The forest was dead silent.
Not a whisper. Not even wind.
Gareth stood alone, surrounded by the ruin of the Wild Zone — mist and blood tangled in the roots.
The air still smelled of iron and ash.
Before him lay Layla's body.
Her pale face half-lit by the faint yellow glow of the still leaking sun.
He didn't move.
Didn't breathe for a long while.
His voice finally broke the stillness.
"Why… why did this have to happen? Why did someone have to die again?"
His knees hit the earth. The world tilted — noise fading, breath trembling.
He stared at her still hand, fingers curled like she was still trying to hold her sword.
Something inside him twisted, deeper than rage.
And then — memory stirred.
A voice, not his own, whispering through the fragments of his mind.
"The Veil is not light. It is hunger. It devours what it touches, then offers it back as strength."
He remembered the book — from the Forbidden book he found in the library.
It's called the Fairy tale of the throne but he named it the forbidden codex.
The mist thickened, folding in soft ribbons around him.
Gareth's gaze lingered on Layla's still face, and through the haze of grief, another image surfaced — a memory not of blood or battle, but of words.
He had read them once, long ago, in a forgotten corner of the academy's archives.
A story hidden inside the Forbidden Codex, written in gentle ink between violent scriptures.
It was called "The Last Warrior."
It told of a man who carried the world on his shoulders.
A nameless warrior who saved everyone — again and again — until there was nothing left of him to save but himself.
His blade dulled, his heart frayed, and in the end, he looked at the stars and whispered:
"Can I always save everyone? What does it mean… to be a warrior?"
"Can I be saved from this. I'm tired"
Those words burned in Gareth's mind now, sharper than any sword.
He could almost hear the man's weary voice, heavy with love and exhaustion.
His breath trembled.
The memory cut through him like glass.
He lowered his head slowly, the world blurring around the edges.
Layla's hand was still in the dirt — closed, reaching for nothing.
Gareth's voice cracked.
"Maybe it means losing everything… and still trying anyway."
The ground beneath him quivered, faint black veins spreading through the soil like roots awakening.
The mark on his arm pulsed once — a slow, mournful throb — as if answering the story he'd remembered.
The veins of black light pulsed faintly, then faded, leaving only the echo of silence.
Gareth blinked — the memory of the story breaking apart like shards of dream.
He inhaled sharply, the cold air burning his lungs.
The world came rushing back — the smell of blood, the sight of Layla's still form, the mist trembling at the edge of his vision.
He staggered a step back, shaking his head.
"I… I don't want to do this," he whispered.
His voice trembled, raw and small against the vast quiet.
"I'm scared of the unknown. I don't want to run off, I don't want to—"
He stopped himself, words catching like thorns in his throat.
His heartbeat thundered.
The mark on his arm glowed faintly through his sleeve, alive with something ancient, something waiting.
He clenched his fist. "I'm not ready for this…"
For the first time, Gareth looked less like the boy marked by destiny and more like someone lost in a nightmare too large to wake from.
The forest didn't answer.
Only the distant echo of something moving beneath the earth — slow, patient, aware.
Gareth took a shaky breath, forcing himself to move.
The mist clung to his boots as he stepped closer — past Layla's still form, past the blood that had already begun to fade into the earth.
His eyes stung, not from tears, but from the weight of it all.
Kael sat a short distance away, his armor unfastened, his sword resting uselessly across his knees.
His gaze was fixed on nothing — hollow, drained.
Velvar stood nearby, silent, like a shadow that had forgotten how to move.
Gareth lowered himself beside Kael. For a long moment, neither spoke.
The world felt suspended — like even sound had chosen not to intrude.
Then Gareth murmured, "You look worse than the corpses, you know that?"
Kael gave a faint snort, the sound breaking the stillness.
"And you still look like a boy who hasn't slept since the dawn of the war."
"That's generous," Gareth said, a ghost of a smile flickering.
"At least I still have my charm. Aelina used to say—"
He stopped. The words choked halfway out, like the name itself carried a blade.
Kael turned to him slowly, something fragile and knowing in his eyes.
"She'd kill you for using her name to make a joke," Kael said quietly.
"Yeah," Gareth whispered, forcing a laugh that didn't sound right. "And I'd let her."
Silence fell again — heavier this time, but not empty. The kind of the resilence that said we're still here.
Velvar finally spoke, his voice low.
"You two seem like really good friends it's quite rare for a noble and a commoner to have a relationship like this"
Gareth didn't argue. He just stared at the ground, then said softly,
"Maybe that's true but the word's huge who would ever know."
The fog shifted as a shadow stepped through it — tall, composed, steady.
The Princely Prince of Dawn emerged, his armor scratched, his gaze cold yet gentle.
The faint gleam of his blue hair caught the dying light, but his eyes held only fatigue and quiet sorrow.
He scanned the field — the corpses, the broken trees, the silence that followed slaughter.
His tone was firm when he spoke.
"Night is falling. The beasts will stir soon. The deeper the dark, the hungrier they become."
He looked at each of them in turn — Gareth, Kael, Velvar — his expression unreadable.
"We set up shelter here," he said simply. "No torches. No loud movement. We'll survive the night, then move deeper at dawn."
The air carried his authority naturally, not forced — calm and final.
Then, softer, he added, "When we reach the last stride, everyone returns to their original trios.
Those who remain standing will continue."
No one answered. Only the quiet hum of the Veil lingered in the distance.
The prince turned away first, his back straight, his steps light.
Even in silence, he carried a weight that made the others lower their eyes.
Gareth's voice broke the stillness.
"What about her?" he asked, his gaze fixed on Layla's body.
The prince stopped, eyes lowering for a brief moment. The air felt colder, heavier.
