The relentless downpour that had haunted them for what felt like days had finally begun to ease, the rain softening from sheets to scattered droplets. Though the sky remained cloaked in bruised grey, the thunder had grown distant—more of a memory than a threat. But the mist, thick and pale, still curled around the ruined land of Bromaric like a living shroud. Visibility stretched no farther than a few steps.

Somewhere in that silence stood the jagged silhouette of a broken windmill.

Its stone base loomed ahead like a monolith, the upper frame collapsed long ago. The wooden blades were gone, lost to time or violence. Moss had overgrown its cracked walls, and water streaked down its sides in sluggish rivulets. The mist licked hungrily at its base.

Heavy footsteps squelched through the mud, accompanied by gasping breaths, stumbling boots, and the faint dragging of limbs too tired to lift. Raelyn's legs barely felt like her own anymore. Her robe was soaked through, torn and clinging to her body. Each step sent a fresh wave of pain through her thighs and shoulders. The others were close—she could hear them even if she could barely see. 

Hovan reached the door of the windmill, shoulder lowered, and slammed into it with all the force his frame could muster. The old wood cracked, and the door swung open with a groan. He didn't wait—just turned back over his shoulder and beckoned them in.

"In," he rasped. "Quickly."

They spilled inside one by one. Bits of broken stone and scattered wood lined the floor, and remnants of what might have once been a workbench or food stores lay rotting in the corners. The ceiling above them was mostly gone—open to the dark sky, where the broken beams jutted out like ribs. The storm wind moaned through the ruin, but for now, it was shelter.

Raelyn didn't make it far. As soon as her boots crossed the threshold, her legs buckled.

She sank against the wall, sliding down until she hit the floor. Her back thudded against the damp stone, her fingers trembling as she released the last thread of magic she still held. The mist that had followed them dissipated, evaporating into the air.

Her medial was empty.

The well inside her was dry, cracked and hollow. She couldn't even summon a spark if she tried. Every inch of her body ached. Her fingers were cut and raw. Her robes were stained with dirt and blood. Her skin buzzed with the aftermath of magic long past spent.

Danio stumbled in behind her, Rakz still cradled tightly to his chest. Sylvy followed him, her leg bleeding freely from a deep gash near her hip. Lira leaned on her sister, barely upright, lips pale. Benji was last, closing the ruined door behind them as best he could, his hand still pressed to a wound at his side.

The silence in the windmill pressed in around them. Only the sound of their ragged breathing broke it.

"We won't stay long," Hovan said, voice low but firm. "Take a moment. Tend to your wounds. Breathe. We can't stay long."

Danio stood beside the wall, carefully cradling Rakz. His arms were soaked to the elbow in blood—Rakz's blood. Danio's face was pale beneath the grime and mud, eyes fixed on the small, still creature in his arms.

"He's not looking good," he said, barely above a whisper.

Raelyn's heart seized. In the chaos of their escape and Thomrik's painful departure, she had lost sight of Rakz—forgotten just how badly he'd been hurt. In the thick mist she hadn't seen him, hadn't known if he was keeping up or even breathing. Her limbs, barely working moments ago, moved before she could think. She staggered upright and stumbled toward them, her legs trembling with each step. Her hands twitched uselessly at her sides as she knelt beside Rakz, eyes darting over his limp form.

His scales—normally vibrant, slick with healthy sheen—were dull, scraped raw in places and darkened with blood. Crimson had matted them down in thick, drying patches. Across his neck and shoulder, the worst of it gaped wide—a brutal, curved bite wound, where Baragor's direwolf had sunk its teeth deep into muscle and sinew. The flesh there was torn and blackened at the edges, as if something foul lingered beneath the surface. His breathing came ragged and shallow.

"Rakz?" Raelyn whispered, brushing his jaw with trembling fingers. He gave no response.

Lira reached them a moment later, her expression tight with concern, fatigue etched into every line of her face. "Put him down gently," she said to Danio.

Danio nodded and eased Rakz into the space between them. The little dragon's body slumped onto the stone floor. Raelyn couldn't take her eyes off him.

Lira leaned close, running her hands lightly along his side, then paused when her fingers brushed the deep puncture wounds along his neck and shoulder. Her brow furrowed.

"The wounds are deep," she said grimly, voice low.

"It was Baragor's direwolf." Raelyn said, her throat tight. 

Lira's lips pressed into a line as she reached for her satchel. "Direwolves are foul creatures at the best of times," she murmured, rummaging through the pouch. "But one that lives in this poisoned land? It may carry rot deeper than we know."

