The dust of the lich hung in the air like a grey shroud, but in the center of the crater, there was still light.
"Father!"
Rian reached him first. He skidded through the mud, his hands reaching out to grab Thorne's shoulders, to shake him, to tell him they had won.
But his fingers met nothing but warmth and resistance that felt like thick water.
Thorne was no longer flesh and blood. The Celestial Sunder had burned away his mortality. His body was a construct of cracking, brilliant white light, slowly drifting apart like dandelion seeds in a breeze. The edges of his armor were turning into stardust, floating upward into the dark sky.
Thorne turned his head. His eyes were fading, the white fire dimming to a soft, tired amber. He looked at his son—not with pain, but with a profound, quiet peace.
"Rian," Thorne whispered. His voice did not come from a throat; it echoed directly in their minds, resonating with the hum of the fading magic.
He tried to lift his arm. The charred, melted remains of the greatsword lay in the mud. He nudged it toward the boy.
"The blade... is broken," Thorne said, looking at Rian with intense pride. "But the steel remains. Take it."
Rian sobbed, his face streaked with soot and tears. He shook his head violently. "No! You take it! You're the Chieftain! You can't go!"
"I am spent, my son," Thorne murmured. "You are the shield now. You are the wall that does not break. Protect your mother. Protect your brother."
Rian choked on a scream, falling to his knees and clutching the cold, ruined hilt of the sword with both hands.
Thorne's gaze shifted. He looked past Rian to the smaller, trembling figure standing a few steps back.
Aael was not crying loud tears like Rian. He was silent, his large eyes wide with a terror that went deeper than death. He looked at Thorne like a child watching his entire world crumble. He felt small. He felt weak. He felt that if he moved, he would shatter.
Thorne smiled. It was the same smile he gave when Aael had failed to lift the heavy stones—not of disappointment, but of understanding.
"Aael," Thorne called out softly.
Aael stepped forward, his legs shaking. He reached out a hand, hovering it near Thorne's glowing cheek, afraid to touch him, afraid to speed up the fading.
"I... I wasn't brave," Aael whispered, his voice cracking. "I froze. I couldn't move."
"You stayed," Thorne corrected him. The light of his body was becoming translucent now; the boys could see the ruins of the village through his chest. "You faced the dark... and you did not run."
Thorne's glowing hand passed through Aael's shoulder, leaving a sensation of warmth that settled deep in the boy's chest.
"Strength is not just iron, Aael," Thorne said, his voice growing faint, like a whisper carried from a great distance. "Strength is the mind. Strength is the heart. You have a fire inside you... different from Rian's. But it burns just as hot."
Thorne's eyes locked onto Aael's one last time.
"Be strong, my son. For yourself."
The wind picked up.
Thorne looked up at the sky, at the twin moons peering through the smoke. He took one final, deep breath.
"Elara..." he whispered to the wind.
And then, he let go.
The structure of light collapsed. There was no pain, no violent explosion. Thorne simply dissolved. He burst into a thousand motes of golden light that swirled around the boys for a brief, warm second, brushing against their tear-stained cheeks like a father's kiss.
Then, the lights drifted upward, joining the stars.
Rian screamed at the sky, a raw, animal sound of grief that tore at his throat. He slammed his forehead into the mud, clutching the broken sword hilt to his chest.
Aael stood perfectly still. He stared at the empty space where his father had been. A single tear finally broke free, rolling down his pale cheek. The warmth was gone. The cold reality of the dead village rushed in to fill the void.
They were alone.
"Rian, get up! We have to go!" Aael screamed, tugging at his brother's tunic.
Rian was still on his knees, staring at the empty mud where his father had vanished, clutching the melted hilt of the sword. But the sound of the village changing forced him to move.
It started as a low, wet gurgling sound surrounding the crater.
From the shadows of the ruined blacksmith's shop, a figure stumbled out. It was Old Harek, the man who used to give the boys sweets during the festivals. But Harek was gone. His skin had turned a bruised, necrotic purple. Black ichor leaked from his eyes, and his jaw hung open at an unnatural angle. Green veins pulsed beneath his skin like trapped worms.
Harek looked at the boys. There was no recognition. Only hunger.
"Graaaah…"
Harek lunged.
Rian scrambled backward, finding his feet. The grief in his chest turned to cold terror. "Harek?"
"That's not him!" Aael yelled, grabbing Rian's hand. "Run!"
They sprinted away from the crater, heading for the main road. But the curse had moved faster than they had.
At the intersection near the weaver's hall, three more figures blocked the path. It was the village guards. Their armor was stained with the black sludge of the curse. They turned in unison, their movements jerky and puppet-like, snapping their heads toward the sound of the children's footsteps.
"This way!" Rian gasped, swerving left down a narrow alleyway.
They ran blindly. Every corner they turned, they saw them—the people of Silverleaf, twisted into monsters. The baker, the tanner, the mother holding her child—all consumed by the Rot. They weren't fast, but they were everywhere. The boys were being herded.
