The hour-long trek through the ruined city weighed heavily on Merlot's spirit. Every step brought back memories of the life he once knew: the bustling streets, the laughter of children, and the sound of markets filled with life. Now, it was nothing but silence, interrupted only by the distant creaks of the rubble shifting as the city groaned under its own destruction.

At last, they spotted Zavet. The lizard-man was hunched over, working alone in a large pit of debris. His scales seemed dull, and his face looked paler than Merlot had ever seen before, an unsettling contrast to the energy he displayed during the tournament. Zavet was digging furiously, his movements efficient but lacking the strength of purpose they once held.

Merlot approached carefully, stepping over broken beams and scattered stone. “You don't mind if I help you, do you?” he asked softly, his voice carrying a gentle kindness.

Zavet looked up, his yellow eyes tired and dull. He forced a small, strained smile as if it took more energy than it should. “Ok,” he answered quietly, his tone devoid of enthusiasm.

Merlot crouched beside him, taking in Zavet's worn appearance. The lizard-man looked exhausted, his scales scraped and bruised from constant work. Despite the clear signs of fatigue, Zavet continued his task with a methodical precision, digging through the wreckage as if the weight of the entire kingdom rested on his shoulders.

Merlot took a deep breath, introducing himself, “My name is Merlot.”

Zavet nodded weakly, acknowledging the introduction without pausing in his work. Meanwhile, the White Orchid knight who had accompanied Merlot, Ulrich, maintained a respectful distance, his eyes scanning the area for potential threats. He stepped forward with a nod and introduced himself, “Ulrich Orchid.”

Merlot shot Ulrich a knowing look and smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “That’s the queen’s older brother. Bit of an asshole, though,” he added with a chuckle. “Necessary, but everything that comes out of his mouth is… well, shit.”

Ulrich laughed and tossed a small piece of broken brick playfully at Merlot, the levity of the moment bringing a brief flicker of life back to the scene. Zavet looked up at them with furrowed brows, his expression serious. “That’s not nice,” he said quietly, clearly not amused by their banter.

Without warning, Zavet bent down and effortlessly lifted a massive chunk of debris—at least three hundred pounds, Merlot guessed—and tossed it aside as if it weighed nothing. Beneath the rubble, a decaying, broken form stirred—a citizen of the city, turned undead by the lingering necromantic energies that still plagued the area.

Zavet’s face grew solemn. He crouched down, his clawed hand gripping a small dagger. With a swift, practiced motion, he plunged the blade into the heart of the undead, its hollow eyes going blank as it crumbled into dust. Merlot watched in silence as shadows began to swirl from the dagger, twisting and curling through the air like smoke. The shadows coalesced around Zavet’s wrists, forming bracers made of black leather and shadow, as if the very essence of death had gifted him this dark armor.

Merlot reached down, offering Zavet a hand, pulling him out of the rubble pit. Zavet climbed out without a word, his face still grim. He barely acknowledged Merlot’s help, instead moving immediately to the next pile of debris. Merlot watched him for a moment, his heart heavy with a mixture of concern and admiration for the young lizard-man’s resilience.

The night dragged on as the three of them continued their grim task. With each new pile of rubble they unearthed, more undead emerged—former citizens who had been trapped and consumed by the dark magic that had ravaged the city. Zavet moved tirelessly from one site to the next, his strength never faltering despite the increasing weight of the dead they discovered.

Merlot and Ulrich worked alongside him, doing what they could to assist. For every broken body they uncovered, Zavet delivered a swift and merciful blow, dispatching the undead with a practiced efficiency that betrayed his inexperience in years. The shadows that had gathered around his wrists grew darker and denser with each kill, though Zavet paid them no mind, his focus solely on his grim duty.

As the hours passed, the city around them remained eerily silent, save for the occasional shifting of stone and the soft moans of the undead as they were found. The moon hung high in the sky, casting pale light over the shattered remnants of the kingdom.

Finally, as the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, Merlot could feel exhaustion pulling at him. His muscles ached, his hands were raw from lifting stone, and his heart felt heavier with every step. He turned to Zavet, who was still digging with the same intensity he had started with hours ago.

“Zavet,” Merlot called softly, approaching the lizard-man. “We need to rest. We’ve been at this all night.”

Zavet didn’t respond. He continued working, pulling another stone slab free and tossing it aside. His eyes were unfocused, his movements almost mechanical. It was clear he was running on nothing but sheer willpower at this point.

Merlot frowned, placing a hand on Zavet’s shoulder. “We need sleep, Zavet. You’ve done more than enough tonight. Let’s stop for now.”

