“You okay…?” I asked, glancing at the wound on Kaela’s leg.

  “...I’ll survive,” she said back with less attitude than usual, leaning on her spear.

  Selene stood with her arm against a pale stone wall, peering into the cathedral.

  Bront, his shield set against the fence, worked to remove arrows lodged impossibly deep in its surface.

  My hand unconsciously lingered at my chest, tracing the outline of Lun and Ten’s insignia, my gaze flicking between each of my party members' faces—each maintaining a mask of resolve over what I knew to be fear.

  Screaming—unending and throat-rending—echoed steadily from inside the cathedral as they worked to determine the catalyst of that woman's Fell corruption. My heart ached for Jango, the leader of her party. Their physiques were very similar—tall, toned, and dark skinned—so I had assumed they may have been relatives, or perhaps were from the same village. Having to watch helplessly as your partner…

  I couldn’t finish the thought.

  My mind turned inward as Night’s Reach carried on despite the cacophony of terror, both from within its own walls and beyond in those damned woods.

  The sweat on Bront’s brow, the strain in his forearms as he wrenched the arrows free, the rigidity of his sturdy body. It was like a personification of all of our struggles. Struggling to stay calm, fighting to stay alive, and in my case—reaching for reason.

  “I’m starting to feel like joining you guys was a mistake…” Kaela mumbled. Though sarcastic, the words still bit.

  She slumped down beside me, her pride finally giving way to exhaustion.

  I wanted to as well. A part of me, at least—just wanted to give up.

  My mind swam with uncertainty.

  Why was I doing this…?

  To become a better adventurer?

  But who was it for?

  Was it for the people of Night’s Reach? Was it for Lanton?

  My party?

  My mother…?

  I remembered the time Bront and I spoke in the late hours of the night, back in Tilver’s Crossing. Our motivations weren’t so different. He told me my purpose was strong… Even so, I couldn’t help but feel like every time I risked my life to save someone, it wasn’t just for me or for them. It wasn’t because I was some saint sent to save everyone…maybe—it was really just because, deep down, I was still that lost kid who wished he’d had the strength to save his mother.

  I flinched as a hand fell on my shoulder. When I looked up, Selene’s blue eyes pierced mine. She didn’t speak, but in them I saw her meaning: Yukon—come back.

  I shook my head, my senses refocusing, and I finally realized the screaming had stopped.

  Jango was the first to exit the cathedral, face darkened. He didn’t stop to speak to any of us. He and his shield-bearer simply descended the steps and quickly took their leave…

  Lyria came out next, mist pooling in her lavender eyes as they found mine and Selene’s. All she could do was shake her head.

  Selene put a hand on her shoulder next, comforting her. And in that instant, my internal struggles, my questions, they faded. Maybe I was being selfish, maybe I was still that same kid at heart—but I knew one thing for sure—tears shed for loved ones lost were something I would not allow. Not now. Not ever.

  As if in response to that conviction, the mark on my chest pulsed again, so faintly I might have missed it.

  Murasa and the rest of the Knights of Golden Light came out next.

  Celeste spoke first, her voice soft.

  “She… She didn’t make it,” she said, forcing herself to look up and meet our eyes. “She fought hard, and she did give us some insight that may change this battle—her sacrifice will not be in vain.”

  Bront stepped up suddenly, the only one of us, for once, with something to say. Perhaps it was his traditional heritage, or his instinct as a warrior. But as he scowled in determination, his words rumbled like distant thunder.

  “She died a warrior… Do not speak to me of what can be gained through her death. Our job remains the same. Kill those Fell bastards—over and over—until they stay dead. Then burn the field where they fall.”

  With that, he turned away. His footsteps falling like logs in a forest. We watched his back for a moment, understanding his words, and the pain in them. What he saw wasn’t someone else’s party member, or someone else’s friend. What he saw was a warrior, unjustly taken by horribly twisted magic…

  The Knights’ gazes fell one by one, all but Murasa’s.

  “...The corruption stemmed from a fell rune etched into the base of her neck… by the time we finally managed to dispel it, her body had deteriorated too far.”

