Chapter 31: Low Tide
Dillion woke to the sound of pages turning.
Not water.
Not stone collapsing.
Not a god’s voice.
Paper.
Soft. Steady.
For a few seconds, he didn’t move.
He just lay there, staring at the ceiling.
Wooden beams. Familiar grain. The faint scent of polish and old paper. His body felt heavy, like he had slept through winter.
He blinked once.
Twice.
Memory hit slowly.
Sobek.
The blade.
Light.
He inhaled sharply—
And immediately regretted it. His ribs ached. His arms felt like they had been pulled from their sockets and put back wrong.
“You’re awake.”
The voice was soft.
Dillion turned his head.
May was sitting beside his bed, one leg tucked under the other, a book resting open in her hands. She looked the same as always — brown hair tied loosely back, eyes focused on the page — except for the dark circles beneath them.
She had been there a while.
When their eyes met, the book slipped from her fingers.
For a heartbeat, she just stared at him.
Then her face broke.
Tears spilled instantly, and she covered her mouth like she couldn’t believe he was real.
“You idiot,” she whispered.
She threw herself forward, wrapping her arms around him carefully but tightly.
Dillion winced — then laughed weakly.
“Hey,” he croaked. “I just woke up.”
She didn’t let go.
“You were out for three days,” she said into his shoulder, voice shaking. “Three Sorian days.”
That landed.
Three days.
He swallowed.
“I didn’t die?” he asked softly.
She pulled back just enough to glare at him through tears.
“No,” she said. “You didn’t.”
Then she stood abruptly.
“I’m getting the others.”
She wiped her eyes quickly, almost angrily, and rushed out of the room.
Dillion lay back against the pillow.
Crit Happens guild suite.
He recognized it now — the wood-paneled walls, the soft amber light filtering through the high windows. His shield rested beside the bed, leaned carefully against the wall.
Still cracked.
Still whole.
His right hand felt… warm.
He lifted it slightly.
Empty.
But the warmth lingered faintly in his palm, like something was missing.
The door burst open.
Valen entered first — controlled, composed — but the relief in his eyes betrayed him.
Behind him came Kael, Lana, Mika, and Gorran in a flood of noise and motion.
“You’re alive!” Kael shouted.
“Obviously,” Dillion muttered.
Kael leaned forward over the bed with a wide grin.
“Good slay, bro.”
Dillion blinked.
“…What?”
Kael clapped his hands once.
“One of three,” he said proudly. “That’s one of three gods ever reported defeated in Sora history.”
Silence.
Dillion stared at him.
“You’re joking.”
“Nope,” Kael said, popping the ‘p.’ “Soul Wardens confirmed it.”
Mika didn’t say anything.
She crossed the room quickly and dropped to her knees beside the bed.
Then she hugged him.
Tightly.
Not careful like May.
Not restrained.
Relieved.
Her shoulders shook slightly.
“You scared me,” she said quietly.
Dillion hesitated — then gently returned the embrace.
“I didn’t mean to.”
She pulled back, wiping at her eyes quickly before anyone could comment.
Valen crossed his arms.
“The Aqueduct was swarmed less than ten minutes after the barrier shattered,” he said. “Soul Wardens everywhere. They sealed the entire Depth Level.”
“No one is allowed near it,” Lana added. “They locked it down immediately.”
Gorran nodded once.
“They took everything.”
Dillion’s hand flexed instinctively.
“…Everything?”
Valen’s gaze sharpened slightly.
“The remains. The structure. Any residual divine current.”
Kael leaned forward again.
“But they said your name.”
That got his attention.
“They announced it publicly,” Kael said. “Dillion Rogers defeated Sobek, God of the Ancient Waters.”
Dillion’s stomach dropped.
“They what?”
Mika gave him a look somewhere between pride and worry.
“The terminals pushed it across the capital,” she said softly. “It’s spreading.”
May re-entered quietly, standing near the door this time.
“You’re trending,” Kael added helpfully.
Dillion sank deeper into the pillow.
“That’s… not good.”
Valen nodded once.
“No,” he agreed calmly. “It isn’t.”
The room quieted slightly.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Dillion swallowed.
“Stark?”
The question hung heavy.
Valen exhaled slowly.
“He’s alive.”
