Chapter Forty-Five:

"Buried and Unbroken"

The wind carried the scent of blood-soaked earth across the Kolnheim Warfront. The fires had long since died out, leaving only smoldering embers buried in the blackened ash.

What had once been a battlefield of chaos and unrelenting carnage now stood eerily silent. Graves stretched across the ruined terrain, hastily dug yet still offering the fallen their final rest.

Leo tightened the last knot on the crude wooden marker before stepping back. The name carved into the splintered surface was simple, yet carried the weight of a warrior’s sacrifice. Commander Varek Thornhold.

He exhaled slowly, his breath visible in the cold morning air. Around him, the remaining Grimmsborn and Players worked in silence, placing the last of the Eldorian dead into the ground. The Players, those who had fallen, were already gone, their bodies had burst into golden dust, returning to whatever abyss Gameweaver had crafted for them. But the Eldorians remained. Their bodies demanded burial. Their sacrifices had to be honored.

The Grimmsborn, hardened fighters covered in grime and dried blood, stood in small clusters. Their expressions were undeniable, exhaustion settling deep in their bones. For the first time in centuries, there were no orders. No war cries. No screams. Just the silent sounds of death and defeat remained now.

Renn, a wiry Rogue with a permanent scowl, let out a low breath, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his broken dagger. “So what now?” he muttered. “We lost the Waystone. We failed.”

Juno, the towering Grimmsborn with an axe slung across his back, let out a bitter chuckle. “Failed is putting it lightly. We were already outcasts before we came here. Now? There’s nowhere left for us. The rest of Eldoria isn’t gonna take us in. We don’t belong anywhere.”

Quiet voices of agreement passed between them. The air grew heavier, a storm of uncertainty rolling in with every word spoken. These warriors, once outcasts, now survivors, were already mourning a future they believed had been stolen from them.

Leo’s voice cut through the growing despair. “Enough.”

The word wasn’t loud, but it carried weight. The Grimmsborn turned to face him, their expressions guarded, waiting. Leo let the silence stretch for a moment before stepping forward, his eyes burning with something fierce, something unyielding.

“You talk like cowards,” he said, voice sharp as a blade. “Like we didn’t just fight to the last breath to hold this ground. Like we didn’t bleed, break, and die to keep the Waystone standing for as long as humanly possible.”

Juno flinched, but Leo wasn’t done. He gestured toward the fresh graves. “Every single one of them fought. None of them backed down. Neither did we. You think because we lost a battle that it erases what we did here?” He shook his head. “No. It doesn’t.”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Renn scoffed. “And what, you think the rest of Eldoria is just going to listen when we tell them that?”

Leo’s gaze didn’t waver. “Yes.”

A few of them frowned, shifting uncomfortably.

Leo continued, his tone unwavering. “Varek told me how much the people of this Realm revere Players. He said we’re seen as something more than just warriors, we’re symbols of hope. If that’s true, then they’ll listen when I tell them this. The Grimmsborn stood. They fought. They bled to defend the Waystone, to protect this land, as hard as any general, country, or even world could have asked. And when the dust settled, they were still here.”

The weight of his words settled over them. For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then, finally, Juno exhaled and nodded. “Then we make them listen.”

Leo stood in the midst of the battlefield-turned-burial ground, his breath steady despite the weight settling on his shoulders. The fires were out, the bodies laid to rest, but the war that had begun here was far from over.

He turned to the remaining Grimmsborn and Players, their faces still carved with exhaustion. "So, what happens now?" he asked, his voice even, but beneath it lay something unyielding, something still unbroken.

Renn rubbed at the dried blood on his arm, his expression grim. "The Dark One will move on now," he muttered. "With the Waystone gone, he’ll seek out the Four Guardians of Eldoria."

Leo straightened. "Okay. So where are they? We have to keep them safe."

A scoff came from Juno as he adjusted the strap of his axe. "That information is of the utmost secrecy. Only the highest of the high know the locations of the Guardians."

Leo exhaled through his nose. "Well, shit."

The tension among them loosened as some of the weary fighters chuckled under their breath. "Hey, if we can't find them, maybe he won't be able to either."

All around the exertion of digging graves all night had begun to settle deep, and one by one, the Grimmsborn and Players dispersed, seeking rest where they could.

But Leo remained.

He dropped to his knees in front of Thornhold’s grave, resting his hands on his thighs. The dirt was fresh, the marker still splintered from where he had carved the name. He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of damp earth and cold air.

His mind drifted, back to Sarah, back to the life he had left behind, the horrors he had witnessed in his world, and now, the horrors he had witnessed here. The atrocities of war were universal, whether in Eldoria or the ruined streets of Berlin.

If Gameweaver wanted to beat him down, to break him, let her try.

He had something, someone, to fight for again. And as long as he had something worth protecting, he would not yield. Not here. Not now. Not ever.

His gaze lifted to the rough letters carved into the wood. Commander Varek Thornhold, Grimmsborn.

"But what do I do?" He asked the grave. "Where do I go from here?"

The wind pressed against his back, cold but steady.

"I'm ready to help, to protect, to put my past behind me," he continued, his voice quiet, almost pleading. "It would make Sarah proud. I know that. But I just… need to know what to do."

At first there was nothing. Leo had begun to fear that an answer would never come.

But then, he heard the whooshing.

Faint at first, barely cutting through the stillness, only the churn of the wind above signaling something approaching. Leo frowned, tilting his head up, but the sky was a solid canvas of dark clouds.

Then, it burst through.

A massive silhouette, tearing through the heavens, golden light catching on its hull as it split through the thick clouds. The air swirled around it, the sheer presence of it undeniable.

Then, through the mist and golden light, he saw its name, Aetheris.

He exhaled, a slow, measured breath. A sign from the heavens, or just another twist in the game?

Either way, there was no way in hell he wasn't getting on that thing.