  Murasa’s words came even, though the glint in his eyes showed how his own powerlessness infuriated him.

  “We don’t know how it got there—but if anyone else turns, our priority is to find and dispel that rune as soon as possible,” he said, eyes meeting each of ours. “The rest of you please return to your encampment for the night. We need you well rested for tomorrow.”

  With that he turned away, but yet again, not before his eyes flashed to mine.

  Celeste, Haizen, and Barton followed after him.

  Ron stumbled out of the cathedral next, his face a nauseous green.

  “Ron…? You were helping too?” I asked.

  He nodded, eyes never leaving the ground.

  “T-They… They called me in to help since I’m a cleric…” he trailed off for a moment. “There was nothing I could do…”

  I stepped forward, patting his shoulder. “You did your best… and besides—you saw how to dispel it, right? Just make sure no one ever falls victim to the same fate…”

  He gave me a reluctant nod and walked off on his own.

  I turned to Lyria, Kaela, and Selene. The three of us exchanged brief glances, no one bothering to speak up for now, and with that, we began heading back to camp.

  Night’s Reach continued to pulse around us. Soldiers, scattered adventurers, and townsfolk milled and moved about in ordered disarray. Most shops stood boarded up, even ones that had been open just yesterday. It was clear that the energy of the town was growing dimmer and dimmer.

  As I passed a random alleyway, a glint of something caught my eye. I couldn’t say why, but I felt a pull. I slowed as the girls walked on ahead, my eyes drawn into the dark alley. At the same time, the mark on my chest began to tingle…

  “...You guys go on ahead…” I muttered as I stepped into the alley, my feet falling as if entranced.

  Before I made it to the end, a well-armored arm shot from the shadows, pulling me with surprising force and slamming me into an old stone wall.

  I blinked up in shock, and what greeted me were those same, almost glowing, amethyst eyes.

  Murasa stared me down, the purple scales edging his face seeming to bristle, his horns pointed and sharp. His expression and presence held a weight I hadn’t experienced since confronting Prince Elledor…

  But… Just what in the hell did he want with me?

  * * *

  Night’s Reach continued to hum faintly. Torches flickered, voices murmured in the distance. Somewhere within the old walls, soldiers barked orders over the sound of metal on metal—echoing like a heartbeat against the dying quiet. Murasa’s grip didn’t waver.

  His gauntleted hand pressed against my shoulder, not hard enough to bruise—but enough to make me feel every ounce of his strength.

  “Do you enjoy walking alone, boy?” His voice was low and calm, almost too calm.

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  I swallowed. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Murasa didn’t answer right away. His gaze flicked down to my chest, to where the mark burned faintly beneath my tunic. He released me, only to step back and draw the edge of a glowing sigil across the air with two fingers. The symbol pulsed gold, then sank into the stones, dimming the sounds from the street beyond. A divine barrier—privacy.

  “You’ve hidden it well,” he said. “But not from a servant of Aurelia.”

  I froze, heart hammering. “What are you talking about?”

  “You carry two divine presences inside you,” Murasa said, his tone neither accusing nor gentle. “Twin forces—radiant and void. I have felt their pull since the day you entered our ranks. I chose to watch. To see if you would reveal yourself through action, not word.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Then I saw what you did in the Fellwood.”

  My throat went dry. He’d felt Lunae.

  Murasa’s gauntlet flexed, light pooling around his fingers like liquid fire. “When you saved Celeste, I witnessed something few mortals ever touch. The breath of divinity. And yet…” He tilted his head slightly. “That light vanished again. You walk now as though it never existed.”

  “I didn’t ask for it,” I muttered.

  “That much is clear,” he said evenly. “But you bear it nonetheless.”

  The silence between us thickened. His aura was suffocating—righteous, but not cruel. The kind of presence that demanded truth.

  “Tell me…who are these deities? Utter their names,” he commanded, brow creasing in anticipation.

