The castle was too quiet.
Not the creeping, ghost-breath-down-your-neck quiet Noah had grown used to—but a different kind. A stillness that felt… final. Like a curse exhaling its last breath.
He adjusted his grip on the cane, boots pressing softly into the moss-lined corridor as they walked side by side. The air was warmer here. Not warm-warm—this place still had all the charm of a crypt—but there was no more shiver crawling up his spine, no flickers of the dead in the corners of his eyes. Just broken tapestries, sunlight bleeding dimly through cracked stained glass, and the slow, soft sound of Abel's footsteps ahead of him.
Noah cleared his throat. "So… we're sure this isn't some fake peace, right? Like, I'm not about to get hugged by a vengeful tree ghost?"
Abel didn't glance back. His voice, calm and low, carried easily in the silence.
"We killed the last mage. The curse should be broken."
"Right. Should be," Noah echoed, skeptical. "Keyword: should. Until some hidden fourth boss shows up with blood tentacles and a thesis on dramatic timing."
They passed the statue hallway. The horror-show knights once frozen in grotesque agony were gone—reduced to dust, or maybe released. Either way, Noah didn't miss them.
The garden was close. He could feel it in the stone. It pulsed, just faintly, with something that felt… lighter.
Abel slowed beside him. Noah glanced up, catching a rare glimpse of something unguarded in his expression.
"You think your father—?" he started.
"I don't know," Abel interrupted quietly. "The garden was where the curse rooted deepest. Where it started… and where he was bound."
Noah looked forward again. They both knew what they were walking toward.
It wasn't just the garden. It was the grave of a kingdom. And maybe—if they were lucky—a farewell.
"…Do you want to talk to him?" Noah asked.
"If he's still there, and if he can listen, then yes," Abel said, eyes forward. "But I don't want to fight him again. Not now. Not when everything else is finally quiet."
Noah nodded once. "Makes sense. Closure and all that."
They walked in silence for a while longer.
Noah kicked a pebble down the hallway. "So. What happens after?"
Abel didn't answer immediately. When he did, his voice was strange—low, tired, unmoored.
"I don't know. I've never planned past this. Every day since the fall, I've only had one goal: free them. Free my family. Now…"
He trailed off.
"You'll be alone," Noah said, softer now.
Abel didn't correct him.
Noah looked away. His voice, when it came, was casual. Too casual.
"I mean, I don't really have a plan either. I'm supposed to become a god. Build a civilization. Lead a people. Whatever that means. But I don't even know where the fuck I am. Or if anyone out there's even worth leading."
He exhaled.
"Honestly, I've mostly just been reacting. Surviving. Throwing exploding cards at everything that breathes wrong."
Abel looked at him. "And yet you're still standing."
Noah gave a crooked smile. "Debatable."
Then, without warning, the corridor opened.
And the garden stood before them—bathed in light.
Noah stepped forward, cane tapping once on the stone threshold.
The last time they'd entered the garden, the air had clung like a funeral shroud—wet, heavy, rotting with despair. Now, it was different.
The light that spilled through the broken dome above was soft, almost golden, catching on the moss-laced statues and shattered marble benches. The twisted roses that once bled darkness from their thorns now bloomed in vibrant hues—violet, silver, deep green. And the fountain, once a dry, cracked wound in the earth, now shimmered with clean water, reflecting soft ripples and stray petals drifting in its basin.
It was still the same garden. But it had healed.
And that was the strangest thing of all.
"…Holy shit," Noah whispered, eyes darting across the scene. "It doesn't smell like death anymore."
"No," Abel murmured, stepping beside him. "It smells like… memory."
He was right. There was no wind, no whispering ghosts, no shadows watching them from the ivy. Just that eerie, gentle calm. As if the garden remembered what it used to be—and was choosing to become it again.
Noah exhaled slowly. His heart was still braced for some sudden shift. A roar. A sword dragging on stone.
But there was nothing.
They walked further, boots crunching softly on leaves and gravel. The vines no longer slithered like snakes. The bird statues, once warped in frozen screams, now looked peaceful—cracked, yes, but whole. Watchful, not cursed.
And then they saw him.
Near the edge of the garden, just where the archways met the old, broken tea table—stood a figure.
No massive sword. No bleeding red eyes. No blackened armor or undead aura.
Just bones.
Pale white, unmoving, and upright. A skeleton dressed in what remained of once-ornate armor, faded silver etched with royal crests. The helm was gone. The breastplate had been reforged—polished clean, the cracks soldered shut with faint golden lines, like veins of forgiveness running through metal.
The Death Knight was no more.
What remained was… him.
The man who had once been king.
He stood beneath an ancient flowering tree, surrounded by silence and light. And as they approached, Noah realized the skeleton wasn't stiff with battle tension. It wasn't poised to attack.
It was resting.
Not crumbled in a heap.
Not posed like a statue.
But standing like someone who had simply… stopped.
Abel didn't speak.
He just stepped forward.
Slow.
Measured.
His sword remained sheathed.
Noah stayed behind this time. Watching. Holding his breath.
