The sound of Claude’s ragged breaths filled the air, heavy and uneven, a stark contrast to the stillness around him. He lay sprawled on the cold, unforgiving ground, his chest heaving as pain lanced through his body.

Forcing trembling hands against the dirt, he pushed himself up as his panting slowed, though the burn in his muscles persisted. Yet, as he stood, a faint sound drifted into his ears.

Thud-Thud!

Parting his tousled hair from his eyes, Claude looked up to see Charles rushing toward him. “Claude?! Thank the stars!” Charles called out, similarly panting. “You're okay!”

Claude didn’t respond. His lips remained sealed as his eyes locked onto Charles. A strange silence stretched between them.

The stillness broke when the air near Charles began to warp and twist, as a spear of water materialised beside him.

"Woah!" Charles staggered back, hands raised defensively. "What are you doing? You can't just kill your partner!"

Like a silent executioner, the water spear hung in the air, its tip aimed squarely at Charles's chest.

Claude's shoulders heaved, and his chest rose and fell in uneven gasps. Sweat trickled down his temple, but his eyes, darkened by exhaustion, stayed locked on Charles.

"The Maskworn..." he muttered, his voice almost drowned by the pounding in his ears.

Charles tilted his head, frowning. "What about it?"

"It was described as cowardly..." Claude licked his lips.

"And...?" Charles answered, and a dash of unease danced across his features.

"Then why did it charge at us? Why did all its clones rush headlong into battle like that?" Claude's voice rose, each word tempered by a growing clarity. "A Voidspawn like that... it doesn't fight. It runs. And yet, it attacked us."

The spear inched closer as Charles let out a strained chuckle, glancing at it nervously. "We found eight children near the granary," Claude continued, his voice tightening, "but only seven were reported missing."

Charles opened his mouth, but Claude didn't stop. "Not only that..." His gaze bore into Charles, who took an involuntary step back. "But, you haven't cast a single spell since that fight. Not even against these cultists."

Again.

Silence.

Heavy silence consumed the space around them as Charles stared at Claude, his face morphing between confusion and worry. But, no words ever came out of him.

"And finally that lamp…" Claude's eyes flicked towards the scarlet lamp still held by Charles. "Could you explain why it remains lit?"

"I think you're just tired." Charles took a slight step back. "You should take this chance to rest, I'll try and check the surrounding area for any other cultists."

As Charles turned around and began to leave, Claude's words made him freeze in his tracks.

"You have been saying you an awful lot." Claude's voice dropped. "Tell me Charles… What's my name?"

The air froze. Charles's eyes widened, then narrowed, his brows knitting together before his lips slowly curled into a smirk.

His lips curled into a grin and a laugh erupted from him shattering the fragile silence. "Oh, how clever!" He clapped his hands mockingly. "Truly, you're sharper than I give you credit for." Claude didn't flinch, though his chest burned with fatigue.

"But look at you," Charles sneered, taking a step forward, his grin widening. "Exhausted. Barely standing. It must be taking everything you've got just to keep that little trick of yours going." He gestured to the hovering spear.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Almost in response to his words, Claude's knees wobbled, his vision blurred, and with a ragged gasp, the water spear collapsed. It splashed to the ground, forming nothing more than a puddle at his feet.

Charles's laughter exploded, wild and unhinged. "See? What did I tell you?" Claude's fists clenched as he stared at the puddle, yet remained silent as Charles edged closer.

Splash!

Droplets of water scattered in chaotic arcs as his boots dipped into the puddle, his steps slow, savouring the moment like a predator closing in on cornered prey.

But then—

Crackle!

Lavender sparks exploded in a violent burst before him, arcing across the puddle. Charles barely had time to register the danger before the electricity coursed through his body. He convulsed, collapsing into the water.

His once-human form twisted and shifted. His smooth, youthful complexion gave way to a charred, ashen surface. Burn marks etched jagged trails across his body, his flesh scorched black.

