Thousands of stars glittered above the miraculous landscape of Mirrevar. Flowery fragrances permeated the air, carried on each gentle breeze. Wonders awaited deeper into Mirrevar: orchards where vines entwined with fruit-bearing trees, fields of vibrant, multi-colored flowers, and the colossal outline of Covademara’s canopy stretching for miles. Zander longed to lose himself in the majesty of the great tree, hoping its beauty might wash away the haunting images trapped in his mind. Even the encampment’s canal—a small stream crafted by wizard’s magic—conspired with the natural beauty of the land. Bugs glowing red, yellow, and blue hovered over its surface, their soft, musical hums blending with the breeze. The full moon reflected off the water, bathing the scene in an ethereal blue glow. It was a night so beautiful that even the most miserable man might find some peace in it.

For all that, Zander felt dead inside. He doubted whether he could ever feel at peace again.

Zander undressed, discarding his ill-fitting leather armor on the dock. He’d never wear it again; the memories and the bloodstains that clung to it were too much to bear. A few boats bearing the sigil of the Brightons of Noraligrove bobbed gently in the canal, their owners nowhere in sight. Zander was the only one seeking to cleanse himself in the water. With a sigh, he ran to the edge of the dock and leapt in.

The shock of the cold water sharpened his senses. He swam with practiced strokes honed by countless days spent swimming beneath Old Iron, washing away the blood on his skin. But no amount of water could cleanse the deeper filth that stained his soul. He floated on his back, gazing up at the stars as he glided through the canal. Yet, no matter how much he swam or how many stars he counted, the images of the people he’d killed chased him like shadows. The memory of River’s death was the most tenacious shadow of all.

If only he could turn back time. He would tell his younger self that dreams of glory were the greatest folly. There was no honor in killing Sapphires—only the pain of watching friends and heroes fall.

He wished he could go back just seven days, to the time before Sir Edward had sent him to slay the wolves. Back then, he had been happy, though he hadn’t realized it. He had been driven by the dream of becoming Leveria’s greatest warrior, unaware that the price of that dream was his happiness. How could he ever be happy again when River was dead and his hands were stained with all this blood?

But the innocence of his youth was as unreachable as the stars in the sky. Wayn had been right: the moment he took his oath, he had become a man. Looking back now was as futile as asking the sun to rise in the west.

His thoughts returned to his conversation with Sir Edward that morning. Sir Edward had warned him that the Sapphires weren’t truly evil, merely separated from the Rubies by name and history. Zander had seen the truth of that in the eyes of the men and women he’d killed. He understood now. War itself was evil—a tool of Zamael’s to sow discord among the living.

Zander had always believed that a well-fought battle would bring him fulfillment. Despite his victory, despite defending Urzport Hold from invasion, despite living out the very dream he had longed for, all he felt was loss. The glory he promised himself was nowhere to be found.

He left the canal more burdened than before. The groans that escaped him sounded more like those of a ten-year-old boy than a seventeen-year-old warrior.

Piece by piece, he hurled his armor into the canal. His sword followed, but it wasn’t enough. Discarding the reminders of battle couldn’t rid him of the memories seared in his mind.

Dressing in his loincloth, tunic, and breeches, Zander felt the cold sweat on his skin, undoing whatever small comfort the swim had offered. He knew sleep wouldn’t come tonight. He needed to see the battlefield with his own eyes. He needed to see his work, the work of Gidi and his master Zamael. He needed to find River and apologize for not being strong enough to save him. His thoughts kept circling back to that moment and all the decision he’d made instead of going to help River sooner.

When his mind wasn’t consumed with River’s fate, it fixated on his killer. Zander prayed to Gidi that he would find Sir Aldius dying, so he could crush the man’s teeth beneath his boot. Aldius’s divinedamned mouth was unworthy of speaking Alexia’s name. Though Zander’s mind struggled to comprehend it, his heart knew the truth: somehow, it had been his Alexia.

