A man lay dying on the floor, a floor littered with corpses, corpses of both friend and foe. A pool of crimson blood spread gradually from the man in a misshapen circle reaching towards the surrounding bodies. 

Short ragged breaths escaped his lips as he clung to life. Slowly he turned his head looking at the foe that had been felled with his final strike. Cold eyes stared back, eyes without life, without fire, without soul. 

The man closed his eyes for the last time, he had done it, he had bought his companions the time they had needed. By now they would be far enough away they would be safe. A safety purchased with the life of the man, a price he would always be willing to pay.

The goddess wept as she watched the man close his eyes for the last time. She felt sorrow beyond imagine, sorrow that left her empty, sorrow that pierced her very soul to the core. She wanted nothing more than to help the man but such help was forbidden. To dare defy the dictations of fate would be sacrilege beyond belief. So the goddess could only watch as the man died. 

As she watched she cried, her tears dripping down her face. The tears dripped from the delicate face and fell into the pool of blood. As blood and tears mingled the goddess reached out and plucked a sword from the blood soaked ground gently she laid the weapon on the chest of the man. She somberly reached out to clasp his hands in her own bringing them up to be wrapped around the hilt of his sword. 

She looked down at the man who had exchanged his life for those of his companions’. As she looked down at the man, a warrior who died protecting those around him. A death that many would claim was honorable but she could not bring herself to see it as a good death. She only felt sorrow...sorrow and shame for her failure to save him.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Time passed around them, a mourning goddess and a fallen warrior, one kneeling while the other lay dead. As time passed nothing of the two shifted, minutes turned to hours and still the goddess wept she wept until the tears stopped flowing until she could do no more than hold the warrior close. Slowly she bent her head down closer to his, she breathed out gently before their lips met. 

After their lips parted the goddess reached down and placed a single finger on the sword in the warrior’s grasp. As the goddess touched the cold bloodstained metal it began to glow with a soft golden light. She reached out towards the glow with her feelings, feelings of sorrow and shame. As she pressured the glow, the mixture of blood and tears around her floated up into the air forming tendrils that reached towards the sword fusing into the blade. Lastly she poured a piece of her very soul into the weapon a piece that had been connected to the warrior, a connection that had been formed long ago with an act of kindness and a promise. 

Silently Lyndri, minor goddess of the Alderali, walked away from the mess of corpses, walked away from the hero she had loved, walked away from the piece of her residing in the weapon held by the hero. She walked away from the ancient structure that was the final resting place of a man who paid for life with his own death.

Several miles distant from the final resting place of the warrior lay a meager camp. In the center of that camp lay a fire and around that fire sat a beleaguered group of adventurers. Not a word was spoken between the adventurers as they sat contemplating the flames and a fallen brother. 

Not a word was spoken as one stood and removed a simple silver chain from around his neck. Solemnly he approached the fire with the chain held tightly in his hand. The adventurer looked down at the chain one final time and with a tear in his eye he dropped the chain into the fire, and for the first time in several hours he spoke. His voice low as he recited the age old right for the fallen.

“His shield was strong and his sword was long. His honor stands with his quest now done.”