The battlefield fell into an eerie quiet, the village square littered with the remnants of the Soul-Eater King—shattered obsidian and granite glinting dully amid the dust-choked air, thick with the metallic scent of blood.
The victory should have been a triumph, but it hung like a shadow.
Elis, ignoring the limp that slowed her stride, she lunged from the longhouse.
Her face, usually calm, was etched with relief and concern as she hurried to Ash's side, her boots crunching over the debris.
"Ash! You did it! Are you hurt?" she asked, her voice trembling with pride yet edged with worry.
Ash didn't answer.
He stood rigid, his wild hair matted with sweat and dirt, his patched tunic hanging loose and torn, staring at the spot where the monster had dissolved.
When Elis reached out, her hand brushing his arm, he flinched slightly, a sharp recoil as if her touch seared his skin, his muscles tensing under her fingers.
He was trapped in a private nightmare, the revelation of his father's soul replaying in a relentless loop.
His icy, unresponsive demeanor sent a shiver through Elis, her relief fading as she exchanged a worried glance with the others—Blackthorn, Lyra, Borin—watching from a distance, their exhaustion mirroring the hollow victory that cloaked the square.
That night, the makeshift barracks in the longhouse buzzed with the sounds of exhausted knights.
Bedrolls and mats lined the floor, illuminated by the faint glow of twin moons streaming through a high window, the room filled with the deep, rhythmic breathing of snores and the rustle of restless sleepers.
Ash lay on his mat, the rough wool blanket scratching his skin, but he barely noticed.
His mind replaying the shattering of obsidian and the glimpse of a face he never wanted to see again.
He squeezed his eyes shut, but the image only grew sharper behind his eyelids.
The cold void of the King's face melted away, reforming into the cruel features of his father.
The barracks—the snoring, the smell of sweat and leather—faded into a silent, misty darkness.
He stood in a featureless gray space. Three feet away, kneeling, translucent and fading like smoke, was his father.
The man looked up, his face a mask of agony and confusion, his deep brown eyes haunted.
His voice, a whisper threading through the air from every direction, rasped, "Is that you… Lucian?"
Ash froze, a statue of devastation, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.
The name he'd buried felt like a searing brand. "What happened to you?" he demanded, his voice hollow, torn from a place of deep, angry pain. "Why are you… a monster?"
His father's form flickered.
"I don't know… I only remember… an explosion. The light… and then… this. What is happening to me?" He stared at his fading hands, horror dawning in his eyes.
"You're dying," Ash said, the words cold and final, his tone laced with bitterness.
"Dying? Why? For what?!" His father's whisper rose, raw with primal fear of oblivion.
"Because I killed you." Ash's voice broke on the admission, guilt twisting in his gut. "I didn't know it was you."
A strange silence hung between them. Then, his father smiled—a bitter, twisted thing. "Even if the world hadn't broken… I always knew you would be the death of me, Lucian."
A rasping, soundless laugh escaped him. "After all… I've been a monster all my life."
"The world just finally gave you a form that matched," Ash shot back, the old hatred surging, sharp and venomous.
"You still hate me," his father whispered, the smile fading. "Even at my final moment."
Ash offered no reply. The silence was his answer.
His father's gaze grew distant. "Your mother… have you seen her?"
The question stabbed Ash's heart, a terrible dread coiling in his stomach. He shook his head.
"She died… before the explosion," his father said, each word a struggle as he faded. "At the gala… it was an assassin. I held her… as she left. Her last words… 'Take care of Lucian for me. I loved him the most.'"
The flat delivery, devoid of warmth, shattered Ash.
His mother was gone, never seeing the Merge. His father was nearly gone now, a faint outline.
"I'm almost out…" he breathed. Then, with a sliver of sincerity, "I believe in you… and your dreams. You can… beat this…"
He vanished.
The gray space dissolved. Ash's eyes snapped open, back on his mat, the snores of the knights loud in his ears.
The devastation deepened—his mother dead, his father killed by his hand, a monster's belief a curse.
The most terrifying thought iced his veins: If my father became a monster… what happened to Noah and Kelvin? Are they out there too? Things I'll have to kill? Or did they not make it at all? The twin moons shone through the window, their cold light offering no answers.
The next morning, Fallow's Ferry stirred back to life.
The sun rose bright, casting a harsh light over the village as people repaired fences, tended to animals, and sought normalcy.
Ash, now in a simple white shirt and dark green shorts provided by the villagers, wandered the streets.
His steps were aimless, his posture that of a detached observer to the life he'd saved.
In the background, Captain Blackthorn spoke with a messenger on horseback, his green-streaked hair catching the light, his tone low and authoritative.
Ash approached as the messenger rode off, his voice quiet but strained. " Good morning captain, what's going on?"
Blackthorn turned, rugged features softening as eyes met Ash's hollow gaze, a flicker of warmth cutting through the weathered exterior.
He scratched at his stubbled chin, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. "I'm sending word out to higher authorities, about the rift and that blasted King. Specialists will be on their way, though it'll be a good five or six days before they show up. Until then, we're stuck holding this place together."
A pause stretched out, Blackthorn's sharp eyes tracing the strain on Ash's face.
"Saw you out there yesterday—thought that beast had you for sure, sprawled in the mud like that, but then you got back up, fiercer than before, with a warrior's heart beating strong. That kind of grit could find a home with the Clover Knights. Ever think about joining the knights?"
Ash's gaze dropped to the ground, the offer a faint murmur against the chaos in his mind.
After a long, heavy silence, he murmured, "I'll think about it."
Blackthorn gave a slow, easy nod, his voice dropping to a gruff but kind tone. "No rush—door's open whenever you're ready."
With that, he turned, cloak swaying as he moved to shore up the village's defenses, leaving Ash alone with his thoughts.
Elis found him soon after, her simple pink gown flowing softly, borrowed from a villager, its color a vivid contrast to the earthy tones, radiating her warmth.
Her hair, usually tied, hung loose in a braid, framing her face with a gentle glow.
She grinned, eyes sparkling with pride. "Ash! I can't believe what I heard—you were absolutely phenomenal out there! Going head on with that monster? You were legendary!"
Ash's cheeks flushed a faint pink, his gaze dropping as he rubbed the back of his neck, a shy smile tugging at his lips. "Stop it, Elis, please. I wasn't all that. I Had a lot of help from the others—couldn't have done it without them."
Her grin widened, undeterred.
"Oh, come on, don't be modest! You were the heart of it all!"
But then a knight's voice cut through, firm and respectful. "Princess Elis, your attention is needed!"
She sighed, her expression softening. "We'll talk soon?" she said, limping away, her gown catching the sunlight, leaving Ash more isolated.
Ash wandered to a sparkling stream on the village's edge, its beauty a cruel mockery of his turmoil as he sat.
A young boy approached, his small face alight with curiosity.
"You're the glowy knight! I saw you! You beat the monster! You were awesome!"
Ash met the boy's sincere eyes, the child's simple view clashing with his reality.
A sharp, bitter laugh escaped him, raw with irony and exhaustion. "Yeah. I suppose I did."
The boy, mistaking it for joy, beamed and chattered before running off.
Ash remained by the stream, the water's shimmer reflecting his confusion.
The village saw a hero; he bore a stain of complexity. That laugh marked a faint shift from shock toward a desperate need for answers about Noah and Kelvin.