A solitary heartbeat echoed in the void. The sound cascading, deep and cavernous.

  Lyria collapsed beside me, her knees sinking into the damp soil, hands covering her mouth. She shook her head frantically, tears flinging from her lashes.

  Selene cursed under her breath, casting her gaze into the mud as if it might respond.

  Kaela stood still, her posture pinched, unable to peel her eyes away from the tragic scene.

  Another beat resonated—deeper, darker.

  Margo held him, tears streaming, but face stern. She was as stubborn a dwarf as any, and now as her comrade lay dead in her arms, she refused to sob—refused to dishonor his legacy with her own selfish need to weep.

  And it burned, it burned worse than anything I’d ever felt before—

  Another heartbeat shuddered from somewhere deep within, like a single clap of thunder.

  My hand came up to grip my chest, trying to will the fury down, but part of me didn’t want to. Part of me wanted to let it all go. To tear this cruel world apart, to rampage through this forsaken town once and for all.

  Somewhere down the hill, Murasa’s voice boomed in defiance against Grahamut.

  Defeating the Witch hadn’t stopped the fallen deity, he was a natural disaster within himself now.

  Back within the palisades, the other adventurers fought desperately as Night’s Reach drowned under the Fell tide.

  I looked up to the moon once more.

  In the next instant—

  One final beat sounded, and my rage slipped, my vision turning from red to black.

  I left it all behind.

  Lyria’s sobs, Kaela’s quiet gaze, Selene’s grief, Margo’s turmoil.

  I pointed my wrath at the one thing within reach that I could blame.

  Grahamut—The Grave Walker.

  * * *

  The heartbeat became a roar.

  The night shuddered with it—my own pulse pounding in my ears, Tenebrae’s growl crawling up my spine. The scent of ash and blood filled my lungs until there was no air left, only heat.

  My body moved before thought could stop it. The world blurred into streaks of black and crimson as I tore down the slope.

  “Yukon—!” Selene’s voice cracked through the wind, sharp and panicked.

  “Wait! You idiot—!” Kaela’s came next, half anger, half plea.

  Lyria called my name last, weakly—shaking, her voice breaking through sobs. “Yukon, don’t—!”

  But I couldn’t hear them anymore.

  This time was different from my fight against Elledor. I couldn’t explain it, but Tenebrae seemed to be working as an extension, rather than in possession.

  My power surged, black fire rippling over my body—tufts of black fur had sprouted along my arms and neck, claws and fangs piercing through. The earth seemed to recoil from each step I took. Gravestones shattered in my wake, their pieces rising weightless before crashing down again.

  I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t even angry at one thing—I was angry at everything. The Witch. The Fell corruption. The gods who had done nothing. The world that had taken another person from me.

  And myself—most of all myself.

  Grahamut stood at the base of the hill, towering above the broken ruins of the graveyard wall. It’s body was twisted, molten, more shadow than stone now. Once a god of the forest, now a desecrated colossus. Each breath exhaled a cloud of ash and scarlet flame into the night.

  Murasa stood before the monster, his maul buried in the earth, divine light bleeding from the cracks in the ground. His purple scales were singed, his armor scuffed and burnt, but he held his ground, voice booming in defiance.

  “By the light of Aurelia—relent, foul behemoth! Return from whence you came!”

  He hadn’t seen me yet.

  The moment he did, his eyes widened—the faintest flicker of dread piercing his purple orbs.

  “Yukon! Stop where you are—!” he barked, his hand rising.

  But it was already too late.

  Tenebrae’s power erupted. My feet left the ground, and the next heartbeat carried me through a swirl of smoke and holy light. The night became a smear of motion—Grahamut’s colossal hand raised to crush Murasa, and I slammed right into it with a feral snarl.

  The impact pushed Grahamut back. My sword followed, lopping off the entire hand at the wrist. Black flame streaked up the remainder of the god’s arm, the air screamed from the force of it.

  “YUKON!” Murasa’s voice cut through the noise, commanding, furious. “You fool—you’ll burn yourself alive!”

  I didn’t care.

  I struck again, cutting through stoneskin like glass, every swing shaking the ground as I danced around Grahamut’s legs. Tenebrae’s laughter echoed in my skull, a manic, gravelly sound that drowned out everything else. The god reeled, one knee hitting the dirt, red ichor spilling in streams.

  From somewhere far away, I heard Lyria scream my name—afraid and heartbroken.

  As her voice echoed through my head, the briefest whisper of our last promise resounded in my mind.

  My promise not to rely on Tenebrae’s fury…

  Even so, the inferno raged on.

