Chapter One Hundred and Twenty
What Comes After
The eruption of starfire could be seen over the top of the walls. Frankly, Rose would’ve been surprised if they hadn’t seen it from Ariaton. And from the moment the light appeared to the moment it vanished, a part of her knew.
She ran anyway.
Rose erupted into the Forges to find it empty for the first time since she’d arrived at the stronghold. The coals were grey and cold. Tools discarded on the floor. It was quieter than a tomb.
On the left-side of the chamber sat Archie’s forge. In the belly of the coals, a glimmer of shifting light shone through. It was a small flame, no bigger than a candle wick’s ember, dancing politely in the echoing silence.
Rose drive her hand in, and her knuckles screamed as she awoke some of the resting heat in the belly of the forge, but she didn’t so much as she flinch. Her skin blistered and charred as she pulled the Immortal Flame up. It shifted from purple to red as she raced down the forum, leapt over the wreckage of the main gates and barrelled across the Obthraie bridge. Her sight was blurred by the wind and in the palm of her hand the flame washed gentle chills and waves of heat through her fingers.
In the distance, alone on the field, Nichole was curled up at Michael’s side.
Rose felt her lungs begin to burn and her heart thumping so loudly that she could scarcely hear her own feet striking the mud beneath her. It’s not too late. It’s not too late. It’s not too late.
Nichole looked up, trembling and bleary-eyed as Rose came skidding to a stop and dropping to her knees. The ranger watched Rose undo the leather armour on Michael’s chest. It didn’t budge and Rose realised the arrow was keeping it pinned. She grabbed and tried to pull the arrow free, pulling Michael’s torso violently.
“Rose, what are you doing?” Nichole sobbed, feeling her breaths grow sharp.
“This will work.” Rose couldn’t pull it free. She stopped and thought for a cold moment, then let it go. Instead, she cut away the straps on Michael’s side and pried the armour open like an oyster, pushing her hand in up onto his bloody chest. His body was cold.
Nichole looked at her face, watching it as she tried to stay cold and clearheaded. “He’s dead.”
Rose ignored her and pushed her fist, with the flame enclosed within, over to his heart skin. Her knuckles brushed the arrow and she set the glowing light then, withdrawing her hand. The flame’s shifting glow danced beneath the armour. She could see it changing from a gentle orange to true red, casting pale colours up his neck and through the gaps in the side. Rose sat up straight and tried to push it down into him, as though performing resuscitations, cursing all the while. “Come on, Michael.”
“Rose, please.”
“It’ll work.”
Nichole watched her push down hard on the dead boy’s sternum, unable to stop the tears. “Rose, stop!” She covered her mouth, crying into her hands.
Rose’s eyes began to glisten and she began striking Michael’s chest with the meat of her fist. “It’ll work!”
Nichole shouted all the more, grabbing the mage and pulling her onto the ground as she tried to force her way back over to him. Nichole wept while Rose screamed and cursed her, struggling against her but Nichole didn’t let her go. The sorceress gave an ungodly scream and collapsed into her friend’s arms, sobbing from deep in her stomach. In amongst the breathless wailing, Nichole heard her say, “I didn’t get to say goodbye,” and all the while, the Immortal Flame sat, casting odd colours and flickering in the autumn wind.
The world was quiet, and it was a long time before any words came of them.
Rose lay with her face buried deep in Nichole’s chest, while the dark-haired ranger sat looking gently at Michael’s body. She stroked Rose’s mud-covered curls, and finally she let out a long, broken sigh.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
“We can’t leave him out here.”
Rose nodded, still leant against Nichole’s chest, and finally pulled herself back up, puffy-eyed and streaked with tears. She moved slowly over to Michael’s body, numbly pulled out the useless flame, and took him by the legs. He was already so cold, and the thought sent her shaking with tears again.
Nichole picked up his bow and quiver, slinging them over her shoulder before she gently scooped him up under the arms. The feeling of the wind on her skin, the hardness in her heart, even the far echoing footsteps falling away within the cavern became deadened to her. The light weight of his body in her hands was all Nichole could feel. She scarcely even noticed Nikereus lying unconscious behind them.
Through the fields they carried him, across the dark stone bridging the moat, and through the wreckage of the main gates. They walked in the ruined forum, idly looking over the splintered tables and the decimated pavilion. The braziers which lit their dinners were all cast over, many crushed, while others were simply cold and flameless, for the first time in aeons.
