Slowly, Noah’s senses started returning. First came the pain of needles, stabbing his lower back and crawling down his legs, followed by the taste in his mouth that was reminiscent of something dying and rotting for several weeks in the sun. A gust of wind enveloped him in the familiar scent of horses, moist earth, and burning wood, but mixed in between was also the sweetly-repulsive odor of charred flesh. His ears picked up a low murmur and a few sporadic words that quickly avalanched into a rumbling quarrel.

“Move to the side, Count De Moran! Don’t be needlessly stubborn.” Bishop Petronius sounded tired but resolute.

“No chance.” Duncan’s voice was akin to a bear’s growl. “I advise you to keep your distance, Your Holiness. My blade might just slip and slice your neck.”

“Enough empty threats! You are putting everyone in danger by protecting that thing!”

“That thing is your duke!” hissed Duncan. There was the scraping of metal against a sheath. “But please, try your luck if you doubt my words.”

“You fool!” Petronius’ voice thinned but he didn’t give up. “It has been five hours already. The Duke is long gone. Whatever awakens… It won’t be him! We need to kill and burn the vessel before the relic goes on a rampage.”

“Only over my dead body!”

Finally, Noah’s heavy eyelids fluttered open. Blinking several times, he let his still blurry gaze travel around and assessed the situation.

At the edge of the circle he had drawn on the ground, the towering backs of Duncan and his knights built an impenetrable wall of steel. The light from two large campfires illuminated their frowning, resolute faces, and dyed their drawn blades crimson. On the other side of their living shield, Bishop Petronius had summoned his priests. Although none of the clerics belonged to the militant order of the Night Brothers, they had been handpicked for this expedition from amongst the noble members of the cloth, versed both in swordplay and purification. Now, they surrounded their Bishop, weapons in hand, and their expressions were far from divine or placid.

Noah sighed and rolled his eyes, his lips involuntarily parting in a chuckle.

“I leave you lot for a bit and now you're about to slaughter each other,” he said hoarsely and savored the ensuing chaos.

Even before his words died down, Duncan spun around, his expression a mixture of relief, happiness, and weariness.

“N-Noah? You are… Is it really you?” In his shaking voice, there wasn’t even a trace of the earlier chilling ferocity.

“In body and spirit,” nodded Noah and motioned to grab Duncan’s extended hand when Bishop Petronius stepped fort.

“Do not move, Count De Moran!” The cleric hurriedly wedged himself between Noah and the old knight. “That thing might be deceiving us.”

“I don't appreciate being repeatedly called a thing, Your Holiness.” Noah frowned and stretched his numb legs, trying to rub away the crawling itch and stabbing pain from the returning circulation. “But then again, your caution is commendable. So, how do I prove my sanity to you?”

For a moment, the cleric measured Noah up and his face became rigidly resolute. He rolled up his sleeve and stretched out his right hand.

“If you claim to be the Duke, touch my skin.”

“Your Holiness!” A gasp came from the group of priests. Next to them, Duncan and the knights seemed confused.

“If there is something vile inhabiting the Duke’s body, I’ll be able to sense it and keep it at bay long enough for you to eliminate us both and purify this place,” stated the bishop calmly.

“To dare get touched by a malicious entity and possibly get your soul devoured… So it is true?!” Noah’s brows flew up. “I thought the rumors about you being an acolyte of Saint Emina The Eternal were just that. No wonder you are so fit for your age, Your Holiness.”

Saint Emina. Compared to the rest of the Great Five, she was an oddity. All other saints had powers that could be externalized. Saint Arslan could destroy any type of magic even at tens of meters around him. Saint Ursule could heal any injury and bring back people from the grasp of the Father of Darkness. The eyes of Saint Oronte could see magic and distinguish between lies and truth. Saint Markus was a genius inventor who could imbue foreign power into objects. In contrast, Saint Emina was simply healthy. No poison or sickness would affect her. Her wounds healed in a matter of days while other people would need months, supposedly even being able to survive a stab to the heart. And also, according to the legends, she wouldn’t be afflicted by curses, get possessed, or ghost-touched.

Saint Emina’s acolytes, similar to their patron, were rumored to live long and healthy lives and were protected from the vile effects of evil souls. This ability was disdained, neglected, and forgotten on the mainland, where wraiths and spiritual possessions were part of folklore, together with magic, but it meant the difference between life and death in Norden.

Noah shook his head with a chuckle, thinking that he should reevaluate the potential threats and uses of keeping this man as the head of Norden’s church, and even more, of allowing him to continue living. This, however, was a matter for another time.

Bishop Petronius continued staring at him resolutely, the sharp features of his face becoming even sharper. Stretching out his gloved hand, Noah grabbed the Bishop’s forearm. For a moment, the two men stood motionless. Little beads of sweat appeared on the old priest’s forehead, his eyes squinting into narrow slits.

“Even for you, it won’t be good to touch Nerodris for too long, Your Holiness,” said Noah calmly.

“It… It has really… What did you do?!” The cleric gasped. “Before, I could even feel the evil aura emanating from it but now… It has calmed down considerably!”

