Ibeos: What If?

Chapter 15. Not my Brother

The fire had long since dwindled to embers, casting only the faintest glow against the pale stone. Thilo slept with his back turned toward me, his breathing slow and even, tail curled like a question mark beside him. The cloak I'd draped over my knees felt thinner now, as if the cold were worming its way through every fold, every muscle.

I sat hunched over, arms wrapped tight around my ribs, listening to the deep wilderness sigh outside our shelter. Crickets—or whatever passed for crickets in this realm—chattered in strange syncopation. The wind shifted again, curling in from the east, dry and brittle with grit. My mouth tasted like iron. My tongue was dry despite the water.

My eyes burned—not from dust now, but exhaustion. And fear.

I waited until I was sure Thilo was asleep, then shifted slightly toward the mouth of the hollow and stared up at the darkening sky. Azur had fully set. Orel hung low, casting an amber wash across the world. Stars were visible now—too many, impossibly bright, pulsing in constellations that I once scribbled on notebook margins during campaign prep.

I took a long breath, and whispered into the night.

"I'm gonna die out here, Zedeth."

The words barely broke the silence, fragile and hoarse.

"I have two genetic diseases. My urine's been dark for days. Even with the water from the boundless flask, it's not enough. I can feel it. My body's folding in on itself."

The wind didn't stop. The stars didn't flicker. But I kept speaking anyway.

"I'm not asking to leave anymore. I'm not asking for answers. But I need help."

A pause. I felt like I was speaking into a vast canyon, throwing stones into a chasm that never made a sound back.

"I know you can hear me. I know you ignored Ranpo dozens of times. I know what your role is now. You're an Overseer. You have the power of creation, not destruction. You're beyond the veil. You're not my little brother's character anymore."

I swallowed, throat tight.

"But he made you. My brother... he gave you life. You were his player character, and he poured himself into you. He laughed with you. Cried with you. Grew with you. I watched it all happen. And I know, deep down, you're not him."

I clenched my fists in my lap, knuckles white.

"But if there's anything left of him inside you—a flicker, a scrap, a mote of his soul..."

I exhaled, a trembling breath that nearly buckled me.

"Please... help me."

The silence afterward was thick. Not empty—but weighty. Not cruel—but expectant. The air didn't change. The wind didn't answer. No booming voice cracked the sky. No light rent the heavens. But there was something else.

A pressure.

Not a touch—nothing tactile. But a sudden stillness in the air. The sound of the world paused, as though holding its breath.

And in the faint glow of Orel's dying rays, the smallest glint sparked from the earth beside the firepit.

A coin. Or something like one.

It hadn't been there before.

Thin. Perfectly circular. Etched on one side with a broken crown. On the other, an open eye.

I didn't touch it right away. I didn't need to.

It was the answer I needed.

Zedeth could not destroy. He could not intervene. But he could create.