  I trained my burning eyes up at Grahamut. The vines protruding from where his eyes had once been, stared back at me as the god willed its hand to slowly reform.

  Then, Murasa’s presence was there, a storm of light and iron. His maul crashed down in front of me, shaking the ground hard enough to scatter my footing.

  “Stop!”

  The word struck like a bell through my skull.

  Tenebrae took the interference as a challenge. His aura flaring around me as I leapt clear of Grahamut, turning toward the paladin.

  Divine light rippled outward, clashing with the black fire surrounding me, burning through it. My claws raked the earth as the heat seared my veins. I staggered, snarling, vision doubled between the battlefield and some endless void of red and gold.

  Murasa’s gaze snapped up the hill, landing on Ron in Margo’s arms. His eyes widened in realization.

  He stepped forward, wings of golden light unfurling behind him, his voice low but unshakable.

  “You think this is what they would want? The boy? The friends you’d leave behind?”

  I growled something incoherent—words I didn’t even understand.

  “Your god feeds on your rage,” Murasa said, planting his maul in the ground with a heavy clang. “You’d let him take everything from you, wouldn’t you? You’d become the very monster we’re fighting.”

  His words struck harder than any blow. For a heartbeat, I could almost see it—my reflection, buried beneath the black flame.

  The fire surged again, Tenebrae’s voice whispering in my head. He deserves it. They all do.

  “ENOUGH!” Murasa bellowed, and raised his maul once more.

  A burst of gold and amethyst light cascaded outward, wrapping around me, crushing the dark flames like waves smothering a blaze. I fell to one knee, gasping, clutching my head as Lunae’s faint voice broke through at last—soft, sure.

  “Tenebrae, cease… The boy’s heart can take no more rage.”

  My breath came ragged, my arms trembling.

  Murasa approached, towering above me—his presence neither cruel nor gentle, but solid as stone. His hand came down, gripping my shoulder with impossible strength, gritting his teeth as the remainder of Tenebrae’s heat singed his hand.

  “Listen to me, boy,” he said, voice low. “You think rage gives you strength, but it’s just surrender wearing another face. Control is the only thing that makes power worth anything.”

  He leaned closer, eyes burning with violet flame. “If you can’t master it, it’ll master you. And when it does… you won’t be saving anyone.”

  The last of Tenebrae’s flame slowly guttered out.

  I collapsed forward, coughing out smoke. The weight of everything—the battle, the loss, the guilt—came crashing back all at once. Tears threatened to slip as my thoughts played Ron’s final moments once more, my head hung in defeat.

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  For a long moment, there was only the sound of distant thunder and wind blowing through headstones.

  Murasa released my shoulder at last, turning his gaze back toward Grahamut, who still loomed ahead, wounded but rising.

  “Get up,” Murasa said quietly. “If you’ve still got fight left, use it with purpose this time.”

  I looked up through the haze, barely able to lift my sword.

  Lyria stood at the top of the hill, hands clasped to her chest, watching in silence. Selene and Kaela flanked her—ready, but lost. Behind them, Margo dragged Ron’s body through the mud, refusing to let go.

  I bit back my tears.

  Their faces—their grief—snapped something back into focus.

  My eyes fell upon Lyria once more. Even from across the field I swore I saw her give me a small nod, begging me, reassuring me, and telling me to be careful all in the same motion.

  I rose slowly, gripping my sword once more, the twin metals gleaming faintly in the pale moonlight.

  “I’m with you,” I said hoarsely, glancing down at the weapon.

  Murasa nodded once, a grim smile tugging at his jaw. “Then let’s finish this, ranger.”

  Together, we turned toward the god.

  I reluctantly sheathed my humming blade. I only had a few arrows left, but at Grahamut’s current size, trying for close combat without Tenebrae would be suicide.

  Lunae’s icy light bloomed around me in an instant, cooling my burning limbs—Murasa and I met eyes, and without another word, we sprinted forward, flanking either side of Grahamut in a streak of gold and blue. Murasa moved with speed I hadn’t expected from someone in such heavy plate armor. His wings of holy energy flared behind him, seeming to propel him forward with impossible haste.

  I nocked an arrow as we flashed to either side of the colossus, and from the far side I saw Murasa raise his maul, eyes burning with golden light. Releasing a bellowing roar, he slammed it into the ground with earth shattering force, fracturing the perimeter in a spiderweb of cracks that engulfed Grahamut. From the fissures in the ground, a deep golden mist unfurled, leaving the cracks pulsing with holy light, as if the entire area had been consecrated. Grahamut’s wide open maw let out a horrifying bellow as each step through the shimmering field scorched him.