Dillion’s chest loosened.
“But,” Valen continued carefully, “he hasn’t woken up yet.”
Silence again.
Mika’s fingers tightened briefly around the edge of the bed.
“He burned something,” Lana said quietly. “The Wardens felt it.”
Dillion looked down at his hand again.
Warm.
Faintly.
“…Did they say anything else?” he asked.
Valen’s eyes held his.
“They said the Ancient Waters were tamed.”
The words settled in the room.
No one joked.
No one celebrated.
Outside the window, Sora moved on.
But something had shifted.
Kael finally broke the tension.
“Still though,” he said, nudging Dillion’s shoulder lightly. “One of three gods ever beaten? That’s kinda insane.”
Dillion stared at the ceiling.
He didn’t feel insane.
He felt tired.
Human.
And very aware that the Soul Wardens now knew his name.
Three days ago, he had been fighting to survive.
Now—
The entire world was watching.
The room had just settled when the door opened again.
Everyone felt it before they looked.
Mika turned first.
Kael followed.
Valen already knew.
The Masked Girl stood in the doorway, white cloak still, porcelain mask reflecting the warm light of the guild suite.
Silence came naturally.
Valen glanced at Dillion, then at her.
“…Let’s give them some privacy.”
No one argued.
Kael gave Dillion a quiet grin. Mika squeezed his arm gently before standing. May lingered a second longer, then followed the others out.
The door shut softly.
She walked to the chair beside his bed and sat.
After a moment, she removed her mask.
It wasn’t the first time Dillion had seen her face.
But it still struck him.
Sharp, luminous, composed — her beauty wasn’t fragile, it was commanding. The faint glow of her white Soul mark shimmered against her collarbone.
He looked away a little too late.
She noticed.
A small, knowing smile appeared.
“You look like you’re recovering well,” she said.
“The Soul Marks you Earthlings carry are… remarkable.”
Dillion cleared his throat slightly.
“Stark,” he asked immediately. “Is he okay?”
“He is alive.”
Relief.
But not complete.
“He remained conscious long enough to ensure your body was secured after Sobek dissolved,” she continued. “He refused to rest until you were safe.”
Dillion’s jaw tightened.
“He stayed awake?”
“Yes.”
She folded her hands in her lap.
“He collapsed shortly after.”
Dillion nodded slowly.
“What about Roker?”
“The seal Stark placed on him remained intact,” she said. “The Wardens retrieved him. He is in custody.”
A pause.
“Stark still has not awakened from his injuries.”
Dillion frowned slightly.
“Awakened?”
She studied him carefully.
“You truly don’t understand what you witnessed.”
He shook his head.
“He changed,” Dillion said. “The energy around him — it felt different. Bigger. But it didn’t look like… whatever Roker did.”
Her gaze sharpened.
“What Stark achieved in the Aqueduct was an awakening.”
The word landed heavier this time.
Dillion blinked.
“…That was an awakening?”
“Yes.”
She leaned back slightly.
“He was once the Wardens’ Divine Commander.”
Dillion stared at her.
“You’re serious.”
“The strongest Warden to ever exist,” she said evenly. “There was a time when even gods adjusted their tone when he entered a chamber.”
Dillion swallowed.
“So that power he used…”
“That was his divinity returning.”
Not granted.
Not summoned.
Returning.
“He relinquished his Oath when his Soul Mate died,” she continued. “He stepped away from the covenant that bound us to heaven.”
“But stepping away does not erase what you are.”
Dillion’s mind was racing.
“So he awakened… without the Oath?”
Her white Soul mark shimmered faintly.
“It takes someone extraordinary to awaken without the Blessing of the Oath.”
He exhaled slowly.
“…And Roker?”
Her expression darkened.
“What Roker did was not awakening.”
Silence filled the space between them.
“As Stark is no longer bound by the Oath, he is not restricted by its seal.”
She held his gaze.
“We Wardens are.”
“Restricted by who?” Dillion asked quietly.
Her voice lowered slightly.
“Long ago, the Wardens placed their trust in a god named Lazarus.”
The name felt wrong in the air.
“He betrayed us.”
Her fingers tightened just slightly in her lap.
“He sealed our divinity. Bound our crowns. Locked our wings.”
Dillion’s heartbeat slowed.