Charles' face, now devoid of any human features, revealed hollow eye sockets and a gaunt, skeletal frame. Smoke hissed faintly from his limbs as his body twitched involuntarily.

Claude watched from a distance, his breath ragged.

"That..." he groaned. "...was a close one."

He had bluffed. The Maskworn had underestimated him—perhaps it had assumed Claude could no longer cast any more spells.

Yet, Claude wasn't sure he could have delivered a fatal blow with just a single spear. After all, his opponent was no fool; it wouldn't simply stand and await its demise.

With a grunt of effort, Claude forced himself upright, every muscle protesting. His injuries screamed for rest, but he had no time for such luxuries.

His gaze turned toward the forest, the place where the Maskworn and its clones had first appeared.

"The lack of blood..." Claude murmured, limping forward, "...and the short window it had to replace Charles... It's possible he's still alive."

Claude pressed deeper into the forest. His mind buzzed. Each step was a battle against his fatigue and pain. He scanned the forest floor until, at last, his eyes found what they sought: Charles, sprawled and unmoving amid the underbrush.

Claude approached cautiously. With but a thought, he summoned a massive hand constructed of water that glided forward, flipping Charles onto his back.

The sight made Claude's stomach churn. Charles lay bloodied and broken. However, fortunately, or unfortunately, his chest was heaving faintly. Charles was still alive.

Blood pooled beneath him, staining the dirt, and his limbs were bent at unnatural angles. His face bore deep cuts, and the exposed bone of his shattered arm gleamed under the faint moonlight.

Charles coughed violently, crimson spilling from his lips. His unfocused eyes blinked up at the figure looming over him.

"Claude...?" His voice was barely a whisper. "Is that you...?"

A heavy silence hung between them. The only thing echoing in the gloomy twilight of the forest were painful grunts and ragged gasps.

With a soft sigh, Claude answered. "Yes." His words broke the quietude that had encompassed them.

That single word seemed to carry the weight of the world as Charles' lips curled into a bitter smile upon hearing them.

"These wounds..." Charles gasped, choking back another cough, "...are too heavy. That damned monster... it didn't have time to kill me, so it flung me away during the explosion."

Claude remained silent, his eyes fixed on the injuries. There was no saving Charles—his wounds were far too severe.

Blood continued to seep from Charles' mouth, staining his chin. He ignored it, his voice growing faint. "You don't like me, do you?" He paused for a moment before continuing. "And, you're not the type to dislike someone for no reason... so, how long did you know it for?"

Once, again. A short silence ensued.

Brief.

Piercing.

"Since we met..." Claude muttered, yet it was loud enough to reach Charles who laughed weakly, the sound more pitiful than joyful.

"I knew it..." Charles mumbled, his eyes now cast towards the gloomy sky above.

Pitter-Patter!

Rain slowly began to fall, at first a trickle. Then to a storming downpour.

"I've always had little talent, you know." Charles’ voice trembled. "Struggled with even the simplest spells. Weak. Cowardly. Greedy... that's all I ever was."

He paused, a faint, bitter smile flickering across his bloodied face. "Then one day, the council came to me. Of all people... me. Poor. Incompetent. Me." He let out a ragged breath, his chest heaving. "They promised me... if I watched you—if I kept an eye on you—they’d help me."

"And they did. For once, I could finally cast something. Just one spell. A simple, useless little spell..." His voice broke as he coughed, crimson spilling from his lips. "Even knowing how dangerous it was, I didn’t care. It was mine. I was finally... a real mage."

"But... I regret it," he whispered hoarsely, his tears mingling with the rain and blood on his face. "I should’ve been content. I should’ve stayed where I was. And now..." He let out a shuddering, almost hollow laugh. "Now look at me. Dying in some forgotten village... like this."

His gaze turned upward, empty and distant. "I should have..." His voice faltered, the words lingering unfinished as the light faded from his eyes. His words faltered, his breath hitching.

Claude watched in silence as Charles' body grew still. The rise and fall of his chest stopped. His eyes, once brimming with regret, stared glassily at the night sky.

Charles was gone.