  I took the opportunity, letting Lunae’s power pool into my arrow and releasing. It exploded on impact, icing Grahamut’s shoulder and drawing out another shuddering wail. Murasa and I continued battling the fallen god, giving it everything we had—as if honoring the deity for what it once was, not what it had become.

  My anger for the god waned as we fought on. I realized it too was a victim, just as we were. And more than anything, I felt it’s desperation. Truthfully, it reminded me of myself.

  Throughout the exchange, though they didn’t speak, I could feel Lun and Ten’s disposition more clearly as it continued. They were sad. Each strike seemed to deepen their sorrow. They felt for this deity. Mourned its corruption, its downfall.

  I reached for my quiver… One arrow left. Explosive tipped.

  I looked again to Grahamut, its silent wail, its desperate swings against Murasa’s holy light—and more than ever, I just felt sorry for the monster.

  But what could I do…?

  As if in answer, something stirred within me—a sensation unlike anything I’d ever felt. Both Lun and Ten awakened in unison, their powers converging in the mark upon my chest. Fire and ice, void and light—opposite forces colliding, clashing, and finally melding into something warm… something beautiful.

  My hand rose on its own, trembling as I extended it toward Grahamut.

  Power gathered in my palm, glowing brighter, fuller, until the air itself seemed to hum around me.

  The fallen god turned, its onslaught faltering. Murasa paused too, panting heavily, sensing that something had changed.

  The energy swelled.

  And then—Grahamut, the Grave Walker, lowered itself. The colossal being came to a kneel, bowing its head until its cracked stone brow met my waiting hand.

  My breath caught. I should’ve been afraid. Instead… I felt peace.

  When its scarred surface touched my palm, the world was consumed by a blinding white light.

  When sight returned, I stood once more in the grove—the one Lunae and Tenebrae had shown me from the bell tower. Grahamut was there too, seated beneath the grand willow, its form restored, radiant with life instead of decay.

  Its emerald eyes met mine. It had no mouth, no face, yet I could feel its smile.

  Lun and Ten appeared beside me, silent sentinels of dawn and dusk. I tried to speak, but our voices intertwined—one will, one resonance.

  “Grahamut of the Wandering Woods,” we said together, uttering the deities' true name. “Let us end your suffering. Return now to your orchard—cleansed, and redeemed.”

  The deity’s gaze lingered. Then, a voice seeming older than the earth itself filled my mind, deep and resonant as the roots beneath the world.

  “Thank you…” it said slowly. “Please… save my forest. Do not let °????┍≥???μ return…”

  The last word warped, incomprehensible—not a name, but a distortion.

  Before I could ask what it meant, Lunae and Tenebrae bowed. Instinctively, I followed.

  Grahamut leaned back, at peace. And with one final nod, the being dissolved—a flurry of wind and leaves spiraling skyward until only light remained.

  But the vision did not end.

  After a long silence, their voices came—soft and sharp, intertwined, yet weighted with confusion.

  “Yukon… why do you keep us here?” Lunae and Tenebrae spoke as one.

  I stepped forward, fists tightening at my sides. My throat felt dry. Still, I forced the words out.

  “Because I need to know,” I said quietly.

  Maybe it was Ron’s death. Maybe it was seeing Grahamut find peace while I still drowned in questions. But I’d had enough. Enough half-truths. Enough riddles.

  These gods—Lunae and Tenebrae—they’d bound themselves to me, altered my fate, decided who lived and died around me… and yet I still knew nothing of why.

  I met their glowing eyes, the words trembling at first, then hardening.

  “What are you?” I whispered.

  When they didn’t answer, the dam broke.

  “What is your goal? Why do you remain with me?” My voice rose. “You keep saying my fight isn’t over yet—but when does it end? What are you preparing me for?”

  I breathed through clenched teeth, heart pounding. “If you’re going to stay inside me, using me as your vessel, then I deserve the truth. And if you can’t trust me enough to tell me—then devour me like you threatened the first day we met.”

  My voice cracked. “I won’t watch any more of my friends die without knowing why. Without knowing if I could have stopped it. If we could have stopped it.”

  For a long moment, they said nothing. Then, like reflections sharing the same thought, they turned to each other—and back to me.

  “We are two that once were one,” they said, voices echoing in perfect unity. “Separated, we act on instinct—feelings that pull us toward reunion. Only through the vessel may we become whole again.”

