My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger Chapter 816: Too Early And Too Late

The two siblings huddled together, clutching the wheezing book between them. As they read, the lingering scent of their father rose from the fleshbound pages. The tome was crafted from his very skin and bound by his agony; within it, his imprisoned soul drew shallow, rattling breaths.

The chronicle of his life was recorded in excruciating detail, with every page feeling heavier than the one before. Fingers trembling and shoulders tensing with every sentence, the two children fought back tears as they continued to turn the pages.

Finally, they reached the concluding passage.

"Ilyth the Insightful was blinded by his own brilliance, the tragic error of a man who stared too long at the sun. Though his desires may have been born of noble intent, his deeds only reaped destruction..."

Lyn and Sithara read on until they arrived at the final quote.

"I failed to create it for my children."

The moment those words were read, tears flowed uncontrollably from their eyes. Their composure crumbled. Clutching the book with desperate strength, the siblings let out raw, unrestrained cries that pierced the night.

Damon observed them in silence.

He couldn't quite explain why the scene made him feel so unsettled.

He had intended to read the book himself eventually. He had claimed others like it before. To him, the torments of the damned were usually nothing more than brief curiosities—mere pages passed during his own long trek toward the grave.

However, seeing these two children weep over the remnants of their father stirred a faint, unwelcome sensation in his chest.

Lazarak shifted uneasily. Being a kind soul, he hated the sight of children in distress.

He made a subtle gesture toward Damon.

Exhaling slowly, Damon understood the signal immediately.

"Well," he remarked softly, "this is as good a time as any to make camp."

They didn't actually require rest. Both Damon and Lazarak had marched for days without stopping. They possessed the constitution to endure weeks, or even months, of constant travel.

This was an act of consideration. For the sake of the children.

A small smile touched Lazarak’s face at the thought.

Damon quickly established a fire. He didn't bother summoning a tent, choosing instead to build the hearth beneath the open sky. From his shadow, he called forth Matia and Ghost, wordlessly stationing them as sentries along the perimeter.

The night sky was a bleak void, devoid of stars. The fire provided the only light. Behind them, the river moved with a persistent, low murmur, its frigid presence felt whenever they moved away from the heat of the flames.

A heavy silence followed.

Lazarak stayed near the children, whispering quiet words of comfort. Eventually, their loud sobbing subsided into shallow breaths and occasional sniffles.

The quiet that filled the air was oppressive.

Damon recognized their grief. They had held onto so much hope, yet all that remained of their father was a gasping book crying out in eternal pain.

He was more dead than alive at this point.

They were intelligent enough to realize that. At least, Damon hoped they were.

Smoke curled up from the skewers by the fire. The meat of the crocodile monster crackled as it roasted. Its mana core was already tucked away in Damon’s shadow storage. He had consumed the rest of the beast earlier, searching for a new skill or something of use.

He hadn't been devouring much lately. Without a physical body, he technically couldn't.

Besides, he was destined to die soon anyway.

What use did a dead man have for new skills?

Watching the dull red glow of the crackling flames, Damon let out a sigh.

"What do you plan to do now?"

The question hung in the air.

Neither child spoke for a moment. When Sithara finally found her voice, her shoulders were still shaking.

"We... we don’t know..."

Damon noted the way they gripped the book.

"You are aware that your father is gone," he said in a level voice. "Clinging to that book won't bring him back. You are only prolonging his suffering."

Lazarak shook his head at him, but Damon refused to sugarcoat his words. Not for them.

He understood the reality of being an orphan. He knew the weight of losing everything.

"Whether your father was a virtuous man or not is irrelevant," Damon went on. "What truly matters is that he was good to you."

Sithara slowly looked up, her eyes puffy and bloodshot.

"You cannot resurrect the dead," Damon stated. "But you can continue to live. Your father existed. You two are the evidence of that. I don't know what he hoped to achieve, but I certainly know what he did accomplish."

He pointed toward them.

"He achieved you."

He wasn't sure where those words originated. Perhaps they were for Iris. Perhaps for Luna, or maybe even for himself.

Orphans had every reason to give up.

But he wouldn't allow them to.

It was almost ironic, considering he was preparing to give up on himself.

"Lysithara..." Lyn murmured.

The name made Damon freeze.

"What?"

Sithara raised her head, her lips trembling.

"He wanted to find Lysithara," she whispered. "A place where wisdom is shared. A place where we can all strive for our full potential. A center for learning, culture, and peace. A place where everyone can coexist, regardless of their race or their gods."

Damon’s hands shook slightly, though he kept his face masked in calm.

Lazarak shot him a glance. Damon had spoken of Lysithara before. It was the birthplace of his mentor, or something of that nature.

"Did... did he ever find it?" Damon asked.

Lyn shook his head.

"No. Lysithara isn't a real place. It was just something our father invented. He merged our names together. Lyn and Sithara. Lysithara."

Damon lowered his gaze.

He was at a loss for how to feel.

In the time he came from, Lysithara had indeed existed. It had eventually fallen, crumbling into ancient ruins. He had never witnessed its era of glory—only its remains.

'Born too late to know Lysithara. Lived too early to see its birth.'

It was a strange paradox.

Lazarak watched them silently. His divine intuition was tensed. He sensed that this moment was significant.

Perhaps it was even a turning point in history.

Damon looked up and gave the children a smile.

It was a melancholy, genuine smile.

"Our imagination is limitless," he said softly, "until we try to conceive of a color that doesn't exist. The only thing truly without end is the depth of human desire. We are born with wants, and we die with them."

He pointed at the siblings.

"Those who never push their boundaries will never discover their true potential. If Lysithara doesn't exist yet, then you must be the ones to build it."

The children looked at him, their hollow stares slowly beginning to change.

"How?" Sithara asked in a small voice. "We're only children."

Damon shook his head.

"I don't have the answer," he replied. "That is your legacy. You can choose to surrender, letting the dream you shared with your father vanish. Or, you can carve your name into the annals of history. Etch your presence where even the gods have failed."

He repeated the very words Valarie Sunwarden had once spoken to him before her end.

"Create something beautiful."

The siblings looked at one another, their eyes burning with new resolve as Damon’s image was seared into their memories.

"Create something beautiful."