The moon had shifted across the sky since the battle ended, and still Asa, Alfread, and the other medicans were busy tending to the wounded. Zander tried to slip past unnoticed as he reached the charred treetops.

“Zander!” Asa exclaimed, higher pitched than usual.

Zander halted, sighed, and turned to face her. Asa wasn’t looking at him yet, focused instead on a wounded soldier. “How does your leg feel?”

The soldier flexed his knee. To Zander’s eyes, he appeared unharmed despite the blood all over his leg. “It feels… strong,” he said, his disbelief plain.

Asa’s aura brightened. “Excellent. Rest now. You’ve earned it.”

“Thank ye, m’lady.” The soldier stood with ease. He offered Zander a nod before heading along the road.

Asa straightened, standing as tall as her slight frame allowed, but her bloodshot eyes betrayed her exhaustion. She set her hand on his sword arm and massaged his biceps. “You fought like a Divine.”

Zander recoiled, her hand slipping from his arm. He stared at his hands, flipping them over and surprised that the canal had washed away the blood. “The only Divine guiding me was Zamael.”

Asa’s smiled faded, but she set her hand back on his arm. Her sandy brown skin glowed under the starlight, long golden hair framing her heart-shaped face. She was so beautiful and he felt the empty craving for even the smallest taste of love. His own depravity disgusted him. This was his best friend’s life’s mate, he had his own life’s mate and vowed to be true to her only a few days ago. Yet he couldn’t pull away. After years of burying his pain in a woman’s embrace, he ached for that familiar reprieve, even if his yearning was just another reason to despise himself.

“You’re a true knight, Zander,” Asa said, her voice softer and warmer than anything he felt worthy of. “It is noble to feel remorse.” Her hand slid down his arm, capturing his hand in hers. She placed her other hand on top, smiling up at him. “If you ever need someone to talk to… or hold you while you let it all out…”

“Asa!” Alfread’s voice rang out.

Zander snatched his hand back as Alfread appeared from behind a tent, carrying a wounded man. Guilt swarmed him. How much of a monster am I?

The stench of the man’s wound reached him before the sight of it—a deep gash across his abdomen. Asa immediately turned her attention to the injury. Zander, too ashamed to face Alfread, headed toward the battlefield once more. He didn’t get far before a tug on his shoulder stopped him.

“Zander, I want to ask you something,” Alfread said quietly.

“The genius who devised our defenses needs advice from a dull killer like me?”

“You’re not dull, Zander. I value your opinion.”

The sincerity in Alfread’s voice stung him. He turned, facing his best friend. Zander tried not to cry from the volatile cocktail of emotions roiling through him. Alfread eyed him with a loving expression and all Zander could think about was how his thoughts betrayed him.

“We may have won tonight, but the balance of power is broken,” Alfread said. “If the Sapphire gets reinforcements before we do… I want to send a messenger to Bear’s Crossing. Do you think Sir Edward would be able to help?”

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Zander grasped that the stalemate was broken, that his hands would get bloody again soon. “It’s a good plan,” he said halfheartedly. Seeing his friend frown, Zander forced the enthusiasm. “Besides, I’ll be glad to see Kenneth again—assuming the bastard is on his feet.”

Alfread smiled. “Me too. Let’s run it by Her Radiance.”

Asa had finished healing the man’s gut wound. Even Zander realized how miraculous that was. Medicans could do little more than ease the passing for a man with his stomach torn open. All Zander felt good for was killing, which, as it turns out, didn’t make him feel very good at all. Asa could stave off death and bring the hopeless back to life. As a self-proclaimed instrument of Leverith, Zander felt wholly inadequate.

“Asa!” Alfread exclaimed. “We think a rider should go to Bear’s Crossing, requesting reinforcements.”

Asa considered for only a moment. “I agree. To Urzport as well. With Sir Daven and his Hedgemen dead, the Bearbreakers will send a Peacewatch commander too. Probably Whelan or Iceheart.”

