside him, ready to be put back on at the slightest sign of dizziness.
His breathing was still short and cautious.
His skull throbbed to the dull rhythm of his injury, each pulse radiating right up behind his eyes.
But he was sitting up now.
Leaning against a metal crate, a survival blanket thrown over his soaked shoulders.
Opposite him, Harry had finally given in too.
A few minutes of oxygen, water, a rough cleaning of the wounds. His forearms were lacerated.His hands raw.His face covered in fine scratches, dried blood and mud.
They had survived.
It was almost absurd.
The silence between them had become unbearable.
It was Liam who finally broke it.
Crouching in front of Louis, his forearms resting on his knees, he chose his words carefully.
“We don’t know exactly what happened down there.”
Louis slowly looked up at him.
Liam took a breath.
“The floor gave way. A pocket of pressurised water burst in the room. You were thrown out.”
His gaze drifted briefly towards Harry.
“Shen Wei was caught in the landslide.”
The name hit harder than the pain.
Louis felt his throat tighten.
Liam continued.
“Harry pulled you out.”
Simply.
No heroism in his voice.
Just the raw truth.
Louis immediately looked for Harry.
As if to check.
As if to find out.
Harry looked down.
An immediate retreat.
His hands trembled slightly around the empty flask.
The silence lingered.
Then Harry took a deep breathe, without looking up.
“I’m sorry.”
His voice was low.
Hoarse.
Worn.
Louis frowned.
Harry swallowed with difficulty.
“I couldn’t get you both out.”
The weight of the sentence crashed down between them.
Louis looked at him.
For a long time.
And oh! Oh…
And understood immediately.
Understood the guilt.
Understood the impossible choice.
Understood, too, that Shen Wei was already doomed.
He saw the rockslide again.
The stones.
The water.
The violence of the impact.
No.
No one could have got him out.
Not alive.
Not in that chaos.
So why this feeling in his chest?
Why this tightness?
Why this sudden inability to breathe properly?
Because that wasn’t it.
It wasn’t Shen Wei’s death that was spinning round in his head.
It was the damn fresco.
The symbols.
The silhouettes.
The marks.
The text.
The memory of the engraved stone.
The precise memory.
Terrifying.
And above all—
what it said.
His stomach clenched violently.
His gaze went blank.
Harry saw it.
And misinterpreted it immediately.
Louis’s silence.
His withdrawal.
His closing off.
His distance.
Harry felt something fall within him.
There.
That was it.
Disappointment.
Resentment.
Perhaps even hatred.
He lowered his eyes again.
And accepted the blow without protest.
The sound of the blades came before the lights.
Then the medical teams.
Orders.
Stretchers.
Blankets.
Drips.
Quick questions.
Expert hands.
And the world began to move again.
The helicopter ride took place in an almost surreal silence.
Louis and Harry sat side by side.
Strapped in, facing the void.
The sound of the rotors drowned out everything.
But even without that—
they wouldn’t have said a word.
Louis kept his eyes fixed straight ahead.
His mind was racing.
Over and over again.
The Guardians will return.
Union.
Bound souls.
Cycle.
Memory.
And the marks.
Theirs.
Exactly theirs.
It wasn’t possible.
And yet—
he had read it.
Harry, for his part, kept his hands clenched between his knees.
His knuckles white.
The pendant in his pocket weighed against his thigh.
Heavy.
Unbearable.
Like a debt.
Like an inheritance he’d never asked for.
And beside him—
Louis wasn’t even looking at him anymore.
The flight seemed to last for hours.
Three days later, the hospital discharged them all together.
The sun almost hurt their eyes.
The outside world seemed obscenely normal.
Cars.
The wind.
The noise of the city.
As if nothing had changed.
Yet everything had changed.
The group stood motionless for a few moments in front of the entrance.
Niall.
Liam.
Harry.
Zayn.
Louis.
One down.
Shen Wei’s absence was everywhere.
Louis clutched his bag in one hand.
His face still pale.
The wound on his temple protected by a clean bandage.
Then he took a breath.
And spoke.
“I’m quitting”
The others looked up.
Louis stared into the void in front of him.
“I need time.”
His throat moved with difficulty.
“I need a break”
No one argued.
Because they all understood what those words really meant.
Mourning.
Space.
Silence.
Liam simply nodded.
Niall placed a brief hand on his shoulder.
Even Harry said nothing.
He had no right to.
Louis turned on his heel.
And began to walk away.
Alone.
The group watched him go.
Then, after a few steps, he stopped.
Without turning round.
“Zayn?”
Zayn looked up.
“Are you coming?”
The invitation took everyone by surprise.
But Zayn moved immediately.
Caught up with him.
And together, they walked away.
A few metres.
Out of earshot.
Away from the others.
Louis waited a little longer.
As if to make sure they could no longer be heard.
And then, his voice was low, tense, controlled.
“I read the mural.”
Zayn turned his head sharply towards him.
Louis kept his eyes fixed straight ahead.
“Before it all came crashing down.”
His breath faltered.
Then he let it out:
“I know what it said.”
The silence grew tense.
Zayn immediately sensed that everything was changing.
“What?”
This time, Louis paused.
His gaze lost somewhere ahead of them.
Then:
“It was about me.”
A beat.
“And Harry.”
Zayn froze.
And for the first time since they’d emerged from the abyss—
the real dizziness began.