“I…” Noah mused for a bit. “You can say that I beat it into submission. For now, that is.”

“So, is the Duke alright?” Duncan interrupted them impatiently, his gaze still peeled on Noah.

“Surprisingly, he is,” sighed Bishop Petronius and tried helping Noah to his feet. Unfortunately, the combined weight of Nerodris and a full-grown man was too much for him. Just as the cleric was about to lose his foothold and topple over, Duncan grabbed Noah’s free arm and the two managed to pull him up.

Swaying a bit, Noah leaned on Duncan’s shoulder, his knees still weak from hours of sitting idle. A cheer erupted amongst the knights and priests but it was quickly silenced by Noah’s raised hand.

“Report. What are the casualties?”

“Sir Pergrin was wounded but it isn’t life-threatening,” answered Duncan curtly. “Unfortunately, we lost Sir Kenneth.”

“I see.” Noah’s heart quivered but his face remained calm. “When we return, I’ll personally talk to his widow. And what about Nekor?”

“Still breathing, but frankly, he is more of a vegetable than a man. It’s hard to say whether he’ll recover.”

“Make it happen. I think he might have an interesting story to tell.” Noah let go of Duncan and stepped among his men. “I hope you’ve used the time I’ve been out to get some rest. Duncan and the fittest five of you will ride off with me immediately. The rest will stay and protect His Holiness, the priests, and Nekor on the way back. Don’t break your necks but make sure to keep a good pace. I’ll inform the next relay station to prepare a wagon to meet you halfway.”

“Shouldn’t you be the one having some rest, boy?” whispered Duncan with a strained face. “Fighting Nerodris for five hours is not the same as taking a nap.”

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

“I have to go back as soon as possible, Duncan.” Noah firmly shook his head while climbing on Cinder with some effort.

“Why the hurry? Did that cursed bucket show you something?”

“I… I’m not sure. I have to go back.”

Without further explanation, Noah kicked the horse and galloped away, followed by Duncan’s angry shout.

“Wait! What about provisions? Damn you, you rascal! Max! Hugh! Follow me. Robin! Janus! Luke! Gather supplies and come after us. We’ll meet at the next relay station!”

Noah didn’t look back. He knew his men would follow him despite the confusion of his sudden departure. But sitting still and losing more time was not an option. His body ached. His soul felt thin and weary. Yet the yearning in his heart was overwhelming. What he saw in the depths of Nerodris… It was probably an illusion, conjured by his weakening mind. Still, it had shown him what he desired most. What was most precious to him. Where he needed to be.

The ride back to Ildemar was like a blur. To keep their neck-breaking speed, they were forced to change horses at every relay station along Via Draconis. Leaving Cinder behind was another blow to Noah’s heart, although he knew that they’ll be reunited in just a couple of days. Still, it was a necessary measure to give the exhausted animals a chance to recover after the intense gallop, a generous treatment that was not granted to his poor escort knights. Riding from dawn to dusk with only four hours of sleep, the group was on the verge of collapse when they reached the castle two days later.

The gate sentries at Ildemar received quite the fright when a horn disturbed the midnight calm, announcing the Duke’s unexpected return. As lanterns and torches were hastily lit in the main courtyard, the riders entered the castle in a whirlwind of sparks and hoofs. White foam dripped from the horses’ snouts with each heavy pant, their bodies sweaty and twitching from the strenuous ride.

Jumping from the saddle, Noah looked through the crowd of servants, his eyes fixating on the limping, disheveled figure of William. Despite having an overcoat hastily thrown over his night garments, the Lord Steward of Norden didn’t look one bit sleepy. Next to him towered Neli who, with a cloud of curly, graying hair and a colorful scarf wrapped around her shoulders, had lost a lot of her usual domineering sternness.

Seeing Noah dismount, the two ran toward him, their faces full of worry.

“Shekri, what… what happened? You look terrible! Are you injured?” blurted out Neli while circling around, split between the urge to embrace him and the fear of touching Nerodris.

“We expected you in three to four days,” William chimed in. “Did the mission fail? Where are the rest of you? Are they…?”

“They are fine.” Noah allowed himself a breather. “More importantly, Lorelei… Has she awakened? And Shana… Gerash… How are they?”

His friends’ faces became gloomy.

“There have been no changes thus far,” replied William.

Noah’s heart sank. He had prayed that his vision was true. She had claimed to be waiting for him in Ildemar, so he hoped… It was all his wishful thinking. Why had he behaved like a madman because of a fever dream?

Looking over his shoulder, he saw Duncan slipping off his saddle and crumbling on the ground, followed by the rest of his escorts.

“Don’t touch me. Just let me sleep here,” mumbled the old knight, laying flat on the cold stones and shooing away a flock of servants and pages.

He had pushed his men to the brink of death! For what? Whether he arrived today or in three days… what change would it make? For his selfish desires, for some delusion, he had risked the lives of his comrades.

A soulless laugh escaped Noah’s lips as his hand dug through his hair.

“Don’t worry, shekri. They might not be awake yet, but their condition also didn’t worsen. They are on the path of recovery.”

