The Echo

Ren shifted back.

He sat on the broken obsidian throne, naked and covered in blood that wasn't his.

He felt incredible. His body was overflowing with power. He could feel every heartbeat in the Citadel. He could smell the fear of the wolves in the Barracks miles away. He was invincible. He was a god.

He looked at the pile of gray ash in the center of the platform. A slight breeze from the vents caught it, scattering the dust into the air.

"Val?" Ren whispered.

He closed his eyes. He reached out with his mind. He searched for the warmth, the headache, the steady presence that had been with him since the womb.

*Connect.*

Nothing.

*Connect.*

Only the cold, dark silence of his own mind.

Ren walked over to the spot where Val had died. He fell to his knees. He tried to scoop up the ash, but it slipped through his fingers, coating his skin in gray dust.

"I didn't mean to," Ren sobbed into the silence. "Val, I didn't mean to take it all. Put it back. Take it back."

But there was no one to give it to.

Ren curled up on the cold stone, hugging himself, trying to feel the phantom bruising, trying to feel anything other than his own terrible, suffocating strength.

He was the Apex. He had won the Rite. He had saved the Citadel.

And he was the loneliest thing in the universe.