“It’s over…” he repeated, the phrase cracking under the weight of despair. His legs gave out, and he dropped to his knees, the sharp jolt of the impact barely registering in his mind. His head hung low, strands of sweat-slicked hair clinging to his face, obscuring the anguish etched into his features. His shoulders heaved with ragged breaths, each one carrying the weight of exhaustion, grief, and overwhelming guilt.
The battlefield around him seemed to blur, fading into a haze of silence and sorrow. Caelus’s mind replayed the horrific moment of Lorian’s demise in an endless loop—his barrier shattering, the look of terror on his face, the emptiness left behind. It felt like the world had stopped, leaving him trapped in a moment he could never escape.
Next, Caelus’s mind was dragged into another haunting memory, one that clawed at his soul with relentless cruelty. Elira’s final moments resurfaced with agonizing clarity, a wound that time could never heal. The scene unfolded in his mind like a nightmare he couldn’t wake from.
She had been so trusting, her bright eyes full of hope and naivety that had no place in the world they faced. Elira’s innocence was both her strength and her downfall. She had smiled as she wrapped her arm around the man in the stable, her laughter soft and carefree, completely unaware of the darkness lurking just beneath the surface.
Caelus had seen it, though—an unease that twisted in his gut, a warning he couldn’t quite put into words. He had tried to call out to her, tried to pull her back, but the words had caught in his throat. Why didn’t I act sooner? The thought burned in his chest like hot iron as he relived the moment over and over.
He remembered the way she smiled, her arm slipping around the man at the stables as if he were an old friend. There was no hesitation, no suspicion—only the warmth of her kindness. Then, in an instant, she was gone. Just... gone. The air where she had stood was empty, the echo of her laughter swallowed by a hollow silence.
I should have stopped her. The thought sliced through him like a blade. He had been there—close enough to act, to warn her. But he hadn’t. Maybe he’d been too slow, too uncertain. Maybe he’d wanted to believe, just for a moment, that not everyone they encountered was a threat.
His fists clenched at his sides, trembling with frustration and guilt. He could still see her face, the gentle hope in her eyes, a stark contrast to the horror that followed. It wasn’t fair—she didn’t know. She couldn’t have known. And now, she never would.
I failed them, he thought bitterly. The weight of it was unbearable, pressing down on his chest like a crushing tide. Each memory, each moment he had failed to protect his companions, was another brick in the wall of regret building around him.
Cheese, no longer the towering juggernaut of fury that had shaken the battlefield, had shrunk back into its familiar, diminutive form. Its body, once blazing with wrathful red, now glowed a faint, sorrowful blue—a hue that seemed to dim with every pulse. The soft light it emitted was feeble, as if even the act of existing had become a struggle.
It trembled, its gelatinous body quivering uncontrollably as it dragged itself forward. Each small hop was labored, as though the weight of its grief had rendered even the simplest movement almost unbearable. Its edges wavered, softening and collapsing inward, reflecting its fragile state.
With a quiet, almost pitiful determination, Cheese pushed itself toward Caelus. The effort seemed excruciating, its once-joyful bounces reduced to agonizing, faltering motions. The little slime’s quakes grew more violent the closer it came, and it let out faint, broken chirps—barely audible sounds that felt like cries of despair.
At last, it reached him. It pressed its small, quivering form against his leg, the only way it knew to offer comfort or to seek it in return. The gentle contact was wet and warm, but unlike its usual playful nudges, this touch was heavy with loss and longing. It lingered there, unmoving, as if willing Caelus to notice it, to acknowledge its pain.
Cheese’s glow dimmed further, fading into the deep, despondent blue of mourning. It didn’t bounce or chirp. It didn’t shift into playful shapes or swirl with curious colors. It simply stayed there, still and quiet, grieving in the only way it could. Its sorrow was palpable, a silent scream that needed no words, and its presence against Caelus’s leg was like an anchor dragging him deeper into his own guilt.
The slime’s touch was gentle, almost imperceptible, yet it carried a profound weight that words could never convey. Its soft, quivering form pressed against Caelus’s leg, conforming to the curve of his battered armor with an almost desperate determination. It wasn’t just seeking solace; it was offering it—an unspoken bond in the shared burden of grief.
Cheese trembled, its gelatinous body pulsing faintly as though struggling to hold itself together. The touch was warm but fragile, like the delicate caress of something on the verge of breaking. It clung to him with a quiet intensity, its presence steady despite the sorrow that radiated from its faint, sorrowful blue glow. Every faint ripple through its form seemed to carry the weight of its pain, a reflection of the unbearable loss they both shared.
But Caelus didn’t move. His hands rested limply on his thighs, his body still as if rooted to the ground by his grief. He stared blankly at the dirt, unable to lift his head, unable to respond. He felt hollow, like the creature’s dark energy had taken a piece of him when it died.
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Riven stood silently beneath the shadow of a gnarled tree, her small frame shrouded by the dark folds of her cloak. The hood was pulled low over her face, concealing her sharp features in shadow. Only the faintest glimmer of her eyes, cold and calculating, could be seen beneath the fabric.
Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, the tension in her posture betraying the storm of emotions she kept buried beneath her stoic exterior. Her fingers drummed lightly against her arm, a barely noticeable habit she did when deep in thought—or turmoil.