Raelyn could barely breathe. She looked from Rakz's still form to Lira's trembling hands. "Please," she said, the word tearing out of her, raw and desperate. "Lira... please save him. I can't lose him. Not after—" Her voice broke, and she swallowed hard. "Not today."

Lira didn't answer at first. Her hands kept working—drawing out poultices, dried leaves, tiny glass vials with soft green liquid inside. Her movements weren't quick. Not anymore. Exhaustion made her sluggish, her fingers slow to obey. But she didn't stop.

"I'll do everything we can," Lira said quietly. "But he needs real healing."

She poured a small amount of crushed herb paste into the wound, muttering under her breath, and wrapped a strip of cloth carefully around Rakz's chest, tightening it gently. The bleeding slowed, and with each pass of her fingers, Raelyn watched the rise and fall of his breathing—so faint, but still there.

Lira exhaled finally, her shoulders sagging.

"That should stabilize him," she said. "For now. But he won't stay that way if we don't get him somewhere he can recover. He needs more than herbs and wrappings."

Raelyn reached out and brushed the back of her fingers along Rakz's snout.

"Thank you," she whispered, voice cracking.

Lira gave a faint nod and looked Raelyn in the eye. "We'll make sure he lives. I promise."

Raelyn nodded weakly, holding on to that promise like it was a tether keeping her from falling into the grief clawing at the back of her throat.

Her gaze swept over her companions, the people she had brought into Bromaric, who had bled and fought for her.

Lira was bent beside Danio, preparing to tend to his wounds. Blood slicked Danio's shoulder, the fabric of his tunic torn clean through. His head was bowed, jaw locked tight, his face pale under the grime.

Sylvy sat nearby with her back against a crumbled wall, one hand pressing hard against a deep gash along her thigh. Her braid had half come undone, blood trickling down her temple. She stared ahead, jaw set, refusing to show the pain clawing at her.

Hovan stood near the windowless gap in the wall, watching the land beyond. The weapon of the gods was still sheathed across his back, its hilt streaked with rain and blood. His cloak had been half burned away, the edges charred and fraying.

Benji leaned against a broken beam, one leg stiff with a limp, his hand pressing a cloth to his side, blood soaking through in patches. Mud streaked his jaw and cheek.

They were all torn open in one way or another. And Thomrik... Thomrik was gone.

Raelyn let her breath shake loose and lowered her head. Her hands covered her face as the sobs built in her chest. She sank into herself, shoulders curling, the weight of it all crushing her like armor grown too heavy.

The floor creaked beside her. A moment later, Benji sat down in the dust and dirt without a word. His arm wrapped gently around her, and she fell against him, weeping into the crook of his neck. He didn't speak, didn't shush her. He only held her.

Danio's voice broke the silence. "He knew it might come to this."

Raelyn lifted her head slowly. Her eyes were red, swollen from crying, her throat raw. She blinked at Danio, struggling to focus through the blur of tears. He sat against the curved wall, one leg stretched out, the other bent, arm limp in his lap while Lira worked quietly to bind the bloody gash across his shoulder. He wasn't looking at her. Not at anyone. His eyes were fixed on a cracked beam jutting from the windmill's crumbling wall.

"He said there'd come a moment," Danio continued, his voice low, almost hushed. "Said there might be a day we'd be outnumbered. Cornered by demons. Said he felt it in his bones." He inhaled sharply through his nose. "And if it ever came to that he'd be the one to make sure the quest went on."

The words sat heavy in the space between them, dropping like stones into the quiet.

Raelyn barely breathed. The others didn't speak. Even the wind seemed reluctant to intrude, the storm now no more than a distant whisper beyond the mist.

"I told him he was being dramatic, tried to talk him out of it," Danio said, lips twisting bitterly. "But once Thomrik makes up his mind..." He shook his head slowly, jaw tightening. "It's like trying to move a mountain."

Lira finished tying off the bandage and sat beside him in silence. Her hand rested lightly against his back, just between his shoulder blades. She didn't say anything.

Danio finally looked down, his gaze sinking to the bloodied floor at his feet. "He made me promise," he said, softer now. "Told me I'd have to carry this to the end if something happened. That I'd need to be there for Raelyn, on his behalf." He paused, eyes flicking up to her briefly, then lowering again. "Said not to run again."

Raelyn felt her chest tighten. Her fingers curled into the fabric of her robes, knuckles white. She hadn't known. Hadn't realized he'd asked that of Danio. The thought of Thomrik, resolute in his choice, planning even this part of his end—it was too much.