"We'll burn her body," he said at last. "When the time is right, we'll give her a proper farewell."
His words carried no softness — only necessity.
"But for now… we wait. The night doesn't forgive weakness."
Gareth nodded slowly, though the weight in his chest didn't ease.
The mist around them thickened again, swallowing the last light of day.
In the distance, something howled — long, guttural, and close.
The prince's voice cut through it, quiet but commanding.
"Set the wards. Keep your minds steady. Tonight, we endure."
Janus came out of the mist like a bright, awkward promise — hair rumpled, hands greasy from whatever he'd cobbled together.
He held up a crude cylinder the size of his palm: metal, glass, a coil of wire wrapped in scavenged leather.
It glowed when he squeezed a hidden switch, spitting a thin, fierce beam.
He pointed it at Gareth without thinking. Light stabbed the dark and slammed into Gareth's face.
Gareth's head exploded in pain — white, sharp, a ringing like metal against bone.
He doubled over, hands flying to his temples, breath ragged.
"Janus—" Kael started, but Janus only froze, eyes wide, the light trembling in his grip. "—sorry. I thought—"
Gareth blinked through the aftershock.
The beam drilled into the edges of his vision and something inside him unclenched, unspooling a memory he'd kept buried beneath guilt and the mark.
Two boys on a ridge, wind like knives. Bare feet on cold stone.
His older brother laughing until he coughed; the younger one daring him to jump farther, to fight harder, to never look back.
"You always run toward it," one had said once, fist on his shoulder.
"You always try to catch what falls. Don't stop, Garth. Don't be soft."
They'd taught him to take hits and keep moving.
To patch wounds with spit and promise. To bury fear under a grin.
They'd been small gods to his small hands — fearless, reckless, certain the world would bend if they pushed hard enough.
The memory cracked. The laughter shredded into a wound he couldn't suture.
A name surfaced — not Layla's. Not Aelina's.
The younger brother's voice, thin with a dare: "Can you always save everyone?"
Gareth tasted iron. He had lied then. He lied now.
Light flared; the beam in Janus' hand jittered as Janus lowered it, ashamed.
Around them, the mist hummed, patient and hungry.
Gareth forced himself upright. His palms trembled against his knees.
The ache behind his eyes threaded into something colder — the certainty that every choice had a price and that price had just been counted in bodies.
"Tell me," Gareth said, voice small and raw, not to Janus so much as to the empty air, "how do you stop trying?"
Janus opened his mouth, closed it. Kael's hand found Gareth's shoulder, rough and steady.
Velvar watched, expression hard and brittle.
Janus swallowed. "We— we make shelter. We keep watch. We don't let night take what's left."
It was blunt, practical — exactly the thing needed.
But Gareth only stared a long time at the crude light, at the way it cut the darkness and left every shadow sharper for it.
Then, quieter, to himself, he whispered the names from that ridge — names the Wild Zone hadn't asked permission to keep — and the memory folded back.
The beam guttered as Janus fiddled with a knob, softer now. The night closed in; they moved to set the wards. The forest listened.
Gareth let himself be helped up, one brother's steadiness under his arm, another's silent promise at his back
For a breath, he allowed the lie that maybe, just maybe, trying was the only thing left that mattered.
The fire crackled low beneath the canvas of stars.The smell of smoke and ration stew mingled in the night air.
Laughter — quiet, tired, but real — rippled through the camp.
For a brief moment, the Wild Zone didn't feel like a graveyard.
Cassiel complained about the cold.
Velvar mocked the taste of the food.
Janus tried to fix his broken device again, only for it to spark and fizzle, drawing groans and laughter from the others.
Even Gareth, distant as ever, found himself smiling faintly as he chewed through his meal.
It tasted like ash and iron, but for now, that was enough.
Across from him, Teramon sat with a piece of bread in one hand and a small notepad in the other, scribbling quietly.
His golden eyes flicked toward Gareth.
"You carry too much weight for one person," he said suddenly, tone calm, analytical, but not unkind.
Gareth blinked at him, caught off guard.
Teramon continued, "You hide it well, but… I see it. I'm not saying I understand everything, but—" he paused, meeting Gareth's eyes, "—rely on us once in a while. You're not alone out here."
For a moment, Gareth looked like he might argue. But then he just nodded — a small, tired nod that said maybe someday.
The night deepened. The fires dimmed. One by one, the camp sank into sleep.
But Gareth didn't.
He woke before dawn, the air sharp with mist and the distant hum of the Veil.His face was pale, eyes hollow from sleeplessness.
He sat for a while, listening to the forest's pulse — the slow heartbeat of something ancient beneath the roots.
Then, quietly, he began to write.
Three letters — one for Cassiel, one for Teramon, one for Kael.The first two were simple.
I'll be back before sunrise. Just want to check the perimeter. Teramon take care of that brat for me lets meet at the end of the line.
Don't follow me. Don't worry Cassiel— I'II be at the front let's meet later.
But the last one, addressed to Kael, lingered longer in his hand.
His handwriting wavered. He hesitated before writing the final lines.
If I don't return… don't look for me. You'll understand when the sun breaks the third time.
The ink bled faintly at the edge — like his hesitation left a scar.
He folded the letters neatly, leaving them near their sleeping forms.
For a long moment, he just stood there, watching the faint light of the wards shimmer across their faces — his friends, his reminders that something good still existed.
Then, without a word, he turned and walked into the mist.
The forest swallowed him whole.
When morning came, Kael was the first to wake.
He found the letter where Gareth had been.
He read the final line twice, then a third time, before his hand crumpled it into his palm.
He didn't say anything.
Didn't shout. Didn't wake the others.
He just sat there — silent — staring at the edge of the woods, as if he already knew what it meant.
The forest wind brushed past him, cold, vast and endless.