Zavet finally paused, glancing over at Merlot. His face was blank, devoid of the emotions Merlot had grown accustomed to seeing from the young lizard-man. Without a word, Zavet shook his head and turned back to the rubble, resuming his work in silence.

Merlot sighed heavily, exchanging a glance with Ulrich, who had been watching the exchange. Ulrich’s expression mirrored Merlot’s own concern, but neither of them pressed Zavet further. They simply continued to work alongside him, knowing that trying to force him to stop would be futile.

And so, they continued, working through the rubble until the city was bathed in the soft glow of morning light.

As the first light of dawn filtered through the war-torn streets, Merlot turned to Ulrich, his expression weary but determined. “Let’s go talk to Lina,” he suggested. Ulrich nodded, knowing well that the day was far from over. The two men left Zavet to his grim tasks, making their way to the Krimlond embassy.

The city was eerily quiet as they walked, the echoes of the past night's work haunting them. The once grand structures of the city now lay in ruins, and the silence was only broken by the distant sounds of the undead that Zavet tirelessly hunted. It was a somber reminder of the destruction wrought upon their kingdom.

Upon arriving at the Krimlond embassy, the guards at the entrance immediately recognized the two men and stood aside, allowing them entry without question. Merlot, despite his exhaustion, maintained a calm demeanor. “Can you direct me to Lina?” he asked one of the guards, his voice carrying the weight of authority.

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The guard, a young man with a stern face, hesitated before replying, “She is still sleeping, Your Majesty.”

Merlot nodded understandingly. “Don’t wake her,” he instructed. “But can you have someone prepare breakfast for Sir Ulrich and me? We’ve been with Zavet all night.”

The guard gave a sharp nod before heading off to the kitchens, where he knew the staff would likely still be sleeping after the long night. The embassy was quieter than usual, the air thick with the exhaustion that permeated the entire city.

Merlot and Ulrich found their way to the common room, a spacious area with heavy wooden tables and chairs arranged for the embassy’s guests. The room, usually bustling with activity, was now almost empty, save for a few remnants of the night before. As Merlot sat down, his eyes landed on a large form sleeping on a pallet on the floor. He didn’t need to ask; he knew it was one of Krimlond’s own, too exhausted to make it to a proper bed after the previous day’s turmoil.

Ulrich sank into the chair beside him with a sigh of relief. The knight’s usually composed demeanor had been worn thin by the relentless strain of the past few days. “I’m going to need some sleep soon, Your Majesty,” Ulrich admitted, his voice laced with fatigue. “I haven’t slept in three days. I can’t fight like this.”

Merlot nodded, his concern evident in the creases of his brow. “I’ll be fine, Ulrich. Go get some rest. You’ve more than earned it.” Ulrich hesitated for a moment, clearly reluctant to leave his king, but the exhaustion won out. He rose from his chair and left the room, heading for the servant quarters where he could finally find some respite.

As Ulrich departed, a guard entered the common room carrying a large bowl filled with a hearty breakfast—diced potatoes, scrambled eggs, tomatoes, and sausage all mixed together. The aroma filled the room, a small comfort in the midst of so much loss. The guard set the bowl down in front of Merlot, his face apologetic. “I’m sorry, sir,” the guard said humbly. “Nobody was in the kitchen, and I didn’t know who worked there, so I made you what I had for breakfast this morning.”

Merlot managed a tired smile, grateful for the gesture. “Thank you,” he said, his voice warm. The simple meal was a welcome relief after the long night, and Merlot dug in, savoring the flavors as much as his exhaustion would allow. But before he could finish the bowl, sleep finally overtook him. His head dipped forward, resting on the table as he slipped into a deep, much-needed sleep.

Some time later, Merlot felt a gentle hand shaking his shoulder. He blinked his eyes open, groggy and disoriented. Hoat was standing beside him, concern etched on his face. “Hey, bud, get up,” Hoat said softly. “Let’s get you to a bed.”

Merlot mumbled incoherently, his mind still foggy from sleep. “I went and helped Zavet,” he managed to say, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “Someone needs to make him take a break. That poor child needs some rest… and food. Then I want to go back out with him.”

Hoat nodded, understanding the strain Merlot was under. He gently patted Merlot on the back and helped him to his feet. “I’ll send Runner out to get him,” Hoat reassured him. “But that kid’s been through a lot. They tortured him, even if it was just for a short time. He’s having a rough go of it, especially with some people blaming him for all of this.”

Merlot’s heart sank at the thought. He hung his head, the weight of guilt and sorrow pressing down on him. “So it’s not him,” he said softly, as if trying to convince himself. “As I suspected. Elandor told me he was good… I heard rumors he killed a lord of necromancy by himself.”