Abel stopped a few steps away. His voice cracked just slightly.
"Father," he said.
Nothing happened.
No curse. No growl. No eruption of black tendrils.
Just stillness.
Noah looked closer. There was something tucked into the king's skeletal hand—pressed to his chest. A flower. A single white bloom, dry but untouched by rot.
Abel reached out and took it. Gently. Reverently.
"I couldn't save you," he whispered. "But at least… you can rest now."
His voice dropped lower. Barely audible.
"Mother. Lysara. You."
He looked up at the bones. And for the first time since Noah had met him, Abel's face cracked—not in anger, not in fury, but in grief. The kind that didn't scream. The kind that came from too many years of holding everything inside.
Noah stepped beside him, eyes downcast.
He didn't say anything stupid.
Didn't try to joke.
Didn't pretend he understood.
He just reached out and rested one hand on Abel's back.
Warm.
Present.
Alive.
Abel didn't move for a long time.
Then, finally, he turned. Quiet. Hollow-eyed.
But free.
"Let's go," he said.
Noah nodded. "Yeah. Let's."
They left the garden behind them. And this time…
The silence wasn't heavy.
It was peaceful.
They walked in silence at first.
Not the strained kind. Not the grief-hung kind that weighed on every breath. Just… quiet. The kind that followed closure.
Noah's steps were lighter than they had been in days. The halls of the cursed castle no longer pulsed with cold. No shadows crept at the edge of his vision. The air wasn't thick with rot or regret. It just smelled like old stone and moss.
Abel walked beside him, gaze still locked ahead—but there was something softer in his posture now. Less rigid. Less doomed.
They reached the corridor where green light filtered through a cracked glass mosaic, throwing soft colors over the stone. Noah paused there, fingers tapping his cane once before breaking the silence.
"So," he said, voice casual. "Where the hell are we going?"
Abel blinked. "Back."
"Back where, genius?" Noah turned to face him fully, cocking his head. "The King's dead. The mages are dead. The garden's basically a tragic Pinterest success story now. What's next? We get our loyalty cards punched and leave?"
Abel didn't answer immediately.
He looked at Noah instead.
Really looked.
And Noah, dressed in patched robes, slightly ash-smudged, hair an eternal disaster, still had the nerve to raise an eyebrow like he was the sanest one in the castle.
Abel exhaled, slow. Thoughtful.
"I… don't know."
"Same," Noah said, waving a hand. "My divine job description's basically 'Become God or Die Trying.' Step one is surviving long enough to find anyone dumb enough to follow me. Step two is... vibes, I guess."
Another pause.
Abel's lips twitched—almost a smile. Then he said, simply:
"Then I'll stay with you."
Noah blinked.
"Wait—what?"
"If you'll allow it," Abel said. "You're the only living person I've seen in… I don't even know how long. And you're reckless. Undertrained. And... irritating."
"Wow. Flirt harder."
"But," Abel continued without rising to the bait, "you have a goal. You're not giving up. And… you're the only reason any of this is over."
Noah opened his mouth. Closed it.
Abel looked down briefly, as if collecting the words from somewhere deeper. "I thought I'd be alone again. That once it was done, I'd be buried here too. I didn't expect…"
He met Noah's eyes.
"…you."
Noah didn't say anything for a beat.
Then: "Okay, you can't just say stuff like that and expect me not to malfunction emotionally."
Abel tilted his head. "Is that a yes?"
Noah stepped forward and—without warning—threw his arms around Abel's shoulders.
It wasn't graceful. His cane clattered against the wall and he had to jump a little to get the right angle. But he hugged him. Fully. Warm. Alive.
And Abel… froze.
Then his hands slowly lifted and hovered awkwardly near Noah's back like he wasn't quite sure what to do.
"I'm hugging you, not stabbing you," Noah muttered. "You can touch me, you know."
Abel's arms closed around him. Not tight. But steady.
And for a few seconds, they just stood there. Holding onto the only person left who could hold them back.
When they pulled away, Noah looked up with a grin.
"Just so we're clear," he said. "You're now legally my sword boyfriend. I don't make the rules."
Abel sighed. "We are not calling it that."
"We are now."
Noah's grin softened slightly. "Thanks. For not leaving."
Abel looked at him a moment longer before nodding.
"I'd like to stay here," he said. "For a while. Rest. And… learn."
Noah raised a brow. "You? Want to learn?"
"You have that spellbook."
"My spellbook."
"I'll watch," Abel amended quickly. "And keep you alive if it tries to kill you."
Noah smirked. "Aww. Romance."
Together, they turned back into the quiet halls of the castle. This time not as trespassers. Not as ghosts of a war they didn't start.
But as something else.
Survivors.
Friends.
Maybe something more, given enough time and terrible decisions.
They headed for the old royal wing—Noah guessing one of the guest bedrooms was still intact enough to serve as a reading spot and nap zone. Maybe the ghosts had even made the bed.
For the first time since his arrival in this ruined world, he felt a thread of something dangerously close to hope.
Maybe… things would be okay.
Eventually.