Mikaela, overwhelmed with emotion, approached Silverin and gently touched her face.
Silverin was staring at Mikaela’s legs, a sad, empty look in her eyes. It was as if she had lost a part of her soul. She avoided looking anyone in the face.
Tears welled up in Mikaela’s eyes.
Leonard’s gaze widened in shock, but he said nothing. Everyone present was stunned into silence, perplexed by the transformation.
Only Kaleb, completely oblivious to the heavy atmosphere, blurted out, "Who’s that? Where’s Silverin?"
Xavier knelt beside his friend, taking her hand. "Silverin... why?" he asked, his voice filled with concern and confusion.
"Is that Silverin?" Kaleb persisted, still utterly confused.
Evelyn grabbed him by the hood and dragged him away, hissing, "Don’t say another word or you’ll be dead."
Silverin finally lifted her head, looking Mikaela in the eyes.
Her face was lined with deep wrinkles, her once-blonde hair now showed stark white roots, and her eyes, though still green, were clouded with the weariness of long years. Silverin had aged dramatically, the forbidden magic having taken a visible toll.
She must have lost at least thirty years of her life… Mikaela thought, her heart aching. Touching Silverin’s face gently, she whispered, "It’s going to be alright…"
Heavy footsteps echoed through the night, approaching the cave.
Leonard’s hand instinctively went to the hilts of his swords.
It was Raviel, returning from his patrol.
He stopped dead in his tracks, staring in stunned disbelief at the scene before him. Destroyed Ember Goliaths, Ragnar’s mutilated corpse, Silverin’s aged appearance, and everyone covered in fine, grey cave dust.
"By the Seven Gods..." Raviel whispered, falling to his knees. His shield clattered against the ground, a dull, heavy thud.
Silverin turned and looked at Raviel. His face, in turn, was completely drained of energy, devoid of life.
Silverin opened her arms, and Raviel, rushing forward, embraced her as she sat on the ground. "What happened to you?" he asked, his voice trembling.
"I... I had to use a curse... to save everyone," Silverin replied, her voice hollow.
Raviel punched the ground in frustration and self-blame. "Why wasn’t I here...? Why...?"
The sight of Silverin, aged and grief-stricken, embracing Raviel, struck a chord within Leonard.
A familiar wave of icy emptiness washed over him, a sensation he knew all too well. Images flashed through his mind—his family, Besen, and Roland—faces and places lost to a past filled with pain and destruction.
They’re gone.
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All gone.
The thought echoed in the hollow space where his heart used to feel whole. His fists clenched involuntarily.
He pushed the memories down, burying them deep within the frozen wasteland of his emotions. "Crying over the dead won’t change anything. Ghost memories don’t help in anything," he said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. "I learned that the hard way. We need to rest."
Evelyn, observing Leonard’s chillingly detached response, felt a pang of unease. "But... what about Ragnar?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
"I’ll stand watch in Ragnar’s place," Leonard replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We’ll bury him. Give him a proper burial. Based on his friends’ reactions, he must have been a good person. A noble warrior."
They buried Ragnar quickly, near the entrance of the cave, a grim reminder of the night’s events.
Kaleb, surprisingly subdued, used Hellfire to cremate the remains. Raviel, his grief raw but controlled, fashioned a rough cross from Ragnar’s two axes, planting it firmly in the scorched earth.
Afterwards, exhausted and emotionally drained, most of the group retreated to their makeshift beds within the cave. But Leonard and Mikaela remained outside, sitting side-by-side on a raised rock that offered a wider view of the surrounding area.
"Those ’ghosts’ you mentioned before..." Mikaela began hesitantly, "Are they... always with you?"
Leonard stared out at the desolate landscape, his gaze fixed on the distant, smoldering volcanoes. "There are no ghosts, Mikaela," he said, his voice a monotone. "Just a cold... emptiness. Always there."
Mikaela, sensing the profound sadness beneath his stoic facade, activated Immaculatus, a gentle warmth radiating from her. She placed a hand on his shoulder, a silent offer of comfort.
Leonard flinched slightly at the touch but didn’t pull away. The warmth did feel... different. Less intrusive. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them, a flicker of something other than emptiness in their depths. "It’s... I’m afraid of getting hurt again," he confessed, the words barely audible. "It’s easier to be... an empty shell. A puppet."
Mikaela leaned closer, her shoulder pressing against his. "You’re not a puppet, Leonard," she said softly. "And you don’t have to be alone. You can... you can rely on me."
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched Leonard’s lips. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
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Mikaela took a deep breath, a faraway look in her eyes. "When I was four years old, Roland was an amazing knight. During the war against the kingdom of Fulgor, my orphanage was burned down in the crossfire, and he rescued me."
Uncle Roland?! I always knew he was incredible…, Leonard thought, a surge of warmth momentarily displacing the cold emptiness. "Did he... did he take you to the Church of Light?"
"Yes," Mikaela confirmed. "I had barely awakened my powers, and I couldn’t control them. I accidentally healed his wounds when he approached me."
"You’re special, Mikaela..." Leonard said, a genuine warmth in his voice.
"You’re the special one, Leo..." she replied, her voice filled with admiration. "I still remember your mother’s words."
Leonard’s breath caught in his throat. "What do you mean? You knew my mother?" he asked, his voice a mix of surprise and a desperate hope he didn’t dare acknowledge.
"Didn’t Roland tell you? He and your mother were best friends," she said, a playful smile at his discomfort.
"Oh, yeah, he did. Now it makes sense," he said sarcastically.
"Your mother was a seer… Her most characteristic Neumond power was precognition… Only Elara and I knew about it." She said in a low voice.
"Not even Roland?" he said.
She tucked her blonde hair behind her ears and, with a serious expression, said to Leonard, "If a half dozen people knew about that, the world would end."
Leonard trembled, hesitant to delve deeper, a knot of fear tightening in his chest. The world around them seemed to fade, leaving only the weight of Mikaela’s words and the unspoken question hanging in the air.