Zander contemplated volunteering for the mission, if only to leave the memories of this place behind. But before he could speak, Asa shot the idea down.

“I can’t spare either of you,” she said. “Varon will do. I’ll send him with letters and an escort in case the Celegans try to intercept him.”

“Wise choice,” Alfread said.

Asa flashed a glowing smile. “Sunrise is coming and I’ve spent the entire night channeling. Would you help Varon get prepped to leave at first light?”

“I’ll handle it!” Alfread said. Zander doubted there was anything Alfread wouldn’t do to get Asa to appreciate him.

“Thank you,” Asa said. She wrapped her arms around Alfread, but the embrace was distant—her upper body leaning into Alfread while her hips were kept away. It was an awkward way to embrace, and one that conveyed the feelings of a sister or a friend more than a lover. It was over before it began, Asa pulling back before Alfread could close the embrace.

“You saved me tonight,” she said. “Your brilliant ideas and impeccable aim,” she turned to Zander, “and your sword arm. I’m glad that you two are here with me.”

“You saved us all, Asa,” Alfread said tenderly as the softest love ballad. “You inspired us, healed us, organized us, bedazzled our foes, cleansed the very air that sought to suffocate us. It was you who guided us to this victory. You are more than you give yourself credit for, Asa Radiant. So much more.”

Asa’s aura flared with a sudden burst of radiance; the brilliance so intense Zander needed to avert his gaze. She bowed, offered a trembling good night, and retreated into the encampment at brisk pace.

Beside him, Alfread sighed as if finally free. “I love her.”

Zander didn’t want to break his heart. He remembered Asa’s hand on his arm, the tension in her touch, and the hunger. It was so divinedamned frustrating that he stifled the urge to scream. Why do people always want the things they can’t have? Why do they yearn for the poisons and not the panaceas? Was it the same reason they were fascinated with the sunset and took sunrise for granted?

Zander took a deep breath and chose his words carefully. “She is fond of you, but… you need to be more than her friend.”

Alfread’s dazzling smile faded. “What do you mean?” he asked, his tone edged with irritation.

“You need to make her see you as a lover and not her favorite brother.”

Weariness overtook Alfread. Tired circles framed his eyes as they drifted downward. “I need to prepare letters for Sir Edward and Wayn,” he muttered.

Zander watched him go, fighting the urge to call after him and demand he draft those letters at Asa’s side. He wanted to tell him to hold her, to confess all he felt. But he couldn’t conjure the faith that it would make a difference. Could anything he do make a difference anymore? Beyond causing hurt and pain?

Resentment rose in Zander’s chest. How could Asa not see Alfread, his heart wide open, offering everything she could want? She had seen his worth—yet she kept him in the orbit of friendship, leaving him burning with unfulfilled hope. Did she not understand how divinedamned lucky she was? Was she the dumbest flogging smart person in Leveria?

Zander’s sleep-deprived mind buzzed with frustration, hunger ate at his insides, while the bitter taste of helplessness lingered. He had wanted—needed—to see the battlefield again, but they had kept him from it. He knew he’d only be able to seek entrance to the Hall of Dreams once he surveyed the nightmare.

Eyes on the eastern horizon, the squire saw that sunrise was near. He hoped to find Leverith’s answer to all this pointless battle. He needed a sign that some good could come out of his service to the Bearbreakers. He needed to believe that he was a protector of the innocent, a true defender of Leveria, a hometown hero. These identities felt like radiant truths when he fought in the wolves’ den. Now, all of those identities were called into question. He had thought they were a part of him, engrained as deeply as being the orphan—enduring as Old Iron and as unbreakable as the bonds of family. But now he had a hard time believing in anything. The only thing that seemed to inspire him was the coming sunrise and the hope that new days were ahead of him where he could be Leverith’s instrument again.

He picked his way across charred and waterlogged tree trunks, a surreal mix of ash and soaked wood. Bodies lay strewn throughout, Sapphire and Ruby alike. Carrion birds pecked without discrimination. They saw no difference in the fallen. If even birds understood that death rendered all alike, why couldn’t the living?

