King Cyrulen, self-proclaimed destructor of Heladon, along with his daughter Princess Alba, had fled during the chaos of The Sovurn's attack. The moment that arrow pierced through Odessa, they fled through a back exit. I didn’t need to be told what had happened after. That night, under the cover of darkness, they marched their hidden army, the one that had been lurking on the outskirts, waiting for the signal. Heladon had officially fallen, absorbed into the Orerhan Monarchy.
Hearing the news from passing strangers meant it spread quickly. I felt responsible, but I wasn’t. Chlodovech had walked willingly into that trap. The marriage had been a farce, a noose disguised as an alliance. Whether I was there or not, they would have slit his throat. Still, the thought gnawed at me. I could have stopped Cyrulen, could have held him long enough for The Sovurn to arrive. Could have—should have—but didn't.
Those thoughts dissipated as I reached a clearing, Odessa’s body still cradled in my arms. Her skin was stiff, pale—not just from the cold but from the onset of rigor mortis. I leaned her gently against a tree, swallowing hard. Her head wound, still hidden beneath a makeshift bandage, made me feel sick to my stomach. Covering it was pointless, I knew that. But I couldn’t bear to see the arrow wound that had ended her life.
Nearby, the crumbled stone tower she always hid in stood tall. Its roof had caved in long ago, and the stones were scattered like broken teeth across the frozen earth. It was a relic of the past—like her, now.
I moved toward the ruins, my chest tightening with something far deeper than physical pain. “Fuck...” I muttered, my breath clouding the air. Over the next thirty minutes, I dragged loose stones from the rubble, tearing my hands on the sharp edges. Blood smeared across the icy ground, staining the perfect white. I kept going, even as the weight of the stones made my arms tremble. Piece by piece, I built a ragged bed of rock—a grave in the most pitiful sense of the word, but it was all I had.
When it came time to move her, I couldn’t. I stood there, paralyzed, staring at her cold, lifeless form. She was too heavy—but not in physical weight. With every ounce of strength I had left, I grasped her wrist and dragged her, inch by agonizing inch, over to the rock bed. By the time I laid her down, my chest ached with each breath. The world spun.
Odessa now lay still, her hair matted with blood and frost, her once-bright eyes forever closed. I stood there in silence. My hands, raw and near frostbitten, felt nothing. I was afraid—afraid to use the power that pulsed beneath my skin. Afraid of what I had become.
I didn’t deserve to walk this earth. Not after everything I had done, after all the blood I had spilled. I felt the cold press of the rune on my arm. My breath hitched in my throat as I pressed it, the familiar, icy sensation creeping up my arm as the sword materialized in my hand. Its handle, colder than death itself, seemed to sap the warmth from my bones. My grip was weak, trembling, as I lifted the blade. The tip dragged through the snow, carving a shallow path as I turned it toward myself. The air felt thick, suffocating, as I aligned the sharp edge with my stomach. Closer. Closer still.
“Just do it,” I whispered through clenched teeth, but the sword slipped from my grasp, falling to the snow. I was too much of a coward to finish what I started.
“You’re supposed to honor the dead at a funeral.” A familiar voice broke through the silence. Dunstan stepped out from the tree line.
My eyes narrowed as I heard his voice. “You followed me?”
Dunstan offered a weak, almost apologetic smile. “I didn’t want to miss it...” His gaze drifted to Odessa’s still body, laid upon the crude bed of stones I had made, and the faint smile faded. “I can’t believe it,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as if disbelieving she died.
I wanted to argue, to tell him to leave me alone. To give me the solitude I thought I wanted. But I couldn’t. Not this time. Besides, Odessa would’ve wanted him here. She would have insisted. I swallowed hard, the words sticking painfully in my throat. “I’m sorry,” I managed, my voice cracking.
“Stop it,” he said, almost too quickly. “It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know they were coming...” He stepped closer to her, his hand resting awkwardly on the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable with the weight of it all. “I suppose we should say something, eh?”