  They paused. “Until you master us, even we cannot recall the full truth. We remember only fragments… a shadow of what we once were.”

  “That’s not good enough!” I snapped. “People are dying! My friends trust me—they need to know I’m not leading them into death blindly. If your so-called instincts are pushing me toward danger, then fine—but I won’t let them fall with me.”

  For the first time, I felt it—their regard. Not pity. Not amusement. Respect.

  “All we know,” they said, “is that something terrible is coming. A force that threatens the balance we were born to uphold. Danger is certain.”

  Their tone deepened, sorrowful. “But you, our chosen vessel, no longer have a choice—just as we do not.”

  Then Lunae’s voice softened, overlaying Tenebrae’s low rumble.

  “As for our power… perhaps we erred in choosing one so young. Your emotions burn too fiercely. They stir Tenebrae’s wrath… and weaken my restraint. Until you can master yourself, our power will remain unstable.”

  My mind swam with their words—frustration mixing with a faint, uneasy understanding.

  It was just as the tome had said. Lun and Ten had truly been one being, perhaps a deity far beyond either of them now. Their split hadn’t just divided their power; it had fractured their very minds. Memory, reason, purpose—all scattered, leaving behind the instincts that now guided them.

  A memory flickered—the chamber beneath the Sunwarden’s temple. The mural of two wolves beside a lone figure… and before them, the King of Death.

  Could their reemergence mean another catastrophe like the one that sundered the world centuries ago? Could this Fell insurgence be that catastrophe returning?

  I wanted to ask, but the vision began to unravel. The brilliant forest dissolved into shadow, the air thinning, color fading. When my eyes opened again, I was kneeling in the cemetery.

  Murasa was standing next to me looking utterly shocked. As the sounds of the night came back into focus, no longer muted, his voice broke through.

  “What did you do?!” he asked hastily. “The beast—it vanished the moment you touched it! What happened?”

  “I… I think I cleansed it,” I said slowly, my voice unsteady. The words barely felt real.

  Murasa blinked once, then looked toward Night’s Reach as an explosion lit the horizon.

  “...You and your friends have done enough,” he said, gripping his maul. “Flee if you must. Save yourselves. But if there’s still fight left in you—I’ll see you in there.”

  He pulled a teal talisman from his belt, whispered an incantation, and vanished in a flare of bluish-green light. Celeste’s magic, most likely.

  Before I could move, an arm caught mine.

  Selene. Her eyes were sharp but heavy, the fire in them tempered by sorrow.

  She tilted her chin toward a crushed, trembling Lyria, still hugging herself amid the wreckage.

  “Lyria…” I muttered, unsure of what to say.

  Selene didn’t wait for me to decide. She pushed me gently toward her.

  I knelt beside Lyria and wrapped my arms around her. Her shoulders shook against my chest as I tried to steady her—though my own heart felt barely whole.

  When I glanced up, Kaela stood apart, arms crossed, jaw tight. She wouldn’t look at us.

  I drew a slow breath and faced the others.

  “Murasa said we could flee. Said we’ve done enough.”

  Silence hung for a moment—broken only by the distant cries from the town.

  Finally, Selene spoke, voice quiet but firm.

  “We can’t leave Bront alone in there.”

  I nodded. Even exhausted, burned, and half-broken, we all knew there was no other choice.

  Lyria finally looked up.

  "There's... something you should know," she muttered, her voice small and defeated, but drawing our attention. "When I was on my way back to you, I ran into something... a husk. One of the taken."

  Her words were haunting. The stolen adventurers we had all but forgotten. They were back.

  "Did you recognize them?" Selene asked, stepping toward her.

  Lyria nodded slowly.

  "They had a crest from the... Blackfoot Band."

  Selene took a step back, clearly disturbed by the revelation.

  It took me a moment to realize. The Blackfoot Band. The ones that disappeared in the fight against the Fell shaman back in the Everdale woods...

  If they were showing up now—then who else might...?

  Regardless, we had to push on.

  As we started back through the graveyard, I leaned toward Selene.

  “What of Margo…?”

  She shook her head. “Took Ron and disappeared.”

  I swallowed hard. “The Witch?”

  “Dead,” Selene answered, cold as stone.

  My jaw clenched.

  Ahead of us, the burning rooftops of Night’s Reach loomed against the crimson haze.

  No time to rest. No chance to grieve.

  Just the fire waiting ahead.

  And as we stepped back into it, one thought gnawed at the edge of my mind—

  Were the Fell truly the catastrophe that Lun and Ten had hinted at?

  And if so…

  Was I ready?