Zander wished that he was a king. King Gideon, King Adameon, and all of their forefathers were responsible for this devastation. He hated them. He hated them damn near as much as he hated his own father, the ‘great warrior.’ What an oxymoron if there ever was one. It was almost as ironic as ‘glorious battle.’ His rage built up as he failed to find Aldius among the corpses.

His heart ached as he approached the breach where he and the Hometown Heroes had made their stand against the Sapphires. He had to find River. It was his fault that the most promising of Leverians had been killed. He owed River his life. And though he could never repay the debt, he had to do something.

Gordan cradled River in his lap. The young soldier’s face was pale and hollow, his arms wrapped lovingly around his best friend’s still form. He looked up, his bloodshot eyes meeting Zander’s. “Why?” he whispered, swallowing thickly. “He could have done so much good with his life. Things I can never do.” A sob escaped as he looked down at River’s empty gaze. “I can’t do anything without him.”

“It’s not your fault, Gordan,” Zander said. “If anyone is to blame, it’s me. I failed him when he needed me.”

“You stayed with him until the end,” Gordan replied bitterly, his clenched teeth fighting back a flood of tears. “I’ve never been any good for him! It should have been me!” His voice cracked, and he threw up his arms in anguish. “I should have died in his place!”

“No! I told you to go! That was my decision! If you’re going to blame someone, let it be me! I was here! I let them take the best of us!” He slammed his fist into a charred beam on the palisade. Pain flared in his hand, but it was nothing compared to the gaping wound in his heart. Breathless from screaming, Zander leaned against the palisade, allowing the tears to flow freely, finally breaking through the wall of numbness that had shielded him from the unfettered heartbreak.

Zander lowered his voice. “I tried to avenge him. I fought Aldius of Lelac with everything I had. But he escaped.” He met Gordan’s gaze, his eyes also brimming with sorrow. “Blame me.”

Gordan shook his head. “I know you did your best. I should’ve been there with him.” Gordan sobbed. “I… I don’t know what to do without him.”

Something stirred within Zander. Words had been buried deep within his soul, words he’d never heard but knew as if they had always been there like a melody from a forgotten past. “Remember him. Honor him. Live. The world needs more people like him, Gordan... and more people like you. Leveria is dimmer without him. Don’t let it darken further by losing yourself.”

A flicker of light sparkled in Gordan’s eyes. “I will always remember you and try to be the light for others that you were for me.” He kissed River’s forehead, sealing the promise.

Setting River’s body gently onto the ground, Gordan closed his friend’s eyes and stood. “He belongs in Mirrevar. We’ll bury him in the land that he dreamt of returning to all his life. Will you join us?”

“I’ll be there,” Zander promised.

Gordan nodded and retreated into the encampment, leaving Zander alone with his fallen friend. Taking River’s hand, Zander felt helplessness in a way he hadn’t since the day he lost his mother. “I’m so sorry, River,” he choked. “You deserved so much more.”

Zander squinted as the first rays of sunrise struck him in the eyes. The light illuminated the battlefield. Thousands of Sapphires lay dead in the trench and on the field outside the camp. Not nearly as many Rubies had died, but they too were strewn along the battlements and in the area surrounding the breaches and gate. How many of them made the world a brighter place? How many Rivers ceased flowing love into the world? Zander raged at all they had lost in exchange for nothing. Worst of all, he himself had sent dozens to Zamael himself. This monster he became was not the boy who promised his mother to find the Sunrise.

A primal scream burst from him. Zander struck the ground with his fist, pain surging up his arm. Tears blurred his vision as he stared into Mirrevar.

Through the haze of sorrow, he saw a figure emerge from the Impwood. Chestnut-brown hair flickered dark gold beneath the rising sun. After the longest night of his life, Zander glimpsed the Sunrise. He prayed that it could bring a new day, a better day. He raced into the encampment to find Paladin.

Wait for me, my Sunrise.