A lot of things didn't make sense here. There were too many questions, too many gaps but Damon had a few conjectures.

The first was that this was the past, and somehow, it would affect the future.

The second was that none of this was real, and he was simply trapped inside his own mind after being consumed by the nightmare.

However, seeing Matia standing there before him, Damon had to admit, as painful as it was… this was reality. And the reality of things was simple: everyone was dead.

Then again, his brain was easily able to imagine all of these.

All his friends, save for Matia, were dead.

It was ironic he had been the one who wanted to die, yet he was the one left alive.

Seeing her again made something within his heart ache. This should have been a joyous moment, but instead, Damon could only feel sorrow pressing against the walls of his mind.

Matia stood before him, her figure stalwart and composed, cold as a winter monument.

Her very presence carried a chill that crept into the air, the first true sensation Damon had felt since awakening in this dark prison. Her eyes cold and blue glowed faintly beneath the visor of her helm.

But she wasn't alone.

A step behind her stood Ghost the shadow of what was once an elf, now reduced to a bound wraith under Matia's will.

Damon felt a faint flicker of disappointment. He couldn't summon the lesser demon hidden within his own shadow. That, however, would have to wait.

"Can… you take off your helm?"

Matia slowly nodded. Her helm dissolved into drifting flakes of snow, revealing her face, a breathtaking visage of ethereal beauty. The pale, flawless skin, the eyes like shards of frozen sky, she looked as though a god obsessed with perfection had sculpted her.

"She's quite a sight to behold. How did such a fine creature end up with one like you?" Lazarak's amused tone carried a hint of fascination.

Damon didn't react much.

"I wonder about that too," he muttered.

He had brought out the vial of primordial shadow essence, one of many strange items he had pulled from his shadow storage. But since he had no physical body here, he couldn't actually pick it up.

Still, the essence within glimmered faintly inside its glass prison, as though someone had trapped a living shadow, writhing against the confines of the vial.

Damon could feel it—it was potent, powerful, something that resonated deeply with his very being. If he used it on himself, he had a feeling he could easily restore his physical body.

But that wasn't his intent. Damon would not give up a chance to restore Matia not for himself.

He remembered when she had given him her wings. That day, she became the first person to make him believe that kindness could be genuine.

When she had sacrificed her wings to restore his arm… she hadn't just saved him physically. She had saved him from himself.

'That day, she saved me in more ways than one.'

She had made him a better man, reminded him that being kind wasn't always at a cost.

In the end, Damon was still not a good person. But he wasn't entirely bad either. Perhaps it was this contradiction, this balance of selfishness and selflessness, that made him so infuriating.

Matia's eyes shifted toward the vial of shadow essence. Damon's formless shadows flickered faintly.

"It's yours," he said softly.

Matia nodded and stepped forward, lifting the vial. She examined it closely, her expression still and unreadable. Damon wasn't sure she understood what he wanted her to do.

"It's able to fully restore the personality of a shadow… it's yours," he repeated.

Matia remained silent, her gaze fixed on the vial.

"What a marvelous potion…" Lazarak's shadowed voice slithered from the darkness.

"All of these seem to have been crafted with an impossible precision. Powerful, yet made intentionally weak."

The god of darkness examined the weapons and potions Damon had drawn from his shadow storage.

"You're quite an interesting creature. I never would have pegged someone so ugly for having such a beautiful artistic sense."

If Damon still had teeth, he would have gritted them.

"I'm not ugly. And keep your hands off my stuff. Besides… I didn't make them."

Lazarak chuckled darkly. "I knew it. I knew you'd have an artist's touch."

Damon ignored him, his focus locked solely on Matia as she approached the steps of the altar.

She began to uncork the vial, lifting it toward Damon's hovering, formless heart.

"Stop," Damon ordered sharply.

Her body froze mid-motion.

"Why am I not surprised… you would do this," he said bitterly. "You've always had a tendency to sacrifice yourself."

She had done it for Damon before. She had done it for Sylvia too. He shouldn't have been surprised that she'd try to do it again, to restore him before herself.

He sighed softly, black flames flaring around his shadowed form as his tone softened.

"I didn't want to do this to you, to make you act against your will. I'm sorry, Matia…"

His tone darkened, an edge cutting through the words.

"But I also can't let you ruin your one chance to regain what you've lost, for the likes of me. Not again."

His voice dropped low, final.

"Drink it."

Her hands trembled. She tried to resist, to fight the order, but her body obeyed.

Slowly, she lifted the vial to her lips. The shadow essence within poured down her throat like living darkness.

For a moment, silence. Then Matia dropped to her knees, clutching her head in agony.

Her body convulsed violently as she slammed against the pillars and chains around her, the sound echoing through the chamber.

Lazarak's voice broke the silence, filled with astonished delight.

"What sorcery is this…"

His tone trembled with fascination. Whatever Damon was, whatever mysterious power he commanded, it intrigued the god beyond measure.

But Damon didn't care what Lazarak thought. His gaze never left Matia. His formless shape pulsed, his attention locked on her as she writhed in pain.

Then, slowly, she rose.

Her movements were steady, controlled. Her gaze swept the altar, calm and unreadable.

Damon waited. Watching hopeful .

"Did… did it work?" he asked hesitantly.

Matia's eyes met his. She gave a slow, deliberate nod.

Damon's faint, shadow heart constricted.

"Then why aren't you speaking…" His tone faltered, almost defeated.

Until she finally spoke.

"I didn't feel the need to. If that is your order, then, my lord… I will endeavor to do so."

And with that, Matia knelt before him.

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