Kaelis climbed the spiral stairs, step after step, as if time had ceased to exist.
He no longer knew how long he had been climbing — minutes, hours, days. Perhaps an eternity.
With each step, the light faded a little more. And the darker the world around him became, the heavier his heart grew.
He walked like a condemned man, guided only by a silent will: to go home. To return to his family in the outside world.
And then… the cold vanished. The blood staining his skin dried.
The pain, the fatigue, the feeling of being broken… disappeared.
Kaelis didn't notice when he stopped climbing. The transition was so subtle it felt like he had fallen asleep standing. When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in the Inverted Cathedral — nor in the outside world.
He was lying on a cozy sofa, looking up at a rustic wooden ceiling. The floor beneath his feet was warm. A fireplace burned softly in the corner of the room. The scent of fresh bread filled the air. The sound of cutlery, laughter, and daily life came from the kitchen.
For a moment, Kaelis thought he was dreaming.
Then he heard:
"Son?"
The voice. Strong. Loving. Familiar.
He sat up with a start — and saw them.
Hadriel's mother, wearing an apron and a smile that warmed the soul. The father, standing proud, imposing. And the little sister — the one he never had in the outside world, but whose hazy memory had haunted his heart ever since he took Hadriel's body.
It was too real to be true. Too false to be real.
But before he could react, the little sister ran to him and hugged him.
A small, tight hug, full of love.
A hug that broke something inside him.
For the first time since the beginning of the Nightmare, Kaelis felt peace.
"Sit at the table, dear," said the mother. "You've suffered enough. Here, everything is fine. You can stay. Nothing has to hurt anymore."
The table was set with abundance.
The warmth of home filled the room. Love, tenderness, comfort.
Everything he — and Hadriel — had lost.
Kaelis's heart faltered. He fell to his knees and cried.
But he didn't cry from pain.
He cried from longing.
Longing for the life Hadriel should have lived. For the family that was torn from him. For the stories that never happened. For the ordinary days that never came.
The truth fell upon him like heavy snow.
Hadriel had tried to take his own life out of love. Out of longing. Out of emptiness. For never having had the chance to say goodbye.
The mother stroked his hair. The father held his shoulder. The little sister played with his fingers. Everything was perfect.
Too perfect.
"You are everything he ever wanted..."
"And because you are too perfect..."
"I know you are not real."
Silence.
The house stopped. The air held its breath. The smiles froze. The warmth vanished.
"If you were still here... I wouldn't have been forced to become a devout."
"If this were reality... I wouldn't be suffering this much."
"If this were real... I wouldn't have come this far."
Kaelis stood up. The family's hands still touched him — but they were cold. The touch of love had turned to stone.
Even so, he embraced them. One by one. And offered that illusion the farewell Hadriel had never been able to give.
"Thank you... for everything you could have been."
And then, the house crumbled into golden dust. The smell of bread vanished. The wooden floor gave way to the cold marble of the Inverted Cathedral. The light disappeared. Silence took over.
The door creaked.
Kaelis looked toward the passage that led to the stairs. Took a deep breath. Wiped away the last tear.
A part of him had died in that dome. But something new was born there — something rarer than strength:
Resilience.
He moved forward. Exhausted, but steady. Sad, but determined.
"Is this the last floor?"
"Will this hell ever end?"
He wondered, drained.
But even without answers, he continued.
From above, invisible but present, the Heart God watched.
Did not speak. Did not smile. Just watched.
And in silence, understood:
Kaelis... was the perfect angel.