Am I… going to die?

Wind rushed past Phos’s ears, piercing him with numbing pain.

Was I thrown into the endless abyss?

Surprisingly, Phos did not panic. Instead he thought.

If I continue to fall and never reach the void, I will still be alive.

After his conversation with Aer, though, he didn’t understand what ‘being alive’ meant anymore.

But the concept of a lightbulb will still be there. I will never truly disappear… right?

I don’t want to fall forever. It sounds pitiful.

Phos’s dazed eyes snapped into focus. He looked to his left, then to his right, seeing if there was anything that could help him. The golden castle above him grew smaller and smaller.

Where was the cloud he had set on fire? Didn’t he, Nymph, Kass, and Ornis fly up from there? It couldn’t be far.

As the Light Lord tried to turn himself so he could see below, a pang of despair penetrated his bones, rendering them unable to move.

Rather—he didn’t want to move.

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I am going to die.

Realisation hit him a lot later than he expected, and a surge of depression swelled up in his chest.

No one will remember me.

As Phos closed his eyes, accepting his fate, a hot breath blew into his ear, followed by steady arms supporting his body in a bridal-carry. The entire sequence was executed familiarly, tenderly, soft as a feather.

Phos’s eyes fluttered open.

—

Pyre had been on his way back to Eos when a collective gasp rose from the Lords nearby. He turned, confusedly following their lines of sight, and saw smoke rising in the distance.

A pyrocumulus?

No, that wasn’t it. The Lord of Air would never let this happen during her event.

Then what could it be? A stray fire gone rogue? Or, perhaps….

Pyre briefly saw the back of a certain glowing-haired Lord of Light.

A mishap in elemental power?

Ambling towards the fire, which rose in thick columns of smoke, Pyre genuinely considered the possibility that his Little Light Lord caused this mess. Should he save him? Even if Pyre walked right into the fire, he wouldn’t be damaged at all. But Phos… was a Lesser Lord.

Anything could burn in fire. Lightbulbs were no exception.

Before he knew it, Pyre had begun to run. His feet had carried him to almost the site without himself even realising. Subconsciously, Pyre looked up.

Meeting his line of sight, a pair of multicoloured orange eyes looked helplessly around. As Phos fell, suspended in the air, time seemed to slow.

Pyre’s mind turned blank.

The Light Lord must not die. He cannot die.

Arms reaching out towards the faintly glowing body in the sky, Pyre leaped at Phos, catching him in his arms. Phos’s eyes were closed, an expression of confusion and despair on his face—one Pyre had never seen before on the serious, kind, and rational Lord of Light.

In shock, perhaps surprise, Phos looked up at Pyre. What was he doing here?

Pyre had a similar expression. How would he safely land?

Both Lords, hiding their puzzlement, gave each other a long, hard stare.

“P…yre?” Phos broke the silence first, his clenched fists unfurling to grab onto the Fire Lord’s lapels.

Pyre’s pupils turned orange. Phos had never seen such a focused and serious side to the man before. Without responding back, Pyre tightened his hold on Phos and braced himself for a long fall.

Slowed time seemed to flow again as the two Lords plummeted to the abyss below.