Fawnthra fell to her knees, breath caught in her throat as she saw witness to Raven's cruelty—a darkness so twisted it should've never been allowed to walk the physical plane. The young necromancer crumpled to the ground, clutching her head in trembling hands, her face contorted with horror, disbelief, and a pain she couldn't name. At least that's what she thought when seeing Onyx like this.

Raven stood above it all, disturbingly calm, her lifeless eyes holding the glare of perverse authority. She seemed almost pleased—pleased in the destruction, in the screams, in the suffering of her own daughter.

Fawnthra's stomach twisted as the realization hit her like a punch to the gut: this being took joy in pain, even if it was from her own blood. There were no limits. No boundaries. If you meant nothing to her world, she would strip the soul from your bones without blinking.

Fawnthra's eyes darted up, locking with Raven's milky gaze.

She saw it then. The unspoken sentence etched into those hollow eyes.

I'm next.

Fawnthra's breath hitched, panic gripping her chest like a vice. She had to move. She had to get away from Raven—Onyx—and whatever darkness lingered here.

Heart hammering, she stumbled unto her feet and bolted, dirt and ash kicking up behind her as she ran. Away from the dead light that ghost fire gave off she was secluded in impenetrable darkness. Her blind and desperate hands flailing against the coarse stone that surrounded her—searching frantically for an entrance, any means of escape.

Her cloak snagged on twisted roots and jagged stone, thrashing around in a panic she tore it free without slowing. Every shadow seemed to reach for her. Every sound behind her screamed death.

She didn't look back. She couldn't.

But she wasn't alone.

Behind her, the heavy, uneven footfalls of someone followed—close, almost desperately behind her. First, she thought it was Raven coming to finish what she started, she could feel a scream building up in her throat.

But then she heard it.

A soft grunt— the familiar drag of chain.

Sith.

The tan–skinned orc stumbled after her, confused and bloodied, his expression vacant yet loyal—like a stray dog that didn't know where else to go. His broad shoulders heaved with each breath, and yet he kept up with her pace, following her with silent resolve.

Fawnthra risked a glance back. "Why are you following me?" she hissed, eyes wide. "You belong to her—you're her servant!"

Sith didn't answer. Just stared at her with eyes that seemed almost... lost. Not in fear. Not in obedience. But in a strange, broken need to survive.

He did just die.

She didn't have time to argue. The cave felt as though it was closing in on her, the cold creeping back in, and behind them—the monster she once thought could be saved. Darkness swallowed her, her eyes had still yet to adjust to the pitch black of the forgotten abyss she found herself in.

Fawnthra grit her teeth, pushing forward. She didn't know where her path led. She didn't know if she would survive long enough to know.

All she knew was this:

She couldn't fight this darkness.

But maybe... maybe she could learn how to outrun it.

-ooooo-

After scrambling through what felt like an eternity of unilluminated dullness—a choking black that stretched endlessly in every direction—she saw it.

A flicker. The smallest beam of light, cutting through the stone like a razer and peeking around the bend of a narrow passage. It wasn't much, but it was something.

Hope.

Her legs, already numb with exhaustion, found new strength. She lunged toward it, dragging herself through the grime and stone, the taste of fear thick in her mouth.

Behind her, she could still hear Sith's uneven breathing, close but quiet—ever the shadow trailing her heels.

Upon turning the bend she was greeted by a bliding wash of bright light overwhelming her sense of sight. Her eyes watered with irritation as she tried to blink away the burning sensation that danced in her retinas.

She was blinded yet again, this time not by a suffocating sensation of ink, but by the profound intensity of light drowning her eyes in a blanket of white.

She staggered back a step, disoriented, hands raised as if to shield her face from something too powerful, too real.

Behind her, she could hear Sith snort, sharp like a displeased horse, as the light reached him too.

And for a moment, everything stood still.

As her vision slowly adjusted, the blinding white began to pull back, shapes emerging from the haze. Trees.

Fawnthra dropped her hands, blinking hard. She turned to Sith, who stood awkwardly at her side, his gaze flickering between her and the foliage ahead, to which they could hide in.

He still looked like he was lost, waiting—either for her to lead or for someone to command him.

She clenched her fists.

"We need a plan," she said, voice low but steady.

Not a plea. Not a suggestion. A declaration.

She glanced at him, a sharp look that lasted only seconds. "You're still following me," she muttered. "Why?"

He didn't answer.

Of course he didn't.

She scoffed under her breath and turned away, muttering, "Didn't think so."

Sith stood there like a statue, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, limbs heavy and awkward. He looked less like a soldier and more like a toddler lost in a marketplace—following her not out of loyalty, but because he didn't know what else to do.

It was pathetic.

And a little terrifying.

He'd died. She'd felt it. Saw the light leave his eyes like a candle being pinched out. Whatever brought him back had stitched him together wrong. Not in body—he was whole—but in spirit.

She glanced at him again. His chest still rose and fell. His hands twitched now and then, like he was remembering what they were supposed to do. But his eyes were vacant, as if the soul inside hadn't caught up yet.

He kind of looked like a dumb version of Raven.

Great.

She started walking again, not because she had a plan, but because standing still made her skin crawl. Sith followed with that same sluggish pace, feet dragging like someone unsure if they were allowed to move at all.

"North," she said aloud, voice thin. "Sure. Why not. Everything south of here is ash and monsters and whatever she is now, so... north it is."

No answer. Just the sound of her own boots and his clumsy ones behind.

She kept talking anyway.

"There's nothing up there. Not that I know of. Maybe a mountain range. Maybe a cave. Maybe we freeze to death in a week and that's the end of it."

Still nothing.

She glanced back one last time. Sith nearly tripped over a root, catching himself with both hands and blinking like he hadn't even seen it.

Fawnthra sighed. "You are the worst conversationalist I've ever met."

She kept walking.

And so did he.