Nichole and Rose mounted the steps of the keep, and quietly brought him toward the doors, doing their best not to jostle or tug him needlessly.
James and Carter were sat double-checking other Legacies for wounds when the two women walked through the mangled entryway, holding their old friend’s body between them.
Sarah and Oliver were further down the passage when they heard James’ scream. They turned to see Nichole and Rose lie him on the floor of the keep, as the curly-haired boy collapsed in wailing sobs, ripping his hair while Carter stood, completely still.
Oliver and Sarah walked dazedly down the passageway toward them all. The swordsman wept and for a moment couldn’t decide what to do until he saw James roaring in pain, striking his bare fists into the marble floors. He raced over to him, restraining his violent grief and cried as he did so.
James only yelled all the more, shouting, “Let me go! Let me go!”
“No!” Oliver cried. “Honey, no!” holding him so tight, he could feel James’ chest shake as he wailed.
Klaryah was sat off to the side, watching devastated as Carter couldn’t even bring himself to move. She lowered her gaze out of respect when she frowned and asked, “What kind of arrow is that?”
James’ cries came to a quivering halt as he looked to the arrow planted in Michael’s body, and Nichole sobbed, “One of mine.”
Carter looked to her in confused silence and James turned his dark gaze upon her, asking, “What do you mean?”
Nichole bowed her head but it was Rose that spoke, “We were out of time. Nikereus beat us. Only way to them, was through him, and Michael made the call.”
James sat there upon his knees, staring vacantly into his friend’s face. He reached out and moved a hair away from Michael’s eye, while a cold, green light burned in the veins around his neck. He gritted his teeth as more tears leaked from his eyes, and with one last strangled sob, he let himself collapse at Michael’s side weeping, while his Arcancy subsided again.
Carter knelt down beside his two oldest friends and ran his hand through Michael’s hair. He was unable to close his eyes, staring at the boy’s pale face, knowing how ugly their last conversation had been. How pointless.
Dotted around the ruined hall, the surviving Legacies sat for a short while, ensuring they wouldn’t collapse if and when they wanted to stand. Lillian, Sidney, and Flinn began aiding the worst of the wounded to the med-bay, where the restorician was commanded only to use bandaging. The moment the warriors left, she attempted to use her Arcancy, only to burst a blood vessel in her eye, at which point Lillian decided there was plenty of bandages to go around.
Carlisla helped whilst nursing her cauterised stump of an arm. One handed, they helped Kirkley and Marken moving the dead from the courtyard, if only to find somewhere more comfortable to put them.
Jack hobbled back into the keep with Karmine, and as they looked over the grief of Michael’s friends, the Paladin Wing door creaked open, and the group of deserters stepped quietly back into the main room.
The hall only held a few stragglers, namely the cavern company, Jack, Klaryah, and a handful of others, each turning to see Royston and Jordan at the head of the group.
The moment Jack saw their uneasy glances, he knew what they’d down. “No…”
Before he could take a step down the hall, Klaryah stood up sharply and shook her head at Jack. “I’ve got this.”
They held their stare for a long moment before Jack sighed, too tired and deep in grief to fight. He turned and walked over to Nichole and the others, crowded around the young boy’s body, gentle asking, “Should we move him to his bed?”
Royston the harvester, and Jordan the lanky medical assistant, continued down the path and a small tone of muttering filled the space.
Klaryah took a deep, steadying breath and began working toward them.
Jordan smiled at her. “Hey, Miss Klaryah, thanks for that-”
The assassin brought out Amekot’s Imperial sword, grabbed Jordan with her off-hand and slammed him into a fractured pillar, pressing the blade to this throat. “I should let Jack kill you. I should have James rip your arms off. I should let the rangers fill you with arrows. You’re worse than traitors,” she spoke to the lot of them. “Because at least treasonous cowards make a choice to do something. But you?” she said with such disgust, “You just stepped aside and let your friends die.”
Jordan held his tongue in bitter shame as she shoved him away.
“Live with that. Or don’t. I don’t care.” There was a long beat as the rage bubbled inside her, and then she snapped, “Go help the others!” Klaryah turned just in time to see Carter and James pick Michael’s body up and began carrying him toward the Paladin corridor.