The next morning, as the first light of dawn pierced through the lingering remnants of the storm, the group stirred from their rest. Thal, as always, was already awake. He had returned quietly after confronting the storm, entering the cave as if the blizzard had never touched him. Whatever had happened outside—the frozen corpses, the watching eyes—he carried it without a word.
Nyra woke first, stretching stiffly as the cold air bit at her skin. She looked around, noticing the absence of Thal, but before she could investigate, he appeared at the cave entrance, his massive form casting a long shadow across the cavern.
"Thal, where did you go?" Nyra began but stopped herself as she saw the lack of any injury or exhaustion on him.
"Nothing you need to worry about," he said simply. He glanced back at Tar, who was already up and gathering his things. The Minotaur didn't seem affected by the blizzard either, simply watching the rest of the group with his usual stoic expression.
The others soon woke. Luken stretched and muttered complaints about the cold, while Valen looked out into the distance, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his weapon. Despite the previous night's events, the world outside felt like a frozen wasteland, its icy grasp tightening around them.
They packed quickly. Thal was already prepared, his towering form an imposing figure even in the weak light.
"The Empyrean Spine is a few days' journey," Thal said, his voice steady. "But we're not going over it. Not yet."
Nyra raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"
"The Spine is wrapped in the Empyrean Fog," Thal said, adjusting his cloak. "It eats memory. Within an hour, you'll forget why you're there, who you are, how to breathe. There's a village near the base—Oakvale. Someone there crafts runes that hold the fog back. I've used her before. We'll stop there first."
"Oakvale?" Nyra straightened, her eyes sharpening with recognition. "The village with the silverwood trees?" She almost smiled. "Neo and I used to chase fireflies there while you talked business with Vivin. She'd braid my hair and sneak us those honey-cakes."
Thal grunted. "You ate six. Between you."
"Worth it," Nyra said. Her gaze drifted toward the distant mountains. "Even if I was sick for three days."
"She remembers you," Thal said. "Both of you."
Valen looked between them, arching a brow. "So we're walking into a family reunion and a transaction? Lucky us."
"Shut up, Valen," Nyra said, but the tension had left her shoulders. "If she still has those cakes..." She glanced at Thal. "I'm eating five this time."
"Four," Thal said.
"Stingy."
"The Spine takes the weak," he rumbled, adjusting his pack. "Be strong, or be left behind."
"Four, then," Nyra conceded, falling into step beside him. She was quiet for a moment, watching the horizon where the mountains grew teeth. "Neo would remember this place too. The way the silverwoods hum at night."
Thal said nothing, but his pace slowed—just enough.
They broke camp and moved southwest, leaving the storm-blasted ravines behind. The tundra began to relent almost immediately, as if the land itself exhaled after holding its breath too long. Barren white gave way to frost-resistant grasses that crunched underfoot like brittle parchment, then to low shrubs with leaves dark as oxidized copper. Stunted trees appeared, their bark gnarled and silver-gray, defying the harsh conditions with stubborn, twisted grace.
The air grew softer, losing the knife-edge bite of the high altitudes. Valen pulled back his hood, suspicious of the relative warmth, while Luken watched the vegetation change with the eye of a man cataloguing escape routes.
"Ground's getting softer," Valen observed, kneeling to touch the earth. "Less permafrost. We're dropping in elevation faster than I expected."
"We're close," Thal said.
The wind shifted, carrying a scent that made Nyra's stride falter—pine resin, woodsmoke, and something sweet underneath. Honey-cakes, or the memory of them.
As they approached a small outcropping of rock near the foot of the mountains, Luken squinted at the new path ahead. "So this woman—she's a mage? A runesmith?"
"Something like that," Thal said.
"And you trust her magic?" Luken pressed, adjusting his grip on his staff. "Memory-affecting artifacts are volatile. If the enchantment is unstable, we could end up worse than lost—we could end up hollow."
"Then don't touch the stones," Valen said, smirking. "Problem solved."
"It's not that simple," Luken shot back. "Residual thaumic fields can—"
"Can what?" Valen interrupted. "Make you forget your mother's birthday? Relax, Luken. You're already forgetting to have fun."
"Both of you, shut it," Nyra said, but there was no heat in it. She glanced at Thal. "Vivin will have what we need. When it comes to Empyrean craft, she knows best."
"She must be ancient then," Luken muttered. "The kind of thaumic anchoring you're describing requires decades of specialized—"
"She's not from Arnveld," Nyra cut in, her voice dropping slightly. "She's Solharra."
Valen froze mid-step. "Wait. A knife-ear? Here?"
Nyra cuffed him hard across the back of the head, the crack of leather bracer against skull echoing sharp in the cold air. "Don't call her that. Ever. Especially not to her face."
"Ow—damn it, Nyra—"
"I mean it, Valen," Nyra said, her eyes cold. "She'll take more than your pride if you use that word near her."