“So when Roker—”
“What you witnessed,” she interrupted gently, “was Lazarus reclaiming something.”
Her eyes didn’t leave his.
“The crown. The wings.”
“And in doing so… he cursed Roker’s soul.”
Dillion sat in silence.
Stark awakened by choice.
Roker awakened by force.
One reclaimed.
One corrupted.
“…Will Stark be okay?” he asked finally.
She did not hesitate this time.
“He awakened fully.”
A small pause.
“But awakening does not make one invincible.”
She stood slowly, mask still resting in her hand.
“He will rise,” she said calmly.
“Stark has never failed to.”
The Masked Girl stood from the chair and began to walk slowly around the room.
Her fingers brushed the air near the armor laid carefully along the wall — Dillion’s armor. Stark’s armor. The plates were worn now, scratched and scarred, but still meticulously maintained.
She stopped in front of it.
Then she smiled.
Just a little.
“…That’s it,” she said.
Dillion frowned. “That’s… what?”
She turned back to him.
“That armor,” she said, gesturing toward it. “It was once the standard training armor newly Blessed Wardens received.”
His breath caught.
“What?”
“Before they earned their crests. Before wings. Before crowns,” she continued. “This was what they wore when they learned how to survive.”
She stepped closer, her gaze lingering on the reinforced seams, the familiar scuffs along the shield’s edge.
“Stark oversaw all training.”
Dillion sat a little straighter.
“He was the Divine Commander,” she said simply. “Every newly Blessed Warden trained under him.”
That landed harder than any blow in the Aqueduct.
“He mentioned,” she went on, almost casually, “that he trained you a bit.”
A bit.
Dillion’s mind reeled.
The month in the fields.
The sparring.
The relentless pressure.
The way Stark never seemed to push him too far — but never let him coast either.
“That explains it,” she said, almost to herself. “Why you grew so strong so quickly.”
Dillion swallowed.
“…Explains what?”
She turned fully toward him now.
“Stark has a rare gift,” she said. “One that even most Wardens never understood.”
Her eyes flicked briefly to his shield.
“Those who fight against him gain more than skill.”
Dillion’s pulse quickened.
“They gain experience,” she said. “Life force. Adaptation.”
The room felt very quiet.
“His presence accelerates growth,” she continued. “That is why he trained all new Wardens personally. It was not just instruction.”
It was transformation.
Dillion stared at his hands.
The bruises that healed too fast.
The instincts that came too naturally.
The way fights had started feeling… clearer.
A month.
A single month.
He had thought he’d just gotten lucky.
Or stubborn.
“…You’re saying,” Dillion said slowly, “I didn’t just train with Stark.”
She nodded once.
“You were shaped by him.”
The words settled heavy in his chest.
She moved again, stopping beside the shield resting near his bed.
Her fingers hovered over its surface — not touching, but close enough to feel the faint hum beneath the metal.
“This is also why Roker failed his Reaping,” she said quietly.
Dillion looked up sharply. “Failed?”
She nodded.
“What Roker attempted required dominance,” she said. “Total submission from the soul.”
Her gaze hardened slightly.
“But this armor,” she said, tapping one knuckle gently against the plating, “is still blessed by the Wardens of Old.”
The sound rang faintly.
“Old blessings do not bend easily.”
She met Dillion’s eyes.
“Roker fought you wearing armor meant to resist corruption. Armor designed to survive the strain of awakening.”
A pause.
“And you survived it.”
Dillion exhaled slowly.
The month with Stark replayed in his mind — every loss, every correction, every quiet nod when he finally did something right.
“…He knew,” Dillion said.
She smiled again. This time, warmer.
“He always does.”
Silence filled the room once more.
Not heavy.
Not tense.
Just full.
Of meaning.
She didn’t move right away.
Her eyes lingered on the armor, the shield… then on him.
Then her expression shifted.
Serious.
“Dillion,” she said quietly.
He looked up.
“I want you to be careful moving forward.”
There was no softness in her voice now.
“There are Wardens who seek to control Sora as it once was.”
Her fingers tightened slightly at her sides.
“They believe this world should return to divine order. Untouched. Unquestioned.”
Her gaze sharpened.
“And those Wardens will do anything to ensure anomalies like you do not stand in their way.”