  For a moment I considered whether I should tell him or not… but I knew he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  “...They are called Lunae and Tenebrae… They take the form of great white and black wolves. Ice and fire, light and void.”

  His brow creased further. “I… have only heard whispers of the deities of which you speak.” His eyes glassed over briefly, as if trying to recall something distant.

  His eyes returned to mine, as though he could find the answer within them.

  Finally, I said quietly, “They’ve gone silent. Both of them.”

  Murasa’s expression shifted, almost imperceptibly. “Since when?”

  “Since… that night,” I admitted. “When I gave in to the darker one.”

  For a moment, the paladin’s eyes softened, but his voice did not. “So you surrendered to it…?”

  I looked away. “I didn’t have a choice. I would’ve died, and people could’ve been hurt—Selene, Lyria, everyone.”

  He stepped forward, cutting me off with quiet authority. “You always have a choice. Even when gods whisper in your ear.”

  My fists clenched. “You think I wanted this? You think I want to carry something I don’t understand?”

  Murasa regarded me in silence. Then, almost like a verdict:

  “I think you are running. And gods do not chase cowards.”

  The words struck harder than any weapon. I felt my breath leave me, anger and shame colliding somewhere in my chest.

  He continued, his voice lowering but never losing its weight. “Aurelia shows me only fragments, but I know this much: your bond is not a contract—it is a wound. Two halves of divinity tethered to one mortal soul. They silence themselves because you have sealed them away with fear.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “You did,” Murasa said sharply. “You close your heart each time you deny what you are. Each time you hide that mark. You think you protect others by doing so, but you only make yourself hollow.”

  The glow from his sigil dimmed slightly, shadows reclaiming the alley. For a moment, I thought I saw genuine pity in his eyes.

  “You carry a burden no man should,” he said softly. “But you are the one chosen to bear it. Whether by fate, or folly, I cannot say. Only know this—”

  “The light you fear to use will be the same light that saves or destroys you, and perhaps us all.”

  His words lingered like the last echo of a bell. Then the sigil on the uneven stone faded, the sounds of the street returning in a distant wash.

  Murasa stepped past me, his cloak whispering against the cobblestone.

  “When your gods speak again,” he said without looking back, “decide whether you serve them—or they serve you.”

  And just like that, he was gone.

  I stood alone in the quiet alley, my hand pressed over my chest. The mark beneath my skin pulsed once, faintly… as if they too had heard his words.

  * * *

  As I walked back toward camp, Murasa’s words rang through my mind, tolling like a…

  I glanced up—

  —There it was.

  The tolling bell.

  Surely I should have gone straight to rest. My thoughts were as tangled as the black woods beyond the palisade, and the horrors I’d seen today would have shaken anyone.

  Instead, my feet carried me toward the bell tower. Lonely, half-swallowed by shadow, it stood in eerie silence beneath the cloud-streaked moon.

  Wordlessly and nearly thoughtlessly, I found the ladder at its center. Hand over hand, foot over foot, I made my way to the top where I settled beneath the cracked bell.

  Night’s Reach spread out below me. Flickering fires, lanterns, and torches illuminated small patches of the town. The rest lay smothered in mist and shadow. Off to the north, the palisades stood between us and the Fellwoods. Sylico’s shack let smoke trail into the night sky, its windows illuminated by dim candlelight. A patrol group walked through the snaking cobbled road just below the bell tower. I recognized them as members of Helaine’s party.

  I let my gaze drift up to the cracked bell and forced myself to face Murasa’s words…

  I had been afraid.

  Terrified of Tenebrae’s influence.

  Ashamed by my reliance on Lunae.

  My visions of Lunae’s disappearance, of Tenebrae’s malice—perhaps it wasn’t their doing at all, but my own weakness manifested in mirages of doubt and denial.

  I sucked in a deep breath, closing my eyes, holding, waiting, focusing on nothing but the mark etched into my skin.

  “Lunae. Tenebrae. I’m sorry for running… I am ready to face you once more…”

  My words floated away with the wind. I swore the mark pulsed faintly, but for a time, nothing happened.