A voice from the corner of the room interrupted their conversation. Talich, who had been resting on the pallet, sat up and stretched, his muscles stiff from sleep. “He killed two of them,” Talich said, his voice gravelly from disuse. “He took down Elias and Kyln.”

The names meant little to Merlot, who was not deeply versed in the hierarchy of necromancers, but the gravity of Talich’s words was not lost on him. Few knew the names of the lords of necromancy, but the fact that Zavet had taken down not one, but two of them, was a feat that would have sent ripples through the kingdom, had it not been overshadowed by the catastrophic events that followed.

Merlot looked at Talich with a mix of awe and concern. The realization that this young lizard-man, barely old enough to understand his own power, had played such a crucial role in the battle against the necromancers left Merlot both impressed and deeply troubled. How much more would this boy have to endure before it broke him? How much more could he take before the burden became too great?

“I’m sorry,” Merlot said quietly, though it was unclear whether he was speaking to Talich, Hoat, or simply to the universe at large. “I didn’t know.”

Talich offered a small, tired smile. “None of us did,” he replied. “But we know now. And we’ll do what we can to protect him. He’s been through hell, and he’s still standing. That counts for something.”

Merlot nodded, the resolve in his heart hardening. Zavet needed protection, guidance, and rest. And Merlot would make sure he got it.

Merlot’s exhaustion was so profound that he barely remembered the walk to the private quarters. Each step felt heavier than the last, his body betraying his mind’s determination to stay upright. The corridors blurred together, and it was only thanks to Hoat’s steady support that Merlot didn’t collapse before reaching the bed. At some point, Hoat had to half-carry him, his strength the only thing keeping Merlot from sinking to the floor in sheer exhaustion.

By the time they reached the private quarters, Merlot’s awareness had faded almost entirely. He felt the soft give of the mattress beneath him, the cool sheets against his skin, but the sensation was distant. Sleep pulled him under before he could even offer Hoat a word of thanks. His last conscious thought was of Zavet, the young lizard-man he had left to continue his grim work among the ruins.

Meanwhile, as Merlot drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep, Runner was already making his way through the devastated city, searching for Zavet. The morning sun had risen fully now, casting a pale light over the shattered remnants of the once-thriving capital. The streets were eerily silent, with only the occasional sound of debris shifting or distant voices breaking the quiet.

Runner’s heart was heavy as he picked his way through the rubble, his mind replaying the events of the past days. The devastation was overwhelming, and it seemed impossible that the city could ever recover from such a blow. Yet, despite the chaos and the destruction, one thought remained clear in Runner’s mind: he had to find Zavet.

The young lizard-man had been through more than anyone should endure, and Runner knew that if Zavet continued to push himself, it would only be a matter of time before he broke. His pace quickened as he moved through the ruins, his eyes scanning the debris for any sign of Zavet. He searched building after building, checking every crevice and corner where the young man might have taken refuge.

It wasn’t until nearly midday that Runner finally found him. Inside a building that had somehow survived the earthquake relatively intact, Zavet lay unconscious, curled up on the cold stone floor. The sight of him, so small and vulnerable, tugged at Runner’s heart. The lizard-man’s usually vibrant black scales were dulled with exhaustion, his breathing shallow and uneven. It was clear that Zavet had pushed himself far beyond his limits.

Runner’s first instinct was to rouse him, to shake him awake and make sure he was all right. But as he knelt beside the young man, the exhaustion etched into every line of Zavet’s face stopped him. This wasn’t just the tiredness of a long day’s work—this was the deep, bone-weary exhaustion of someone who had carried too much for too long.

Runner sat down next to Zavet, leaning back against the cold stone wall. He glanced around the room, noting how it had weathered the quake with minimal damage. It was a small blessing in a city otherwise devastated. The thought crossed his mind that they had been incredibly fortunate that the Krimlond embassy had also survived unscathed. Had the quake hit there with the same force it had elsewhere, the losses would have been unimaginable.

With a deep sigh, Runner allowed himself to relax for the first time in what felt like days. His body ached with fatigue, and he knew that he, too, had been running on empty. But he couldn’t leave Zavet alone—not like this. So, he stayed where he was, his eyes growing heavier with each passing minute.

The room was quiet, the only sound the soft, rhythmic breathing of the two resting figures. Despite the destruction outside, there was a strange sense of peace in this small, undisturbed corner of the city. Runner could feel sleep tugging at him, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to fight it off for much longer.

With a final glance at Zavet to make sure he was still breathing steadily, Runner allowed his eyes to close. He let himself drift off into sleep, his head resting back against the wall. And there, in the midst of a ruined city, the two warriors slept side by side by side.