The word hit.
Anomalies.
Dillion frowned.
“But…” he hesitated, searching for logic.
“This is all just a game.”
He gave a small, uncertain laugh.
“If they end up killing me, I’ll just come back. Right?”
Silence.
She stood.
Slowly.
Walked toward the bed.
And before he could react—
She took his hand.
Guided it forward.
Placed it flat against her chest, directly over her Soul Mark.
His face grew red and his cheeks felt hot
Then, the warmth hit him first.
Not magical.
Human.
Then—
Her heartbeat.
Strong.
Steady.
Real.
Her white Soul mark pulsed beneath his palm.
“Are you sure,” she asked softly,
“…that this is just a game, Dillion Rogers?”
The air between them felt charged.
Not romantic.
Not dramatic.
Grounded.
Alive.
He swallowed.
Her heartbeat didn’t sound like code.
It didn’t feel like respawn data.
It felt real.
After a moment, she gently removed his hand.
Sat back down in the chair.
Recomposed.
She reached into a small pouch at her waist.
Dillion’s pulse quickened.
She pulled something out.
A faint blue glow filled the room.
A Pearl.
Smooth. Luminous. Deep as ocean water.
She held it carefully.
“Stark said I should give this to you,” she said quietly.
“He gave it to me before he went unconscious.”
Her eyes lifted to meet his.
“He told me to hide it from the Wardens. And to ensure you received it.”
Dillion stared at it.
“…What is it?”
She extended her hand.
Placed the glowing Pearl in his palm.
It was warm.
Familiar.
“It is Sobek’s soul.”
The world tilted.
“…His soul?” Dillion whispered.
“Yes.”
Her voice did not waver.
“When Sobek dissolved, he did not vanish.”
“He chose.”
Dillion’s heart pounded in his ears.
“He entrusted himself to you.”
The Pearl pulsed faintly in his hand.
“Sobek has chosen you to carry the wishes of the Ancient Waters.”
Silence filled the room.
Not chaos.
Not alarm.
Something deeper.
“You are no longer simply an Earthling in Sora,” she said quietly.
“You are a vessel.”
The Pearl’s glow brightened slightly.
Outside the window, Sora moved as it always had.
But something ancient had shifted.
And it was resting in Dillion’s palm.
Warm.
Steady.
Alive.
He stared at it for a long moment.
Three days ago he would have laughed.
Said it was loot. A drop. A rare item.
But now—
He remembered the pressure in the Aqueduct.
The way the water had moved with intention.
The way Sobek had looked at him in the final moments.
Dillion slowly closed his fingers around the Pearl.
Not tightly.
Carefully.
Like it deserved respect.
“If he chose me,” Dillion said quietly, “then I won’t treat it lightly.”
There was no excitement in his voice.
No greed.
Just resolve.
“I’ll carry it with honor.”
The Masked Warden watched him for a long moment.
Then she nodded.
“He was a strong and powerful god,” she said.
“The way Roker awakened him—with tainted blood—left him fractured.”
Her eyes shifted slightly, remembering.
“You and Stark were fortunate.”
The Pearl pulsed once in Dillion’s grasp.
“If a pure awakened Warden had been the one to awaken Sobek…” she continued softly, “…I am not certain either of you would have survived.”
That landed heavily.
The difference between corruption and purity.
Between broken divinity and complete.
Dillion exhaled slowly.
Stark had fought something weakened.
And it had still nearly killed them.
She stood.
Recomposed herself.
Then lifted her mask.
The porcelain settled back into place, hiding her expression once more.
She walked toward the door.
Paused there.
Without turning, she spoke.
“Dillion Rodgers.”
He looked up.
“Remember what I have told you here.”
Her hand rested lightly on the frame.
“It is not for me to tell you what is real and what is fiction.”
A brief silence.
“You must choose that for yourself.”
Then she stepped through the doorway.
The door closed softly behind her.
The room was quiet again.
No Wardens.
No guildmates.
No gods.
Just Dillion.
And the Pearl.
It pulsed gently in his hand.
Not demanding.
Not commanding.
Waiting.
Outside, Sora continued as it always had.
Inside—
The wishes of the Ancient Waters rested in his palm.
And for the first time—
Dillion did not think of respawns.
He thought of responsibility.
