The world snapped around Valmira as the teleportation talisman activated.
One moment she was screaming Arasha's name, watching her grand niece stand alone against the monstrous Prime Riftspawn—and the next, her feet hit stone, her knees buckled, and the sterile white light of the Order's medical ward blinded her.
"—No! No, damn it, send me back!" Valmira roared, clawing at the glowing remnants of the teleport sigil as it fizzled uselessly into the air.
Her right shoulder oozed blackened blood. The venom from the Prime's claw burned through her veins like molten iron, but Valmira didn't care. Her mind burned only with Arasha's smile—that damn serene smile—as the rift devoured the air behind her.
The medical ward scrambled.
"Get her on the table—she's cursed—get the suppressants!"
But Valmira slapped the approaching medic's hand away. "You fools! Get me back there! She's alone! She sent me away and now she—!"
A palm slammed down on the operating table beside her, firm and commanding.
"You're not going anywhere."
The voice was sharp, edged with fury. Leta, robes blood-spattered, her face drawn with fatigue and rage. She leaned in, her fingers glowing with divine light as they began to stabilize the venom in Valmira's blood despite the woman's resistance.
"She bought time with that talisman because you mattered to her. Don't insult her sacrifice by throwing your life away before she can even return."
Valmira's breath hitched, her resistance wavered.
Leta pressed down harder on the pressure wound. "If you die on me now, Valmira Steelhart, I swear on every god watching—I'll find a way to summon your soul just to yell at you."
Valmira slumped, trembling, teeth gritted.
Leta saw the same stubbornness of their commander in Valmira, making her heart ache, but she pulled her focus back to the task.
"…Damn you, Commander," she whispered. "Courting death once again. You better come back alive!"
****
Kael's head snapped up mid-mission.
He'd felt it.
A golden flicker at his waist—the talisman he forged, the one linked to Arasha's protection—activated.
"No…"
Without a second thought, Kael rips a teleportation talisman that sent him back to the fortress. He tore through the halls of the fortress. Civilians and soldiers alike jumped from his path as he blazed toward the coordinates pinged by the enchantment.
He burst into the medical ward, eyes scanning wildly—
"Arasha!" Kael yelled looking around.
Valmira heard her grand niece's name and looked at Kael.
Kael met hers.
She was lying on a table, pale, sweating, her veins still faintly glowing from the poison—but alive.
Kael rushed to her side. "Where is she? Where's Arasha?!"
Valmira's eyes snapped open. Raw desperation spilled from her cracked lips.
"She sent me away. She's—alone, Kael. It was a swift and cunning riftspawn looking almost like a human…"
The breath left his lungs. A fist of dread closed around his heart.
Behind him, the ward door slammed open again—Sir Garran, fully armored and scarred, just released from care. He froze when he saw Kael.
"If you go," he growled, stepping beside him, "then I go too."
Kael stared at him. No time for questions. No hesitation.
He nodded once. "Then let's bring her home."
Sir Garran declared grimly. "Damn right we will."
And with that vow whispered between them and the weight of Arasha's sacrifice heavy in their chests, Kael and her most trusted knight rushed through the portal gates—back to the epicenter of terror.
To where the flames still rose.
To where Arasha stood.
Or had stood.
****
When Kael and the Sir Garran stepped through the portal, silence greeted them.
An unnatural hush—like the world itself dared not speak.
All around them, the land was torn asunder, scorched black and white with the remnants of holy fire and abyssal corruption. Rift residue pulsed faintly in the air, slowly unraveling as the last of its taint died off. Bones of monsters—scattered, twisted, and shattered—littered the ground.
In the center, a crater still smoldered, glowing faint gold and violet.
The Scion Order had already arrived, armor battered, weapons dulled, eyes wide and disbelieving. Their faces turned toward the sky—
Kael followed their gaze.
There, falling gently from above as if time itself had slowed, was a single, fragile figure—her dark hair catching the waning light.
Arasha.
No hesitation. Kael surged forward, arms outstretched. His heart thundered. His soul screamed.
"Please… please no—"
She landed in his arms like a falling star.
Light shimmered around her.
Kael dropped to his knees, holding her close. Her skin was too cold. Her breath was gone… but her eyes were open—and there, in her fading gaze, was peace.
Kaelen's throat clenched. "Why…? Why didn't you wait? I—I could've—"
A tender, final smile touched her lips. Her eyes shimmered not with pain, but love, pride, and sorrow.
And as tears rolled down her face, so too did his.
And then, with one breathless exhale—
She vanished.
Not a collapse. Not a death.
But a soft scattering of radiant particles that drifted into the sky, rising like stardust toward the heavens.
For a long, suspended moment—no one moved.
Knights stood frozen, blades sheathed at their sides. Sir Garran lowered his helm with trembling hands. Even the wind dared not blow.
And then—
A single sob broke the silence.
From the youngest among them, barely past his second battle. A quiet sound, choked and raw.
Then another sob. Then another.
And like floodgates cracking, the field trembled with the weight of mourning.
"She's… gone…"
"No… not her… not our commander…"
They wept openly.
They dropped to knees.
Even those who had once doubted, even those who feared the burdens she bore, now grieved for the star they had followed until it burned itself away.
Kael remained kneeling, arms still where her form had rested, his forehead pressed to the place where she had disappeared.