She bit the inside of her cheek, hard enough to sting, as if the sharp pain might anchor her in the present and drive away the memories threatening to surface. Her jaw clenched slightly, her gaze fixed on nothing in particular as the breeze stirred the rotting leaves above, casting restless patterns of light and shadow across her hidden face.
Darius stood silently beside Caelus, the weight of his halberd resting against the ground. His broad shoulders, usually squared with confidence, now slumped under the burden of loss. The metallic sheen of his weapon seemed dull in the dim light, the flames that had once danced along its edge extinguished.
He kept his head bowed, his eyes fixed on the ground as if searching for answers that weren’t there. His scaled hands tightened around the haft of the halberd, knuckles white with restrained emotion. The fire in his chest, the dragonborn fury that so often propelled him forward, flickered weakly, consumed by guilt.
Lorian’s absence cut deeper than he wanted to admit. Though he rarely voiced it, Darius had admired Lorian’s quiet resolve, his intellect, his unyielding spirit in the face of fear. And now... he was gone.
What could I have done? The question burned in his mind, looping endlessly. Should he have stepped forward faster? Drawn the creature’s attention away? Thrown himself into the fray to save the fragile mage? Or maybe I should have been more strict with Elira.
He didn’t have answers—only the suffocating weight of regret.
In the corner of his vision, Darius glanced at Caelus, his companion crumpled in despair. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come. What could he possibly say to ease the loss of someone they had all depended on?
Around them, the forest was eerily quiet. The sense of victory that should have filled the air was absent, replaced instead by the suffocating presence of loss.
Magnus approached Seraph cautiously, his own heart heavy with grief. She knelt in the dirt, frozen, staring blankly at the space where Lorian had stood just moments before. Her glowing runes flickered like dying embers, their light dim and uneven. Her expression was unreadable—her lips slightly parted as though caught in mid-breath, her body trembling as though it couldn’t decide between collapse and stillness.
Magnus hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to reach her, before finally stepping closer. He extended a steadying hand and gently placed it on her shoulder, his touch firm but comforting. The warmth of his presence seemed to seep through the cold shell of shock surrounding her.
At first, she didn’t react. Her vacant stare lingered on the ground, her fingers clawing weakly at the earth as if trying to anchor herself to reality. But then, as though Magnus’s touch unlocked something within her, a tremor ran through her body. Her shoulders heaved, and her head bowed low. The silence shattered as a single, wrenching sob tore from her throat, raw and unrestrained.
Her composure crumbled entirely. She turned into Magnus, clutching desperately at the fabric of his robes as if holding on to him would keep her from being swallowed by despair. The tears came in torrents, streaking down her face as she wailed, the sound carrying all the anguish she couldn’t contain. Each cry seemed to echo in the lifeless forest around them, a haunting reminder of what they’d lost.
Magnus didn’t speak. He didn’t offer platitudes or try to stop her tears. Instead, he simply stood there, grounding her, his hand moving gently over her back in a silent reassurance that she wasn’t alone in her grief.
From his shoulder, Pip stirred. The tiny creature, usually so spry and curious, moved hesitantly, its ears drooping and its tail wrapped tightly around its body. It crawled slowly across Magnus’s frame, its movements tentative as though unsure whether it should intrude. Finally, it reached the edge of Magnus’s shoulder, its round, shining eyes fixed on Seraph.
Pip crept closer, each step quiet and deliberate, its small frame practically trembling with the weight of the somber moment. It inched toward her, its tiny paws pausing just short of touching her arm. For a moment, it seemed uncertain, its head tilting as though it could sense the depth of her sorrow. Then, cautiously, it nuzzled its soft head against her trembling shoulder, a small, unspoken gesture of comfort.
Seraph’s sobs hitched as she felt Pip’s presence. She lifted her tear-streaked face just slightly, her trembling fingers brushing against the creature’s fur. Pip let out a soft, almost mournful chirp, staying close as if offering all the solace its tiny form could provide.
For a moment, in the quiet aftermath of devastation, the three of them stood together—Magnus’s steadfast strength, Pip’s tender curiosity, and Seraph’s breaking heart—bound by their shared loss and the fragile comfort of each other's presence.
The silence pressed on Caelus like a vice, broken only by Seraph’s distant, muffled sobs and the faint, sorrowful chirps of Pip. Still, he was rooted to the spot, not knowing how to ease the pain that hung in the air like a stormcloud.
But then, cutting through the oppressive silence like a blade, came a voice. Soft at first, trembling, yet impossible to ignore.
“Guys…?”
The word hung in the air, fragile and uncertain, yet it carried a weight that made everyone freeze. Seraph’s sobs hitched mid-breath, Magnus’s comforting hand faltered, and Pip’s soft chirps stopped as it turned its ears toward the sound.
Cheese jolted upright, its small, gelatinous body quivering as it turned sharply toward the source of the sound. Its normally soft, fluid motions were now tense and deliberate, each ripple of its form betraying heightened alertness.
Caelus, still on his knees, lifted his head, his tear-streaked face tightening in confusion. His heart thudded painfully against his ribs, unsure if he’d truly heard what he thought he had.
“Guys!” the voice came again, stronger this time, carrying an edge of desperation.
Eyes darted toward the source. It wasn’t the creature. It wasn’t a trick of the wind or the forest. It was...