Danio's jaw clenched. "He should be the one sitting here" he said, voice sharp with grief. "Not me. He was... better." The words cracked like dry wood. "Stronger."

He swallowed hard, but the words wouldn't stop. "He died alone. Ripped to pieces so that we could run. I should've been there with him. I should've stayed. I should've—"

He stopped.

His voice broke entirely, and his next breath hitched. He hunched forward, a hand pressed to his ribs like he could hold something in—some invisible wound that wouldn't close. But it spilled out anyway. Quiet, ragged sobs that shook his frame and filled the space between each beat of rain against the broken roof.

Raelyn's hand drifted toward him instinctively, but Lira was already there. The elf leaned in gently, wrapping her arms around Danio's hunched form. Danio turned into her, burying his face into the curve of her neck as the grief overtook him. And Raelyn sat watching, her own tears hot against her cheeks again, silent as they fell.

"No," Hovan said firmly. "You're wrong."

Danio didn't lift his head. His shoulders were still hunched.

"If you'd stayed with him," Hovan continued, stepping forward, "you'd both be dead. And we would be grieving the loss of two dear friends."

Danio's breath caught, but he didn't speak.

"Thomrik wasn't trying to be a hero. He was doing what needed to be done. And he trusted you, Danio—not just to live, but to finish what he started."

Sylvy had turned toward them. She stood a little straighter now, eyes fixed on Danio. Blood still trickled from her temple, but her gaze was steady.

"He believed in you," Hovan said. 

Danio slowly looked up, his eyes rimmed with red, jaw tight.

Hovan crouched beside him, one hand resting firmly on his own knee. "Thomrik didn't throw his life away. He fought for something bigger than himself. He fought for the people he loved... for Unevia."

Raelyn wiped at her face with the sleeve of her robe, her breath trembling in her chest.

"This was what Thomrik wanted," Hovan went on, quieter now. "To redeem himself in the eyes of his gods and be reunited with his forefathers in the Eternal Forge."

Lira closed her eyes beside Danio, pressing a hand to her chest, her other still resting gently on Danio's back.

"We can't undo what happened," Hovan said, rising again, looking over the group. "But we can choose what we do with it. We can choose to carry him with us."

Sylvy moved to stand beside Hovan. Raelyn blinked hard. Benji's arm tightened around her, his gaze fixed on Hovan.

"When we reach the end of this road," Hovan said, "when we finish this fight—it will be because of him."

He looked around the circle. At the faces of the people Thomrik had died for. "We won't forget him. Not ever."

Danio nodded, slow at first, then again with more strength behind it. His tears had stopped. His hands uncurled.

"Thomrik will live on," Hovan said. "In us. In the future we forge with the freedom he gave us."

Raelyn looked at each of them—bloodied, wounded, weary. They were here because of her. Because of what she'd asked of them. Because of a weapon that still hadn't answered.

Her throat tightened. She swallowed, and whispered, "I don't want any of you to get hurt because of me. Die because of me."

Benji leaned in beside her, his voice low and steady. "This isn't just about you. It never was. This is bigger than any one of us. And we're here—risking our lives—because we believe Unevia can be saved."

"This isn't your burden alone," Hovan added. "You didn't drag us here—we chose to follow. And I, for one, vow to keep fighting until Baragor is defeated."

Sylvy, still standing at Hovan's side, placed a hand to her chest. "I swear it too," she said, voice fierce through the exhaustion. "For Thomrik. And all of Unevia."

Lira, seated beside Danio, nodded faintly. "We aren't going anywhere, Raelyn. Wherever this road leads."

Benji echoed the words, squeezing Raelyn's hand. "Always."

Danio drew in a breath, slow and steady, and wiped the last of the tears from his face. He stood, swaying slightly before catching himself, and looked at Raelyn with quiet conviction. "I'm not going anywhere either," he said. "I will make Thomrik proud."

"But how?" she asked, the question spilling from her lips before she could stop it. Her voice was raw, quiet. "How are we supposed to save Unevia?"

Raelyn's eyes moved to the weapon still strapped to Hovan's back. The blade that had cost them everything. The sword that was supposed to change everything.

It glinted faintly, water streaking along its smooth, unmarked surface. Cold. Silent.

"The sword doesn't even work," she continued, her voice rising. "It rejected us. We risked everything to find it. Thomrik—" She faltered. "Thomrik gave his life for it. And we're no closer to stopping Baragor than we were without it."

