Epilogue
T he world had narrowed to a dim haze of light and shadow.
Blood slicked his hands, sticky and warm as he pressed them to the wound on his chest. It wasn’t enough—he wasn’t enough.
He felt the life leaking out of himself, the edges of his vision blurred as the stars above danced and flickered like distant ghosts.
Thoughts trailed to the woman he loved more than anything else in existence.
She was the best parts of every season. A soft spring fog curling over the green-stitched mountains.
The shimmer of sunlight skimming warm ocean waters in summer.
The scent of autumn—rich, earthy, golden—carried on a wind that always felt like home.
The hushed crunch of muffled snow under the weight of a boot.
The brightest star in the night sky—distant, radiant, and the last thing he wanted to see before everything went still.
She was all of it. Every moment that ever made life feel like something worth holding onto.
Her face burned in his mind. Not the way she looked when she smiled at him, though he’d spent a thousand nights memorising that .
And then wonderful memories went dark. This was different—her expression when she realised the truth. That he wouldn’t be there when it mattered most. He’d failed her, and the thought was hollowing.
The pain in his chest was worse than the blade that had been plunged through him.
It wasn’t just the agony of the wound—it was the weight of failure crushing him.
How could he leave her like this? Unprotected, vulnerable, while the world he had fought so hard to shield her from continued to close in?
The guilt was unbearable. He wanted to cry out, to fight against the darkness pulling him under, but the truth loomed large: he had failed. And nothing, not even the gods, could change that now.
He tried to move, but his body refused. His breaths were shallow, each one more ragged than the last. Around him, the world seemed to quiet. The chaos of the fight faded, leaving only the whisper of the wind and the faint hum of something he couldn’t name.
Then, he saw someone, or felt them rather, and the world around him grew so cold it burned.
A figure stepped into view, cloaked in shadow, the edges of their form shimmering as if they didn’t belong to this world.
Their voice was low and resonant, a sound that sent a chill down his spine even as warmth still somehow flooded through him, though it wouldn’t be long before it left him for good.
Her dark gown trailed across the ground like smoke, and her pale hands glimmered faintly in the moonlight. The edges of her figure shimmered, as if she were carved from the night itself. Her face was obscured beneath a black hood, but her eyes—gods, her eyes—shone like twin shards of frost.
“So, this is he who resists the end.” Her voice was quiet, smooth as silk, but it carried a weight that felt like a blade pressed to his throat. “What binds you to a life already undone?” She knelt beside him, her movements unnaturally fluid, like a predator deciding when to strike.
He tried to speak, to ask her what she wanted, but the words wouldn’t come.
She leaned closer, her shadow spilling across his face. Her gloved hand brushed his cheek, a touch both searing and icy.
“You fought with the strength of a living mortal,” she murmured, her voice almost tender. “But all things turn to their end, and your time has come. ”
Her fingers lingered near his chest, pulling at something deeper than flesh—something ancient, as though she sought more than his life alone.
“A shame,” she said, tilting her head as if she could see through him. “So much of her is written on your soul, so much of your heart beats only for her. Much remains that you would have done for her.”
Her name screamed in his mind, but his lips wouldn’t form the word.
“Did you see the betrayal before it struck? I watched as the two of them stood over you—Indech and the other did not linger to savour your fall. Too caught in a sick and twisted celebration, I suppose.”
“I find it curious you breathe, yet not by your own will. Much of that has to do with her. You are… different this time. You once let memory break you, but you stand taller now. I had dared to hope.” The old crone sighed, a sound that felt heavy with something close to pity.
“Either way… she shall mourn you. That will be enough.”
‘ Enough for what? ’ he wanted to shout as it burned in his chest. Was it enough for her to grieve him? To remember him in fleeting moments and shadows, as the world demanded she move forward without him?
He wasn’t ready to be a memory. He wasn’t ready to be forgotten.
But what choice did he have? If this was truly the end, then what remained of him belonged to her, even if only in the spaces he left behind.
His chest tightened as her hand pressed lightly against his skin.
A cold so deep it felt endless poured through him, dragging him into the dark.
And then she paused.
The hand stilled, and her head tilted again, as if listening to something distant. Her eyes narrowed beneath the hood, and for a single heartbeat, the surrounding silence roared like a storm.
“No,” she said, her tone calm but edged with finality, as though addressing a force unseen. “Not yet.”
The shadows coiled tighter around her, and though her face was hidden, he felt her smile.
“Eternal rest shall wait,” she whispered, rising to her full, towering height. “Soon, the river will carry you to peace, and the weight of this world will no longer burden you.”
He tried to speak, to beg for healing, but the sound that tore from his throat was raw and agonised. There was no mercy present in what touched him .
And then, light—brighter than bright—erupted around them, blinding and searing. It consumed everything, swallowing shadow and flame alike, until there was nothing left but silence.