When Alaric woke, the world was quiet.
Not silent—there was the faint hiss of cooling stone, the drip of condensation from the cavern ceiling, the low hum of the murals pulsing softly along the walls. But compared to the chaos before, it felt like waking into another world entirely.
His golden eyes cracked open, blurred by exhaustion. The first thing he saw was white.
Ashen's cloak, torn and scorched, spread across the moss like a makeshift barrier between him and the cold ground. The undead knight sat nearby, sword resting across his knees, posture straight and unmoving. His silver-gray eyes were half-lidded, but sharp, watching the shadows beyond the cavern light.
Alaric blinked slowly. His throat was dry, his chest heavy, his limbs still aching from the strain of his magic. But he was alive.
Again. Because of him.
The memory struck sharp. His desperate beam, his fleeting pride, and then the crushing despair when it wasn't enough. The monster's roar. Ashen's blade. And then… darkness.
Shame curled hot in his chest.
"…Tch." The sound slipped out before he could stop it, a weak click of his tongue.
Ashen's gaze flicked down at him, silver eyes steady, then returned to the cavern's dark edges. No words. No questions. Just that same calm, heavy presence.
Alaric scowled faintly, though it looked more like a grimace in his tiny, exhausted face.
Of course you're just sitting there. Perfect as always. Untouchable. Meanwhile, I'm lying here like a rag doll you had to scrape off the floor.
He tried to push himself up. His arms trembled, his small body weak, but he managed to sit against the mossy wall. His snow-white hair stuck to his forehead in damp strands, sweat drying in uneven clumps. His tunic was torn at the hem, smeared with dirt and dried ichor.
He looked every bit as battered as he felt.
Ashen turned slightly, watching his attempt without interfering.
Alaric huffed. "Don't just… stare. Say something."
The pale knight tilted his head, silver eyes unreadable, then returned his gaze forward without a word.
Alaric's lips twitched. "…Figures."
He pulled his knees up, hugging them close. The cavern air was cold, biting against his sweat-damp skin. His golden eyes shifted toward the murals above, their faint glow tracing the shapes of the great tree and the river of death.
They pulsed softly, steady, almost gentle.
For a moment, he let himself believe they were watching him—not with mockery this time, but with patience. As if waiting.
He tightened his grip on his knees.
"…I thought I could do it." His voice was small, nearly swallowed by the cavern. "I thought if I gave it everything, I could fight like you. But… I couldn't."
The words stung on his tongue. Bitter and raw.
Ashen didn't move. Didn't reply.
But his silence wasn't empty.
It was weight. Presence. As if his very stillness was an answer: he had been there, he had shielded Alaric, and he would continue to do so without complaint.
Alaric's throat tightened. He wanted to scream at him. To shout, Say something! Tell me I'm not useless!
But at the same time… he didn't want to hear it.
Because if Ashen agreed—if he admitted aloud that Alaric was weak—he wasn't sure he could bear it.
So instead, he pressed his forehead against his knees, muffling his voice. "…You didn't even need me, did you?"
The only answer was the faint hum of the murals, their light pulsing like a heartbeat.
Alaric let out a shaky breath, his chest aching.
Still, even in the weight of his shame, a part of him relaxed. Because no matter how useless he felt, no matter how broken, he was alive. Alive because Ashen had been there.
The thought made his lips twitch, caught between a bitter smirk and a sob.
"…I guess that makes you my shield, huh?"
Ashen's silver eyes flicked toward him again. Just for a moment. No words, no change in expression. But that brief look carried more weight than silence.
Alaric's throat caught. He forced a laugh, weak and cracked. "What, not gonna argue? Yeah, that's what I thought. Always the serious one."
The laugh broke into a cough. His chest rattled, his small body shivering. He curled tighter, whispering into his knees.
"…Thanks."
The word was nearly inaudible. He wasn't even sure if Ashen heard it.
But for the first time since the battle, his chest loosened, just a little.
Above them, the murals pulsed again, light spreading faintly further into the cavern, as if the ruin itself had heard him.
Ashen remained unmoving, sword across his knees, eyes sharp on the shadows.
And Alaric, fragile and exhausted, let himself drift.
Not into despair this time.
But into rest.
The cavern was alive with echoes.
Every drip of water, every shift of stone, every faint hiss from the cooling monster's corpse carried through the ruin as if amplified by the silence. The murals above glowed faintly, their veins of light crawling across the cracked walls like ghostly vines. Sometimes they pulsed in rhythm with Alaric's heartbeat, soft and steady, as though the ruin itself listened.
Alaric shifted weakly, peeling his forehead from his knees. His golden eyes flickered toward the cavern ceiling, but his head felt too heavy to lift for long. His neck ached, his limbs wobbled with the effort of even sitting upright. His snow-white hair clung damp to his temples, stray strands falling into his lashes.
The air felt thicker than before, heavy with the scent of smoke, ichor, and old stone. Every breath dragged against his lungs, shallow and uneven. He wanted to complain about it, to grumble that this was no place for a child, but the words stuck in his throat.
His body trembled. Even now, hours after the fight, the drain of mana clung to him, leaving his muscles hollow, like someone had scooped the strength right out of his bones.
He hated it.
"…Tch. I can't even sit without feeling like I'll topple."
The muttered words were for himself, though his voice cracked, thin and weak.
Ashen moved then. Not with grand gestures or sudden noise, but with the same quiet deliberation as always. He shifted closer, one pale hand adjusting the torn cloak spread beneath Alaric, tucking it so the cold stone was covered. His other hand brushed faintly against Alaric's back, steadying him as he wobbled.
