Six Months Earlier — Blackreach Pass
They were surrounded.
The air reeked of blood and burning pitch, the sound of battle drowned by the thunderous chanting of the Warden Cult. Around them, the shattered cliffs of Blackreach echoed with screams and steel. The moon above was red swollen, bleeding light onto the stones.
Kael's sword dripped with ichor, arms shaking from strain.
Tareth stood beside him, hammer slung across his back, blood running down his cheek. "We can't hold this pass."
"We hold until the end," Kael said.
"That's easy for you to say." Tareth smiled, but it was bitter. "You're already dead inside."
From higher ground, Nyra loosed another arrow. Her eyes glowed with gold-sight — the blessing she had taken from the Obsidian Shrine years ago. "There are too many," she said. "They're summoning something. I can feel it humming."
Kael's heart pounded.
Behind them, their wounded lay scattered men and women who had followed them into the old mountains hoping for salvation, only to find darkness.
A screech split the air.
A rift tore open in the cliffs black and pulsing.
Something clawed its way out. Horned. Hulking. Screaming in voices that were not human.
"Gods preserve us," Tareth breathed.
Kael stepped forward. "We hold the line."
Nyra dropped beside him. "You always say that."
"Because I still believe it."
She touched his arm briefly. "Then we'll believe it with you."
The battle was a blur.
Fire met steel. Flesh tore. The beast roared and tore through men like parchment.
Tareth fought like thunder, his warhammer cracking skulls and shattering bones. He held back a tide of corrupted knights alone until the cultists unleashed fire upon him.
He burned. Still standing.
Still fighting.
Until he fell eyes never leaving Kael.
Nyra screamed.
She leapt down from the rise, blades in both hands, slicing through three men before the fourth drove a spear through her ribs.
She didn't cry out.
She stabbed him in the throat.
Collapsed beside Tareth.
Kael, soaked in blood, reached them too late.
Nyra's eyes met his.
"No more lines to hold," she whispered.
Then she was gone.
Later, in the silence after the fire, Kael stood in the ruins, alone.
He buried them by the cliff's edge.
He said no words.
Only carved a sigil into stone the sign of the old faith and let the storm take the ashes.
He didn't sleep for three days.
He didn't speak for seven.
When he walked again, it was with a deadened heart.