The ruin was no longer silent.
Every clash of steel rang like thunder, echoing endlessly through the cavern. Sparks burst against the murals, the carved beasts glowing faintly as if awakened by the violence. Dust rained from the cracked ceiling with each tremor, a constant reminder that the battle could tear the chamber apart at any moment.
Ashen stood at the center of it, pale cloak fluttering with each precise movement. His sword cut silver arcs that traced through the dark, meeting claws that fell like falling trees. Each strike was flawless—never wasted, never uncertain. He moved as though he'd fought this battle before, steps deliberate, balance unshaken even as the monsters pressed in.
And yet, the monsters weren't faltering.
Their bodies—blackened, twisted like melted sculptures—regenerated with every blow. Molten ichor leaked from wounds Ashen carved, sizzling as it hit the stone, only for glowing cracks to knit together again moments later. Their shrieks shook the chamber, voices scraping like jagged metal.
To Alaric, it felt unreal.
Ashen wasn't human. Not with how he fought, not with how his silver-gray eyes never blinked even when a claw the size of a tree trunk swung at his head. He was perfection, shaped into the form of a knight.
Alaric should have felt safe under that perfection. But lying sprawled on the moss, chest heaving, sweat stinging his eyes, all he felt was small.
He doesn't even need me. Not at all.
His arms trembled when he tried to move them. His legs kicked uselessly when he willed them to stand. His staff—his tiny lifeline—lay just beyond reach, and yet his fingers clawed weakly at the moss instead of finding it. His body was like lead, drained of mana and strength.
"…Gh…"
He forced himself to push up. His elbow buckled instantly, slamming him back onto the damp ground. The sharp pain made tears spring to his eyes, hot and humiliating. He bit his lip, a broken sound escaping anyway.
Pathetic. I can heal cuts, sprout mushrooms, and raise creepy pets… but when it actually matters, I can't even crawl.
Above him, the battle raged.
One monster slammed its claw down where Ashen had stood a moment before, stone exploding on impact. Ashen was already moving, cloak sweeping behind him as his blade carved through its arm in a clean line. The severed limb hit the floor with a wet thud, ichor spraying. The beast screeched, staggering—then its veins glowed brighter, the molten cracks knitting the wound together again.
Another lunged low, its torso splitting open into a vertical maw that snapped with crushing force. Ashen spun his sword in a backhand slash, driving the blade into its gaping chest. The shriek that followed rattled Alaric's bones, making him clamp his hands over his ears.
His golden eyes burned with unshed tears.
Why am I even here? He doesn't falter. He doesn't bleed. He doesn't—fail.
His tiny chest heaved. His body, wrung dry of mana, shook violently just trying to breathe. Every muscle screamed, demanding he lie still.
And yet—
He wanted to stand. More than anything.
Even if I'm weak. Even if I'm small. I don't want to just lie here while he does everything. Not again. Not ever.
A shriek cut through his thoughts.
One of the monsters broke free from the clash, scuttling sideways along the wall like some twisted insect. Its claws gouged lines into the mural, sparks raining as stone cracked.
Alaric froze.
Its molten eyes had locked on him.
"No…"
The beast's limbs scraped faster, closing the distance with terrifying speed. Ashen turned, silver eyes narrowing, but he was too far. The other two monsters pressed him hard, their claws hammering down in unison. For the first time, even Ashen was forced to hold his ground instead of pursuing.
The crawling beast lunged.
Alaric's heart slammed against his ribs, breath catching in his throat. His arms flailed against the moss, his legs kicking helplessly. He tried to push up again, his tiny fingers clawing at the damp floor. His elbow gave out once more, dropping him back to the ground with a painful thud.
"Move!" he screamed, though it came out as a broken wail.
His body wouldn't listen. His limbs felt like they belonged to someone else, heavy and limp. Panic clawed up his throat.
I can't… I can't move…
Heat slammed over him as the monster's maw opened wide. The stench of molten stone and burning ichor filled his nose, choking him. Embers hissed as they hit the moss, smoke curling in the air around him.
Tears blurred his vision until the monster was only a shadow looming closer.
"I… don't… want to—!"
The words cracked, raw with terror. His voice was too small, too weak.
And despair flooded in.
All his earlier bravado, every stubborn thought of standing tall, shattered under the weight of reality.
He was helpless.
Helpless, and about to die.
The monster's molten maw filled his vision.
Every instinct screamed at him to move, to crawl away, to do something. But his body betrayed him, heavy as stone, limbs jerking uselessly against the moss. He was pinned down by his own weakness, by the crushing weight of exhaustion.
Hot tears spilled down his cheeks.
No… not like this… Not again. I got another chance. I can't… I won't just disappear here.
Something inside him cracked.
The threads of mana within—life's warmth and death's chill—surged violently, colliding like a storm trapped in too small a vessel. His chest seared with fire and ice at once, veins burning under the pressure.
His golden eyes flared wide, glowing faintly in the dim cavern light.
"Gh—ahhh!"
The scream tore from his throat as his little hands thrust upward, trembling violently. He wasn't reaching for his staff anymore. He was reaching for survival itself.
Green light burst from his right palm, searing hot and wild. Gray shadow poured from his left, cold and suffocating. They twisted together in midair, snarling against one another like wild beasts forced into the same cage.
The cavern responded.
The murals blazed to life, carved roots glowing as if pulsing with blood. The air thickened, humming with pressure. Dust shook loose in streams, cascading down like falling sand. The ruin itself trembled, awake and watching.
"Ahhhh!"