Alaric froze at the touch. It wasn't forceful. Not commanding. Just steady.
"…You don't have to," Alaric whispered, embarrassed by the tremor in his voice.
Ashen didn't reply. His hand remained, firm but gentle, anchoring Alaric against the mossy wall so he wouldn't topple sideways.
The boy's chest tightened. He ducked his head, cheeks burning despite the cold.
You… you always do this. Never saying anything. Just… being there. Like it's the most natural thing in the world.
He wanted to shove the hand away. To prove he could hold himself up. But the truth was crueler — he couldn't. His body was too weak, too drained, and Ashen knew it.
So instead, he let it stay.
The murals pulsed faintly, light dancing across Ashen's pale features as if framing him. His silver eyes remained on the cavern's depths, sharp and steady, but the hand on Alaric's back never shifted.
The child let out a shaky sigh. "…You're annoyingly reliable, you know that?"
His words dripped sarcasm, but his voice was too thin, too fragile, to carry the usual bite.
Ashen didn't answer, but his fingers adjusted slightly, not pressing, just resting firmer — quiet reassurance.
Alaric bit his lip, looking down at his scraped hands. The skin was raw from gripping the staff too tightly, dirt and faint traces of dried blood crusting his palms. He turned them, golden eyes narrowing at the sight of his own fragility.
"…I wanted to help you," he whispered. "Even if it was stupid. Even if I'm just a kid. I didn't want to be useless."
The silence after was heavier than the cavern itself. His words bounced off the walls and returned to him, bitter and cracked.
Then, soft as a breath, he felt it.
Ashen's hand shifted from his back to his shoulder. Not gripping. Not commanding. Just… resting there, pale fingers cool against the warmth of his fevered skin.
Alaric's golden eyes widened faintly. He turned his head, just enough to glimpse the pale knight beside him. Ashen's expression hadn't changed — silver eyes sharp, posture steady, blade across his lap. But the weight of that hand said more than words could.
It wasn't duty. It wasn't indifference.
It was acknowledgment.
Alaric's throat burned. His lips trembled. "…You really are… my shield."
The hand remained steady.
Tears stung his eyes again, but this time they didn't fall from despair. They burned from something deeper, something raw. He ducked his head against his knees, voice muffled.
"…Thanks."
The murals pulsed once more, brighter this time, tracing green and black light along the walls and floor. The cavern hummed softly, like an exhale.
Ashen didn't move. He didn't speak. He simply remained at Alaric's side, hand steady on his small shoulder, presence unshakable.
The boy trembled, body still frail, but for the first time since collapsing, he allowed himself to lean — just slightly — into Ashen's touch.
The ruin glowed faintly around them, ancient and patient, as if bearing witness.
And in that moment, though words never left Ashen's lips, Alaric understood:
He wasn't alone.
Time blurred in the cavern.
Alaric didn't know if minutes or hours passed. His small body swayed between exhaustion and faint bursts of stubborn wakefulness, as if part of him still refused to sleep. His eyelids burned, heavy with strain, but every time they began to fall, he jolted them open again.
He hated how fragile he felt. How weak.
"…I'm not… useless," he muttered under his breath, though even to himself, the words sounded thin.
The pale hand on his shoulder shifted slightly. Not leaving. Just reminding him that it was there.
Alaric's chest tightened. He wanted to argue, to tell Ashen to stop treating him like a child—though technically, he was one. He wanted to say he didn't need protecting, that he'd stand on his own feet.
But his head drooped forward before he could get the words out. His body betrayed him, leaning just faintly against the pale knight at his side.
Ashen didn't move away.
Instead, with that same silent deliberation, he adjusted his torn cloak, drawing part of it over Alaric's small frame. The fabric smelled faintly of steel and earth, not warm exactly, but it cut the cavern's chill.
Alaric stirred faintly at the motion, golden eyes peeking open. He caught the gesture in a blur, saw the faint edge of the cloak wrapped around him, and his lips parted.
"…You're ridiculous," he whispered weakly. "You're… a zombie. You're not supposed to care."
Ashen's silver eyes flicked down at him for only a moment. Unreadable, steady. Then they returned to the shadows, scanning the cavern's edges with the same vigilance as always.
Alaric's breath caught in his throat. The faintest laugh escaped him, cracked and tired.
"…Fine. I'll… accept it. Just this once."
His eyes slid shut again. This time, he didn't fight it.
The cavern answered his surrender.
The murals glowed faintly brighter, their light trailing across the ceiling like veins of green and black. The air warmed slightly, carrying the faint scent of moss and stone. Even the drip of water softened, as though the ruin itself settled into quiet.
Alaric's breathing steadied, small chest rising and falling in rhythm with the glow. His white hair spilled over the cloak's edge, messy and untamed, catching the faint light like threads of snow.
He looked fragile. Exhausted. But alive.
Ashen remained as he was—straight-backed, blade across his knees, eyes sharp on the cavern's depths. His expression didn't change. His posture didn't falter.
But his cloak stayed draped over the child.
And his hand, pale and steady, lingered at Alaric's side until sleep claimed him fully.
The ruin hummed once more, a sound like distant voices carried through stone. Deeper stairways yawned in the dark beyond, shadows stretching like veins toward the earth's heart.
Ashen's gaze lingered on them. His silver eyes narrowed faintly, as though he, too, sensed the pull awaiting them below.
But for now, he did not move.
For now, his watch was enough.
And in the silence of the ancient cavern, the bond between boy and undead deepened—wordless, unspoken, but unbreakable.