I stayed silent. His attempt at lightening the moment fell flat, bouncing off thick, oppressive grief. Nothing could lift the crushing suffocation of my failure, the endless cycle of trying and failing, of trying to protect those I cared about only to watch them slip through my grasp. A tale as old as time.
“Odessa was...” Dunstan began, searching for words, his voice trembling slightly. “She was hot-headed, quick to anger.” He laughed sorrowfully, “But she was so smart. Always thinking ahead, even when she didn’t show it. And despite being so damn confrontational, she cared.” His eyes met mine. “She cared about you, Alaric. Even when I left.”
We fell into a deep, uncomfortable silence. So much was left unsaid, and yet, what could I say that would make sense of it all? Odessa’s life had been wasted, that much was true, and no matter how hard I tried not to see it that way, she would never get the chance to make the difference in the world that she could have. She’d been dealt a cruel hand, one that fate had taken away too soon.
“Well...” I began, my voice shaky as I tried to find something, anything, to say. “I remember when I was given Irmina, my first horse. I spent days in the stables, taking care of her, brushing her coat... making sure she was mine.” I swallowed hard, the memories painfully vivid. “One morning, I woke up, and she was gone. I thought she had run off, that something had happened. I searched for hours... until I found out Odessa had let her out in the middle of the night because she was angry at me. She was always so quick to anger.”
I tilted my head, remembering the conversation that followed. “When I asked her about it, she thought I was going to be mad—like Avelina or Bastian would’ve been. But I wasn’t. I didn’t get mad at her.” I smiled weakly, the ache in my chest deepening. “After that... she came to me every time they did something to her. Every time they hurt her, she’d come to me, and I’d sit with her in silence.” Fire crackled softly from my fingertips, and I noticed Dunstan’s gaze shift toward it, his eyes widening slightly. He didn’t say anything, perhaps out of fear. I couldn’t blame him.
The flames flickered as I spoke. “They didn’t deserve her,” I stated, voice barely audible over the quiet crackle.
“Yeah...” Dunstan nodded wearily, glancing down at her still form.
I stepped forward, fingers tightening as I raised my hand toward her body. My throat constricted with a final wave of sorrow. “Goodbye, Odessa,” I said, the words feeling too small for what they meant. I glanced at Dunstan, and he gave me a slow, careful nod.
With a breath, the flames leapt from my hand, engulfing her in a blaze that was not the usual crimson red but a deep, vivid blue. The fire danced with a strange rhythm, swirling around her. It moved almost reverently, as her body slowly disappeared beneath the heat. Ash began to collect on the bed of stones, covering the rock beneath as the last remnants of her sank into the earth. Forever gone, never to be woken again. Wherever she ended but, with Vollith, or that someplace better, I’d hope to meet her again someday.
I let my arm drop, swinging loosely at my side as I stared at the smoldering remains. Smoke curled lazily into the air, dissipating slowly into the cold, gray sky. It didn’t reek of burnt flesh, at least not in the way I expected. Maybe I had grown numb to that smell, or maybe the biting cold in the air dulled my senses. Either way, I was at least grateful for that, if not nothing.
Minutes passed, the two of us standing in utter silence, the crackling of the fire the only thing filling the void. Finally, Dunstan spoke, his words delivered in a calm monotone, yet carrying an unmistakable weight, "What are you going to do now?"
I shrugged, avoiding his gaze at first. It didn’t feel like the right moment to talk about what came next. Odessa’s ashes still lingered in the air, and the wound of her death felt too fresh. But then again, I might never see him again, and maybe this was the time. "I’ve thought about it..." I admitted, voice low, "as I was carrying her body." The words felt foreign in my mouth, like I wasn’t even sure they belonged to me. "The Theosilic Regions," I added, glancing up at him with tired eyes. "My original plan... Remember that night in the woods? I told you I wanted to leave for there?"
"Yeah," he responded, the single word heavy.