Driven by panic, they ran past the edge of the village houses and up the rocky incline of Eagle's Rise. It was a high promontory that overlooked the valley, usually a place for picnics and star-gazing.
Tonight, it was a trap.
The boys burst through the last of the bushes and skidded to a halt. Their boots kicked loose gravel over the edge.
"No..." Rian breathed, his chest heaving.
In front of them was the drop. It was a sheer vertical cliff, falling hundreds of feet down into the dark chasm below. At the bottom, cutting through the jagged rocks, was the Whitewater River. Even from this height, the roar of the water was deafening, a churning black ribbon of freezing current.
Aael spun around.
Blocking the path they had just come from was a wall of shuffling horrors. A dozen Rot-Walkers emerged from the trees, their moans harmonizing into a chorus of the damned. They spread out, blocking the entire width of the ridge.
They were trapped.
The circle tightened. The Rot-Walkers stepped closer, their arms outstretched, fingers curled into claws. The smell of rotting meat and ozone washed over the boys.
Rian gripped the broken sword hilt. He looked at the monsters, then at the sword. It was useless—a lump of melted steel. He couldn't fight twelve of them. He couldn't even fight one.
He stepped back, his heel slipping on the mossy edge of the cliff. A pebble fell, vanishing into the darkness.
"We can't fight them," Aael whispered, his voice trembling as he looked down at the lethal drop. "And we can't go back."
Rian looked at Aael. He saw the terror in his brother's eyes. Then he looked at the river below. It was madness. It was suicide. But the alternative was being torn apart by the things that used to be their neighbors.
Rian grabbed Aael's hand. His grip was iron-hard.
"Do you trust me?" Rian asked, his voice shaking but fierce.
Aael looked at the approaching monsters, then at his brother. He nodded, tears spilling over. "Yes."
"Then jump," Rian said.
"I won't let them take us!" Rian screamed.
Panic had turned into a frenzied, suicidal courage. He pushed Aael behind him, closer to the edge, and brandished the melted lump of steel that used to be his father's sword.
"Stay back!" Rian swung the heavy metal, smashing it into the skull of the first Rot-Walker. The creature crumbled, but two more took its place.
Rian fought like a cornered wolf. He kicked, he swung, he screamed. He managed to knock another walker off the ledge, sending it plummeting into the dark. For a second, it looked like he might hold them off.
Then, the crowd of monsters parted.
A single figure stepped forward. She wasn't wearing armor. She was wearing a torn, bloodstained robe that shimmered with threads of woven silk. Her long hair, once beautiful and silly, hung in matted clumps over her face.
Rian raised the weapon to strike, but he froze. His breath hitched in his throat.
"M... Mother?"
It was Elara. But the light in her eyes was gone, replaced by the dull, hungry grey of the Rot. Her skin was veined with black.
Rian lowered the weapon, his hands shaking violently. "Mother... it's me. It's Rian."
The creature that had been Elara did not smile. She did not recognize the name. She only saw prey.
She lunged.
Rian didn't move. He couldn't strike her. He just stood there, paralyzed by heartbreak.
THUD.
Elara's hand, hardened by the curse into a claw, struck Rian across the chest. The blow was unnaturally strong. Rian was lifted off his feet and thrown backward. He slammed into a jagged rock near the cliff edge and slumped over, blood pooling beneath him. He didn't rise.
"RIAN!"
Aael screamed, the sound tearing from his throat.
He watched his brother fall. He watched the monster—his mother—stand over Rian's unmoving body. Then, slowly, her head snapped up. She looked past Rian. She looked at Aael.
The rest of the horde turned with her. Their collective gaze fell on the small, trembling boy kneeling at the very edge of the precipice.
Aael couldn't breathe. He couldn't run. His mind shattered. The fear was so absolute that his limbs refused to obey him. He just knelt there, tears streaming down his face, waiting to be eaten by the thing that had raised him.
The horde surged forward.
CRACK.
The sound was louder than thunder.
The cliff, weakened by the battle's shockwaves and the weight of the monsters, gave way. A massive fissure zig-zagged through the rock, right between Aael and the horde.
The ground beneath Aael's knees tilted.
The Rot-Walkers clawed at the air, trying to reach him, but the gap widened instantly. The entire shelf of rock Aael was kneeling on detached from the mountain.
Aael didn't scream. He simply fell backward into the void.
He watched the cliff recede. He saw the dark outline of the Rot-Walkers on the ledge. He saw his mother staring down at him. And he saw Rian's motionless body lying in the dirt.
Then, the darkness swallowed him.
The wind roared in his ears for three seconds.
SPLASH.
The impact with the freezing water was like hitting concrete. Cold blackness rushed into his nose and mouth. The current grabbed him, violent and uncaring, dragging him down into the depths of the Whitewater River.
Consciousness faded. The last thing Aael felt was the crushing weight of the water and the terrible silence of being alone.