Neli’s calm words were like a balm to Noah’s soul. Lifting his eyes to meet the Marzbanati’s warm gaze, he gathered his remaining strength and forced his voice to sound as collected as possible.

“I want to see them.”

“Of course. But first,” Neli gave him a wry smile, “you need to take off Nerodris and wash yourself.”

“Do you need help with the armor?” William carefully approached him but Noah shook his head.

“I’ll manage on my own. I don’t want you to get hurt by chance. You better take care of Duncan and the knights. They deserve a good rest.”

Saying that, Noah walked with a heavy step toward the castle. In a haze, he peeled off Nerodris’ black plates, carefully hanging them inside the secret compartment in his bed-chamber, before dragging his legs toward the bath. When his aching body was finally engulfed by the warm, fragrant water, he could hardly relax. The thick fumes suffocated him. The usually pleasurable sensation of the pool’s hot walls, pressing against his back, now felt foreign and uncomfortable.

Finishing his bath quickly, he rushed out, droplets of water still dripping from his hair. Before the door, he met Neli who silently opened her arms. Led by years of habit, Noah hugged her, burying his face in her gray mane.

“My sweet, sweet boy,” she whispered. “You’ve endured it so well. You came back to me in one piece. Thank you.”

“I’m sorry to make you worry, mother,” replied Noah in kind. “How is Duncan?”

“Snoring like a bear in winter, that stubborn old badger.” Neli released him from her hug and brushed the corners of her eyes. “Where do you want to go first?”

For a moment, Noah hesitated. Now, more than ever, he wished he could split himself into three. They were all waiting for him - his child, his friend, and the woman who had taken his heart. If he visited Gerash at this hour, it would inconvenience Saya and the rest of his family. Lorelei… What if his vision had been a parting gift? What if her spirit, upon his return, were to fade away the moment he entered the room? And Shana, she was probably fast asleep now… But maybe this wasn’t so bad. At least his presence wouldn’t cause another attack.

“Shana,” he said hoarsely and walked off with Nely by his side.

The winding corridors of Ildemar were ghastly in the moonlight. The castle he had considered his home was now like an ancient tomb. The tall ceilings seemed to try to crush him, the white walls - closing in on him like the narrow passage of a cave.

Noah straightened his back, struggling to drive away these dark thoughts. When he finally arrived at Shana’s door, another familiar figure was waiting there for him.

“Welcome back, little wolf.” Kash-baba gave him a smile. A little puff of smoke rose from her pipe and engulfed Noah in a fragrant cloud. “It seems like your soul has been through quite the peculiar ordeal.”

“Indeed,” said Noah, not trying to hide anything from the old shaman. “But can we leave the discussion for another time? What do you need from me to prove my identity?”

“Nothing, child.” The old woman laughed. “My eyes are still sharp enough to recognize you. Besides, if you were a wraith, you would have been long purified by my pipe.”

Deciding to postpone his questions for later, Noah motioned to the door but was stopped once again by the shaman. Without a word, she handed him a small bundle of blue forget-me-nots. A knot clogged his throat but he took the flowers and silently entered the room.

The light fragrance of herbs filled the air and tickled his nose as he approached the large, white bed. Pulling the curtain slightly to the side, Noah peered into the darkness, his sharp ears picking up the tiny breaths of a sleeping child. Shana had huddled between the blankets and pillows like a little bird. Her white hair sparkled in the moonlight like fresh snow, and her petite features could rival the masterpieces of the greatest imperial sculptors. Yet all that mattered to Noah was that she looked calm and healthy.

Sitting carefully at the edge of the bed, he watched over her with a bitter-sweet feeling in his heart. Shana's little face filled his whole world. It was just yesterday when he carried her on his shoulders. He had closed his eyes for a moment and now the tiny baby that had fitted in his arms had become almost a woman. How much he wanted to hug her. To hear her laugh and call him ‘papa’. But now… she looked at him with fear in her eyes. He had failed her, he allowed those fiends to hurt her. How could he call himself her father when he always betrayed her trust? If it was only possible, he wished he could turn back time. If he had managed to save Yanosh and Orhana that day, now she would have a real family instead of a fake, sorry excuse of a father.

The knot in Noah’s throat tightened and his eyes blurred. His emotions threatened to overwhelm him. The last time he had felt so desperate and out of place... was the night his world had been destroyed. His body stiffened as the memories flooded his mind - red snow, charred flesh, a shrill scream.

Slowly, his lips moved in a familiar rhythm. It was a lullaby. The second one he had learned in his life. The one he had sung to quiet the heartwrenching cries of a little girl looking for her dead parents. The one he had used to stifle his own howls.

“High, high in the night sky

A little star is born.

Glow, glow, over silver snow,

Little star, till morn.

Light, light, in the deepest night,

Hope is not forlorn.

Spark, spark, drive away the dark,

Little star firstborn.”

As the soft melody melted into the air, Noah stood still for a moment, watching over the sleeping child. He then carefully placed the bundle of forget-me-nots on her pillow.

“I love you, Starlet,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m sorry.”

He stood up and quietly exited the room. Unseen by him, a crystal tear rolled down Shana’s cheek.