There was no hope. This was the end. Everything was lost. He was gasping for air, his vision starting to blur. Crab tightened his grip on his neck, and it wouldn’t be long before it snapped. The only solace was that he would likely lose consciousness before that happened.

The plan had failed. He had wished he could free Crab and have him, alongside the boy, take care of any soldiers that might appear while he faced the Count. The final outcome depended on Alaric getting close enough to the young man. Close enough to... it didn’t matter anymore. Everything was lost.

He tried to glance sideways, searching for some means of escape. He saw the Count, who had removed the pendant from his neck and was toying with it in his hand before slipping it into a pocket. Lysandra and Zarinia were on the ground beside their dying mother. Both of them were utterly exhausted, barely able to move. Zari held Edel’s head in her lap, sobbing uncontrollably and murmuring incomprehensible words. Meanwhile, Lysandra had begun crawling toward him. “Why?” he thought. “It won’t do any good.” Even at full strength, she couldn’t have moved the giant off him. And poor Verruga, his face bloodied, was held captive by two soldiers while a third struck him repeatedly. He collapsed to the ground only to be hauled up again, over and over. They were going to beat him to death. Everything was lost.

Alaric cast one last look at Crab as his world grew darker, blurrier, and the sounds around him began to fade. Yet, he noticed something different in the giant’s eyes. It was no longer a gaze of mindless fury. There was a glimmer of doubt, of inner struggle. The purple glow in his pupils was fading. The massive arm that crushed his neck trembled slightly, and Alaric felt the pressure ease. He managed to draw a shallow breath. The claw pinning his sword made a faint attempt to open. The giant squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his teeth, and roared like a beast breaking invisible chains.

And at that moment, Alaric realized that Brisur was back in front of him. Tears filled the man’s eyes. He mumbled something, his gaze unfocused. Then he seemed to truly see Alaric for the first time.

“Twig. My friend. Forgive me,” he said, his voice deep and hoarse.

The hand released his neck. The claw let go of his sword. Suddenly, the smirk disappeared from the red-haired witch’s face.

“Don’t worry, it wasn’t you—it was her...” Alaric managed to say, his voice barely a whisper.

“Listen to me. I don’t have much time,” Crab interrupted, his tone bitter. “I won’t be able to hold the door closed much longer. I need you to remember one thing, my friend. You can’t save everyone all the time. Sometimes, you have to save yourself first. Because this world needs people like you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you already saved me once. The wretch I was, the cursed Bocadulce, died the day you pulled me from the flames. All the time I’ve had since then, being Crab, I owe it to you, my companion. It’s been like a gift. A new life. Now it’s time for me to return the favor. Goodbye, Alaric. My friend. My brother.”

Before Alaric could react, Brisur seized his sword and plunged it into his chest. The blade pierced his heart. Alaric collapsed beside his friend, catching his breath, staring blankly at the distant vaulted ceiling. He could feel life slipping away from Brisur’s body next to him. He couldn’t speak; he could only embrace him silently and let his tears blur everything around him.

“Well, dear sister. The bald giant was stronger than you thought, wasn’t he?” the Count said mockingly. She cast him a look of pure disdain, sharp enough to pierce him like a spear of raw hatred.

Alaric felt a fire ignite within him. A blazing fury burned through his entire being. He roared, pushed Brisur’s body aside, and stood once more. The Count turned, startled. He hadn’t expected “that old man” to have any strength left, let alone to charge at him, leaping three steps at a time and charging like a bull with his sword still wet with his friend’s blood. So surprised was the Count that he barely managed to draw his blade and deflect the attack. What he couldn’t avoid was the impact that sent them both tumbling to the ground. They rolled and lost their weapons. They grappled, attempting to strike each other as they wrestled, their struggles punctuated by punches, elbows, and even bites.

Lysandra continued crawling forward, inching her way to Brisur’s lifeless body. She closed his eyes with infinite sorrow. But no tears fell; she had none left.

For a moment, it seemed Alaric might have the upper hand against the Count. The soldiers abandoned Verruga’s battered body on the floor and rushed to aid their young master. But Lenna gestured for them to stop. She appeared to be enjoying the fight.

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Unfortunately, Alaric was too weak. Despite the initial fury of his attack, the Count quickly recovered. He struck Alaric with a sharp elbow to the cheek, dazing him, then planted a boot on his chest and kicked him down the stairs. Alaric tumbled to the base, landing near Lysandra and Brisur’s lifeless form. The Count stood, blood dripping from his nose and a smirk playing on his bruised lips.

“Enough games. I’m going to finish this,” he said, catching his breath and retrieving his sword. “Don’t worry, I won’t kill you all just yet. I want you to enjoy everything that’s about to happen.” He strode toward Zarinia and Edel with long, purposeful steps.