Benji shifted beside her, the soft scrape of his boots against the stone floor. "Then we find a way to make it work," he said. His voice wasn't loud, but it was certain.

Raelyn turned to him, eyes red-rimmed. "Where would we even start?"

Sylvy stepped forward. "We go to Eryndoriel. The libraries, the records—our people will have something. Some clue about the weapon's true nature. We'll hit the books. Find anything that could help."

Danio crossed his arms. "Brystwy Forest is under siege. If we go that way, we'll be running straight into a demon army."

Lira shook her head. "We'll send word ahead using the Nydelian. Our people will meet us along the forest's edge. They'll clear the way."

Benji nodded, thoughtful. "It's a risk. But it's not like we have any other options."

Hovan, who had been silent until now, crossed the floor slowly. His cloak dragged wet across the ground, the hilt of the weapon still protruding over his shoulder. He looked to each of them in turn.

"Then it's decided," he said. "We go to Eryndoriel."

Danio exhaled, running a hand back through his damp hair. "How would we even get there?" he muttered. "Demons are still hunting us. It's not like they are going to stop any time soon. Not now that we have what they're after."

Hovan turned to Lira and Raelyn. "Can you two give us cover again?" he asked. "Like before?"

Lira closed her eyes. She didn't need to answer right away. The tremor in her shoulders spoke for her.

"My medial's dry," she said finally, opening her eyes with effort. "I've got nothing left. Not for something that big."

Raelyn swallowed. "Neither do I," she echoed.

Lira looked around the ruin with a grimace. "We may be able to siphon from the land—but it's dark here. Twisted. It'll hurt."

"I'll try," Raelyn said, almost to herself. "The process would hurt Lira, but I can use the raw, ancient magic. Tainted or not."

Lira gave a slow nod. "That might work. The magic here is corrupted, but you're better suited to handle it. You don't need to siphon it like I do."

"Good," Hovan said. "As soon as you can summon the mist again, we move. No stops. No hesitation."

He looked toward the battered window, where the morning light was beginning to rise.

"We run," he said. "And we don't stop until we reach the border of Anderwyn."

A quiet settled over them, different from the silence of grief. This was the stillness that followed after choices had been made. After paths had been drawn in the dust, bloodied and uncertain, but chosen all the same.

It was the silence of resolve.

Rakz stirred beside Lira.

Raelyn's head snapped toward him. He let out a faint, rasping breath, barely more than a whisper of sound, but enough to prove he was still there. Still holding on.

Her heart clenched. She reached across the space between them and brushed a trembling hand over the length of his scaled back. His body was warm, but fragile beneath her touch. His breathing shallow.

"We'll get you out of here, Rakz," she whispered. "Just hold on a little longer."

He didn't stir, but his breathing continued, steady in its frailty.

Raelyn closed her eyes. She had nearly lost him. Like she had lost Thomrik. And still, they weren't finished bleeding. The road ahead offered no rest. Only more demons, more darkness, more sacrifice. 

Her thoughts drifted to the god she had whispered prayers to in the dark. Lucifer, the lightbringer. She had asked him to protect them. To guide them safely through the shadows.

But still Thomrik had died.

Rakz had nearly followed him. Her friends had been torn, beaten, scattered. And for all her belief, for all her desperate faith—Lucifer had not answered. It was hard not to wonder now, in the hollow quiet of the windmill, if he ever would.

Maybe he already had. Maybe he had turned away.

Raelyn opened her eyes and looked to the sword, its surface gleamed faintly in the dim light. It hadn't responded to her. Not to any of them. And yet they had bled for it. Killed for it. Thomrik had given everything for it.

She had believed it would be the salvation of Unevia. That this was the culmination—the weapon of the gods, the final piece. But now, she saw it for what it truly was. 

The beginning of something far greater. Far more dangerous.

Even if the gods had turned their gaze away—even if Lucifer had forsaken her—she wasn't alone. Not truly. Hovan still stood at her side. Benji, with his unwavering optimism. Danio, now more dedicated and motivated than ever. Sylvy and Lira, fierce and faithful. And Rakz—small and injured, but still breathing.

They were all she had left.

And she would believe in them the way Thomrik had believed in her.

The demons would come. Baragor was still out there—watching, scheming, summoning legions to hunt what remained.

Their journey had only just begun.

But Raelyn would meet it with fire in her blood.

Because Unevia was far from saved.

The sword may not have chosen her yet. But she had chosen her path. And she wasn't done fighting.