I laughed, but it came out broken, a sound that barely held itself together. "I don’t want to fucking go anymore," I admitted, the words tightening my throat, trying to choke back tears. "Not after seeing what isolation does to a man... but this power, Dunstan... this goddamned power... It’s still here, clawing its way into my head, like he never left." I paused, then added, almost in a whisper, "Belzarok."
Dunstan didn’t ask who that was—he didn’t need to. He just placed a hand on my shoulder, light and careful, like he wasn’t sure if I’d snap under the weight. "You do what you think is best," he said, but the words trailed off, as if he wasn’t even sure what best looked like anymore. "...But you should stay away from Heladon, if anything."
I shot him a hard look, suspicion creeping into my voice. "Why? Are you afraid of me?"
He shook his head, but didn’t outright deny it. "They’re looking for you. Everywhere. Already are. Blaming Chlodovech’s murder on you, which... isn’t completely false, but... let’s just say the truth’s been twisted."
“Wouldn’t matter anyway,” I muttered slowly. “They wouldn’t be able to stop me.” My foot dug deeper into the earth as I shifted my stance, grounding myself. My gaze narrowed, studying Dunstan’s face, “Have you found your brother?”
A small smile crept onto Dunstan’s lips—not happy, but not exactly sad either. It was a fleeting expression, as if he wasn’t sure how to feel about his answer. “Yeah... Yeah, we did.” His eyes darted around for a moment, lost in thought, before settling back on mine, “...and he’s staying there, by his own choice.” He trailed off, as if deciding how much more to say, “...and I regretted leaving... you weasel.” He laughed softly, using the word he always liked to call me, his attempt at lightening the moment. “Oh, and just so you know, Irmina is safe. We found her. She’s in a stable in another town.”
I gave a small nod, not entirely sure what to feel about that. "At least the horse made it." My voice was low, almost bitter, but not directed at him. Everything felt so hollow, so... final. “This sounds like a goodbye.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” Dunstan ran a hand through his hair. “Look, Alaric. You’re not a terrible person. Just a tragic one. The world put you in a spot... a spot lesser people wouldn’t have survived.”
“Is that supposed to cheer me up?” I asked, sarcastic.
He shook his head, a weird expression flickering across his face. “Just wanted to say it.” He tilted his gaze up to the sky, “Lavshire....” He cursed softly, almost to himself. “The sun’s already setting.”
He looked back at me then, holding out his hand. “It was...” Dunstan hesitated, his words slow and deliberate, as if choosing each one with care. “...good to know you, Alaric.”
For a second, I just stared at his hand, but then I took it. I grasped it tightly, feeling the cold snow part beneath our feet. “Same to you.” Something twisted inside me, a dull ache. Once he left, Dunstan would be gone from my life for good. So why did it hurt so much? The man had already done so once before. Yet it was different this time. “Goodbye, Dunstan.”
Without saying more, I let go, and he nodded, his farewell quiet and final. I turned, my footsteps slow as I walked away, watching Odessa’s cremated remains scatter in the cold wind. Goodbye, Odessa. I’ll miss you.
At the edge of the trees, I stopped, glancing back one last time. Dunstan stood there, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, eyes locked on mine. For a long moment, we just stared. No words, no gestures. Just the silent acknowledgment of the end. Then, I turned and walked into the woods, leaving him—and everything else—behind.
All the pain, the grief, the suffocating regret—it wasn’t born by my hand, not at first. I used to loathe violence, despised the thirst for power that consumed others. I was once repulsed by it all, clinging to the belief that strength could only corrupt. But now, having tasted that power, I understood its allure. The intoxicating control, the feeling of having everything at your fingertips. Every life taken; every fire ignited—none of it could be blamed on anyone but me.
And yet, as I walked aimlessly toward the distant peaks of the Northern Mountains, I felt the familiar tug of self-pity. I knew I needed to stop drowning in it, to let go of the constant torment I inflicted on myself. But I couldn’t. I had lived in this state for so long. Even as everything came full circle, as the consequences of my actions unfolded before me, I found myself stuck, unable to break free from the very thing that had held me down my entire life.
ns 15.158.61.51da2