“Lysa, take my hand,” Alaric whispered as he crawled closer to her. She complied, and for a moment, he saw surprise in her eyes, followed by realization, and finally sorrow, as she understood what was about to happen.

Zarinia struggled to shield her mother, placing herself between them, but the Count kicked her aside effortlessly.

“It’s nothing personal,” he said to Edel, his cold eyes locking on hers. He smiled and pulled the medallion from his pocket once more, displaying it for all to see.

“It’s time for the new Guardian to rise,” he said mockingly, his voice dripping with disdain.

Lenna’s laughter echoed through the room. But her expression changed in an instant, as though a dagger had pierced her chest. Her malicious grin twisted into a desperate scream. Her confident eyes widened in a mask of terror. Alaric glanced at Edel and could read the words on her lips: “Thank you.”

“Don’t do it!” Lenna screamed at her brother, raising her hand with all her strength. “You fool! Stop!”

Too late. The young man had already plunged his sword into the old woman’s chest. Zarinia’s anguished cry filled the air. Lysandra clung to Alaric on the ground, averting her gaze, horrified. Lenna shrieked hysterically at her brother:

“It’s not her! It’s not her!” she wailed, clawing at her face in despair, unable to decide whether to run toward the boy, the old woman, or the others.

Edel exhaled her final breath. But she smiled. The Count, still oblivious, turned toward his sister, shrugging as he once again held up the medallion, triumphant. But his expression shifted suddenly, from uncontested victory to shock and disbelief. He turned to Alaric, his mouth agape. Alaric met his gaze, defiant, and in that instant, he saw the young man realize the truth. Despite the pain in his body and soul, Alaric couldn’t help but smile.

The scuffle on the ground had been a ruse. Alaric’s only goal was to get close enough to make the switch. The medallion the Count now held was fake, the replica that had started this entire ordeal. That had been the real plan all along. Edel had been crystal clear: it didn’t matter what happened to any of them. No sacrifice was too great. The only thing that truly mattered was taking the medallion away from the young man.

The Count’s expression of shock turned to one of terror. His gaze shifted away from Alaric and toward Lysandra, who now held the true Amulet of Vanar-Gash. It shone in her hand with a blinding red light, as if the medallion itself reflected the fury burning within the new Guardian’s heart. She rose into the air, floating, her eyes glowing green and outshining even the medallion’s brilliance, illuminating the entire chamber. Her long, black hair billowed as if caught in an invisible storm, framing her like a dark halo. The strange-helmeted soldiers, terrified, tried to flee, but Lysandra didn’t let them. A brilliant ray of light shot from her hand, striking all three of them down instantly. They fell, engulfed in jade-green flames.

Lenna screamed and rose into the air as well. Both women floated at the center of the room, the air around them crackling with green sparks and violet flames. The impending clash of magic felt overwhelming. Alaric could feel the power surging through the chamber, making the hairs on his skin stand on end. But with a single gesture from Lysandra, Lenna plummeted to the ground, weak and insignificant. Lysandra approached her, holding the glowing medallion aloft. The red-haired witch crawled backward, horrified, averting her eyes as if the medallion’s glow seared her vision.

“This is all your fault!” Lenna screamed at her brother, her voice hoarse with rage and resentment. “Damn you! It was my chance, and you ruined everything. You’re all failures—first Trevina, and now you... But you’ll suffer for this. Oh, you will. You’ll come with me to the other side, and you’ll have all the time in the world to pay for it, along with your mother and your sister. It’ll be a grand family reunion, I promise you.”

With a wave of her hand, she sent the stunned young man—too shocked to react—hurtling toward the portal. He disappeared into its swirling red mist.

The Count fought desperately, trying to resist the pull. Alaric saw that there was no longer any trace of madness in his eyes. Instead, they were filled with terror, regret, and pleading.

“Help me, please! Save me! Don’t let her take me!” the young man sobbed, fully grasping his fate.

Despite everything that had happened, despite the pain and the hatred, Alaric couldn’t stand idly by. He ran, climbing the steps to the stone arch, and grabbed the Count’s gloved hand. But the force pulling him was too great, dragging Alaric along as well.

At that moment, he felt Lysa’s hand on his shoulder and heard her whisper the last words Brisur had spoken: “You can’t save everyone all the time. Sometimes you have to save yourself first. Because this world needs people like you.”

“I’m sorry,” Alaric said, the only words he could muster as he released the Count’s hand.

He would never forget the young man’s final, desperate look of pure horror as the portal consumed him, and the stone returned to its natural state—solid, cold, smooth, and unyielding.