Chapter 110 The Void Wears Milo’s Face
If I had a coin for every time Milo broke reality, I’d have enough to bribe the King into early retirement.
This time, though, it’s not just a crack in the sky or a misplaced memory. It’s worse.
Milo rewrote the ley lines.
Not metaphorically. Literally. The magical veins that run beneath Aeloria—the ones that keep the seasons turning and the stars aligned—now pulse with Void energy. And the palace gardens are growing carnivorous roses that whisper your worst regrets.
Thessa tried to prune one. It bit her.
“Next time,” she said, nursing her bandaged hand, “I’m setting the entire garden on fire.”
“You say that like it’s a threat,” Lira muttered, flipping through a tome of ancient flameborn rituals. “Honestly, I’m rooting for the roses.”
Kael snorted. “You would. You’ve got the emotional range of a brick.”
“Bricks are stable,” Lira replied. “Unlike your sword technique.”
Ellira, who had been quietly sketching a map of the corrupted ley lines, didn’t look up. “Can we focus? Milo’s Void tantrum is spreading. If we don’t fix this, the palace will collapse into a pocket dimension shaped like his unresolved trauma.”
Yuel raised a hand. “Quick question. If that happens, do we still get paid?”
Zeke groaned. “We don’t get paid now.”
“Exactly,” Yuel said. “So technically, collapsing into trauma-space is a lateral move.”
I rubbed my temples. “Can someone please remind me why I’m the one in charge?”
Aine, who had been sitting cross-legged beside the broken fountain, smiled gently. “Because you’re the only one who still believes Milo can be saved.”
We found him in the Hall of Echoes.
Or rather, we found what was left of him.
The hall used to be a place of reflection—literally. The walls were enchanted to show your truest self. Now, they showed nothing but static. And Milo stood in the center, surrounded by flickering shadows that whispered in languages older than flame.
He didn’t look at us.
Didn’t speak.
Just stared at the broken mirror in front of him, as if waiting for it to tell him who he was.
“Milo,” I said, stepping forward.
He didn’t move.
“Milo, you rewrote the ley lines. The palace is bleeding magic. The roses are carnivorous. Zeke’s eyebrows are missing.”
Zeke waved from behind me. “Still bitter about that, by the way.”
Milo finally turned.
His eyes were pure Void. No pupils. No light. Just endless, swirling darkness.
“I didn’t mean to,” he said. “I just wanted to fix it.”
“Fix what?” Thessa asked, arms crossed.
“Everything,” Milo whispered. “The Rift. Talon. Me.”
The shadows around him pulsed.
And then the walls screamed.
We ran.
Not because we’re cowards. (Okay, maybe a little.) But because the Hall of Echoes was collapsing, and the last time we tried to fight Void constructs inside a collapsing building, Kael ended up with a concussion and a temporary belief that he was a duck.
“I still miss the bread,” Kael muttered as we sprinted down the corridor.
“Focus,” Ellira snapped. “The ley lines are destabilizing. We need to reroute the energy before the palace folds in on itself.”
“Great,” Lira said. “So, we’re doing magical surgery on a building while Milo plays existential Jenga with reality.”
“Sounds like a Tuesday,” Yuel added.
We reached the central conduit chamber—again. It looked worse than last time. The crystal heart was flickering violently, and the walls were covered in Void runes that pulsed like veins.
Aine stepped forward, her hands glowing with soft, golden light.
“I’ll stabilize the core,” she said. “Mo, you need to reach Milo.”
I hesitated. “He’s not Milo anymore.”
“He is,” Aine said. “But he’s buried beneath the Void. You have to remind him.”
“How?” I asked.
She smiled. “With truth.”
I found him in the old library.
It was the only place the Void hadn’t touched. Yet.
He was sitting on the floor, surrounded by books he couldn’t read anymore. The runes on his skin pulsed with every breath.
“I used to love this place,” he said without looking up. “Remember when we snuck in to steal the Queen’s forbidden poetry collection?”
I sat beside him. “You cried when you read the one about the moon.”
He laughed. “It was beautiful.”
“You were beautiful,” I said. “You still are.”
He looked at me then. Really looked. And for a moment, I saw Milo.
Not the Void.
Just him.
“I don’t know who I am anymore,” he whispered.
“You’re the boy who saved me from drowning in the river of stars,” I said. “You’re the one who taught Zeke how to juggle flaming daggers. You’re the one Talon trusted with his last breath.”
Milo closed his eyes. “I miss him. I killed him. But I miss him.”
“I do too. You didn’t kill him, the Void Beast did.”
The Void pulsed.
And then it screamed.
Back in the conduit chamber, the others were fighting.
Not monsters.
Memories.
The Void had manifested their worst regrets.
Thessa was facing her younger self, sobbing over a failed spell that killed her mentor.
Lira was surrounded by illusions of her family, accusing her of betrayal.
Kael was dueling a shadow version of Talon, who kept saying, “You were never good enough.”
Ellira was trapped in a cage of flame, watching her village burn.
Yuel and Zeke were back-to-back, fending off twisted versions of themselves—greedy, cruel, selfish.
And Aine stood in the center, calm as ever, her light pushing back the darkness.
I stepped into the chamber.
Milo followed.
The Void recoiled.
“You don’t belong here,” it hissed.
“I know,” Milo replied.
The crystal heart flared gold.
The runes shattered.
The illusions vanished.
And the ley lines began to heal.
Later, we sat in the garden.
The roses were normal again. Mostly. One tried to bite Zeke, but he bit back.
“I’m keeping this one,” he said proudly.
Thessa rolled her eyes. “You’re going to name it, aren’t you?”
“Sir Bitey,” Zeke replied.
Kael groaned. “I hate everything.”
Lira smirked. “You say that like it’s new.”
Ellira was sketching again, this time drawing the healed ley lines.
“Ellira, why are you sketching and not Yuel?” I ask as I notice they seem to have switched roles.
“Mistakes,” Ellira said while glaring at Yuel.
Yuel was asleep on a bench, snoring like a thunderstorm.
And Aine sat beside me.
“He’s not whole, but he showed progress. There is hope for the future. He helped today.” I said.
“Yes, he did help,” Aine agreed. “But he’s still the void.”
I looked at the sky.
It was clear.
For now.
But the Void is patient.
And Milo’s descent may be paused—but it’s not over.
Not yet.