The sound from Alaric's throat was less a word and more a raw, broken cry. His tiny body convulsed, every muscle spasming as the magic tore through him. His fingers curled, veins bulging against fragile skin. Blood dripped from his nose, hot across his lips.
The magic erupted.
A spiraling beam of green and gray shot from his hands, crackling violently as it tore across the chamber. The air screeched as the forces collided, neither wanting to fuse, but both unwilling to stop.
The beam slammed into the monster's chest.
Molten flesh split instantly, ichor spraying in a wide arc. The beast screeched, its voice warping into something inhuman, guttural, a sound that rattled Alaric's bones. Its body staggered backward under the force, claws raking the floor as it tried to hold steady.
For a heartbeat—just one—Alaric thought he had won.
His golden eyes widened, tears streaking his cheeks. His lips parted, trembling.
I… I did it…
But the victory shattered as quickly as it formed.
The beam faltered. His mana drained faster than he could supply, his core hollowing out like a cup smashed against stone. His arms dropped limp, staff clattering uselessly against the floor. His chest seized, every breath sharp and ragged.
Blood spilled faster from his nose, dripping across his chin and onto the moss below. His body convulsed once, then sagged against the ground.
The beam sputtered out.
The monster staggered but did not fall. Its molten veins pulsed brighter, sealing its cracked chest slowly, stubbornly, like fire rekindling from dying coals. Its roar filled the chamber again, molten saliva spraying as it lurched forward once more.
Alaric's vision blurred, black creeping in at the edges. His little hands twitched weakly against the moss. He tried to lift them again, but they fell uselessly to his sides.
"…No… please…"
His voice was nothing more than a whimper, lost under the monster's roar.
Tears blurred everything—Ashen's silver blade, the glowing murals, the monster's looming shadow. He couldn't even tell if his eyes were open anymore.
I tried. I gave it everything. And it still wasn't enough.
The despair was heavier than the ruin's stone. His chest tightened, his lungs barely able to draw in air. His heart pounded, then slowed, each beat like a hammer against glass.
The monster reared back, molten maw opening wide again. Its heat pressed against his face, blistering and suffocating.
Alaric's tiny chest rose one last time. His lips parted, breath trembling.
"I'm… sorry…"
He didn't even know who he was apologizing to—his dead mother, Ashen, himself. The words slipped out anyway, broken and faint.
The monster lunged.
And Alaric shut his eyes, surrendering to despair.
The claw never reached him.
A flash of silver cut the air, brighter than the murals' glow. Ashen's blade split the monster's limb in a single motion, molten ichor spraying wide. The beast shrieked, stumbling back as the severed arm writhed uselessly on the floor.
Alaric's golden eyes cracked open, unfocused. He saw the pale figure standing over him, steady and immovable. Ashen's cloak fluttered in the heated air, torn and scorched in places, but his posture was unbroken. His silver-gray eyes stayed locked on the enemies before them, calm and sharp as ever.
The sight should have comforted him. It should have filled him with relief.
But it didn't.
Because in that moment, Alaric realized the truth: Ashen didn't need him at all.
The monsters shrieked again, pressing in from all sides. Their molten veins flared brighter, their claws hammering against stone as they encircled Ashen. He stood tall against them, sword raised, every movement measured.
Alaric could only watch, his tiny chest heaving. His arms wouldn't move, his body refused to rise. He was a useless bundle of flesh and mana, nothing more.
I'm nothing compared to him. He's perfect. Untouchable. And I'm just… baggage.
The thought crushed him harder than the monsters' screeches. His lips trembled, his throat tight.
"I… I couldn't…"
The words cracked, breaking into sobs. Tears streamed down his face, hot and bitter. His little fists clenched weakly against the moss, but they had no strength left.
He had wanted to fight. To stand. To prove he wasn't just a child. But in the end, all he could do was collapse while Ashen bore the weight alone.
The despair coiled in his chest until it hurt to breathe.
No matter how hard I try… I'll never catch up. I'll never be enough.
The murals pulsed again, as if mocking him. The great tree's roots glowed brighter, tracing veins across the floor that seemed to reach toward him. He could feel their hum, a faint pull against the threads inside him.
But he turned his face away, pressing his cheek against the damp moss.
"I can't…"
His voice broke completely.
The monster he had struck earlier roared again, molten maw opening wide as it lunged once more. Ashen met it with a sidestep and a downward slash, splitting its jaw in half. The ichor sizzled as it splattered, burning holes into the moss.
Alaric flinched at the sound, squeezing his eyes shut. He couldn't bear to watch anymore.
Every strike Ashen made only deepened the truth: the gap between them was infinite.
His body curled tighter, as though making himself smaller would shield him from the shame clawing at his heart. His tears dampened the moss beneath his face. His sobs shook his tiny frame.
I wanted… to be strong. Even just a little. But in the end, I couldn't even stand on my own.
The darkness crept in, slow and heavy. His breaths grew shallower, his limbs colder.
Somewhere far above, Ashen's blade rang again, splitting claws and ichor alike. His silver gaze never left the battle, but Alaric felt—just barely—that it flicked toward him for an instant.
Not a word. Not even an expression. Just a fleeting glance.
But that was enough to make his chest ache worse.
Because even if Ashen looked at him… Alaric knew he hadn't been needed.
"…Sorry…"
The whisper left his lips as his eyes fluttered shut.
The chamber roared with another monster's scream, but Alaric didn't hear it. His world narrowed into nothing, swallowed by exhaustion and despair.
The last thing he felt was the faint vibration of Ashen's blade cutting through the ruin, and the steady presence of the pale knight standing over him—shield, protector, and a reminder of how far he still had to climb.
Then everything went black.