  All of a sudden, the damp, cool wind that had blown around me was gone… the air felt—warmer. More gentle.

  I let my eyes inch open and what I saw made my breath catch…

  I was in a quiet wood, the plants a vibrant green, birdsong drifting through the air. Streaks of golden sunlight broke through the canopy, warming the soft soil. The ground was covered in short grass and mosses, flowers of every color dotted its surface. The place had a tranquility to it that felt almost divine.

  My gaze was pulled to the side. Through a tunnel of bending trees sat a figure, obscured and alone. My feet moved without command and as my body closed the distance, a butterfly floated just before me, as if guiding me. There, beneath the glowing boughs of a great willow sat a being unlike any I had ever seen. It had arms, legs, a head, a torso—human in shape, but its body was made of cracked stone veined with roots. Moss and tiny blossoms grew across its limbs. In its hand, it held a flower from which a tiny bird drank, its wings beating softly against the silence. Its eyes were twin gems of deep emerald light, unblinking yet full of life.

  Tears blurred my vision before I realized they had fallen. I felt a crushing sorrow—for the beauty, for the solitude, for reasons I couldn’t name. It felt as though this being stood alone against a dying world, holding its last glimmer of grace within its stillness.

  When I finally spoke, the word rose unbidden from my lips.

  “Grahamut…”

  The world convulsed.

  Color drained from the grove. Petals shriveled, moss blackened, and decay spread from the edges inward, devouring everything in silence. Still, the figure did not move. Its emerald eyes remained fixed on the bird—until it too collapsed into bone and dust. Thorned vines burst from the figure’s eye sockets; the moss turned to ash. And where there had been no mouth, a wide, terrible void opened—a scream with no sound.

  Everything inside me told me to turn away. My instincts, my reason, and even—Lun and Ten. I felt them now, their influence, both of them enraged, urging me away from the terrible scene.

  When I blinked they both sat to either side of the figure.

  “Yukon,” they said in one voice, resonant and echoing through the vision.

  “...This is what becomes of divinity when fear, loathing, and shame take root. When love gives way to grief. When power turns to corruption.”

  Their words coiled through me like fire and frost.

  “If you continue to flee, our fate may not be any different. The more you doubt, the more twisted I become. The more shame you feel, the less power I wield.”

  “Do not run any longer. Do not hide. Do not fear these powers for they are now your own. Your battle has only just begun…”

  Their voices resonated through my very being, I could feel the mark on my chest both burning and freezing, and the scene around me began rapidly melting away.

  “Please save him… Grahamut—the Grave Walker,” came one final whisper from Lunae and Tenebrae before the vision faded completely.

  I gasped, the damp air of Night’s Reach flooding my lungs once more. The bell above swayed silently, as if remembering an ancient purpose. The town beneath it lay cloaked in fog and uncertainty.

  The wind had picked up. It tugged at my hair and tunic as I stood beneath the bell’s shadow, my hand pressed over the faintly glowing mark.

  My instincts, it seemed, had been right all along.

  Something beyond the Fell stirred in Night’s Reach—

  —and whether I was ready or not, it was begging quietly for salvation.

  My nerves hadn’t faded completely, but I knew now what I had to do. No longer could I run from Lunae and Tenebrae—no longer could I act like a lost child. I had to seize my fate and shape it with my own hands.

  Their power was terrifying, yes—vast, consuming—but it was also mine. I drew upon the courage I’d found in those crystal caverns beneath Lanton, the fire that once burned when Lyria’s life hung in the balance, and I called to Lunae once more.

  Frost slipped from my lips. My eyes shimmered blue as the cold embraced me—not as punishment, but as memory.

  Then came Tenebrae.

  My heart thundered in anticipation.

  The world took on a red tint. My veins burned with black flame, claws pushing from my fingertips. But it didn’t take me this time. It didn’t devour. It yielded.

  When I opened my eyes again, I felt whole.

  Above me, the mist parted around the moon—and from somewhere beyond the veil, two howls echoed in unison. A summons. A promise.

  It was time to move forward.