Valen rubbed his head, but his usual smirk was replaced by something almost boyish, a rare flash of genuine interest breaking through his guard. "Fine. An elf. An actual elf on Arnveld."
"The Academy of Solharra," Luken breathed, his eyes widening behind his spectacles. He clutched his staff tighter, knuckles white. "The texts say their thaumic libraries are alive. That knowledge literally grows there. Centuries ahead of anything we have. I've dreamt of walking those halls since I was a boy."
"White cities in the red desert," Valen added, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "Heard a merchant say the streets are so clean you can taste the water in the air. That they don't even have mud."
Nyra glanced sideways at Tar, seeking some silent commiseration. The Minotaur met her gaze, his dark eyes flicking from the wondrous expressions of the two men to the reality of what awaited them. He gave a slow, deliberate shrug—his massive shoulders rolling once, horns dipping slightly.
"Yeah," Nyra muttered, turning back to the path with a grimace. "Well."
Luken barely noticed, still murmuring. "The crystalline spires, the living equations..."
"How did she get here?" Valen asked. "I thought the Sundering made that impossible."
Nyra shook her head. "I don't know. I never asked." She looked up at Thal. "How long has she been here? Since before...?"
"She's older than me," Thal said simply, not breaking stride.
The three of them fell silent for a moment. Valen let out a low whistle. "Older than you. That's... actually terrifying."
"She's not a legend," Nyra said quietly, her voice carrying an edge of warning that didn't quite match the wondrous expectations hanging in the air. She scratched the back of her neck, looking toward the village ahead with a peculiar tightness in her jaw. "Just remember she's helping us. That makes her friendlier than most of her kind would be to humans."
Luken was still staring into the middle distance, lost in dreams of crystalline libraries. Valen kept glancing toward the village, as if expecting to see white towers rising above the snow-dusted rooftops.
Nyra walked faster, suddenly eager to get this over with.
The village of Oakvale came into view, nestled near the base of the Spine. It was modest—clusters of rustic buildings with snow-dusted roofs, smoke curling from chimneys. As they entered, the villagers' gazes lingered on them with friendly curiosity rather than fear. Children pointed at Thal with excitement, tugging at their parents' sleeves and whispering, "A Jotun! Look at the size of him!" Others simply watched with idle warmth, offering nods and half-smiles to the strange travellers.
But it was Tar who drew the most nervous glances. The Minotaur walked behind Thal with silent, rolling strides, his eleven-foot frame casting a shadow that swallowed doorways. His black fur matted with road dust, his horns scraping faint lines into the woodwork of low eaves when he passed too close. Villagers stepped aside for Thal, but they froze for Tar, pressing against walls as the massive creature moved through their midst with the quiet inevitability of a landslide.
Thal walked with the same purposeful stride as always, his eyes scanning the surroundings. He had been to this village before, but the passage of time meant he hadn't been here in years.
As they neared the centre of the village, an elderly woman caught sight of Thal. She was hunched over, leaning heavily on a wooden cane, her steps slow but deliberate. Her face, lined with age, looked at Thal with recognition, her eyes bright despite her frail appearance. She moved toward him, and with a raspy but warm voice, she called out to him.
"Thal," she said, her voice quivering slightly with age but carrying the weight of time and memories. "It's been so long since you visited Oakvale. The years... they pass quickly, don't they?"
Thal stopped and turned toward her, a slight flicker of recognition in his eyes. His posture softened just a fraction, though his expression remained stoic. "You were a child when I last saw you," he said, his deep voice rumbling as he looked down at her.
The woman's smile deepened, and she nodded slowly. "Yes... I remember. I was only a small girl, and you…. " She paused, her hands trembling slightly as she held her cane. "…. you've hardly changed. Vivin would probably want to see you. She's been asking about you for years."
At the mention of Vivin, the group's curiosity piqued. Thal's expression didn't shift but a small, knowing look passed between him and the woman. "Vivin," he said, his tone neutral, though there was a subtle change in his posture.
The woman's eyes gleamed. "She's been waiting for you to return. We weren't sure when, or if, you would but now here you are. Come with me. "
The others glanced at each other, unsure what to make of this. The village felt different now, as if there were more secrets woven into the fabric of this place than they had anticipated but one thing was clear: Thal's arrival had not only been expected it seemed to have been something of significance.
Thal gave a slight nod, his gaze shifting to the others. "You stay here," he said, his voice firm but not unkind. "I'll speak with Vivin. Rest here for now. "
With that, he followed the old woman, his giant form moving smoothly through the village, leaving Nyra, Luken, and Valen to linger near the hut.
Thal ducked slightly as he entered the small hut, and immediately had to sidestep a pile of leather scraps that threatened to trip him. The place was a fucking disaster. Books stacked waist-high on every flat surface, some open with their spines cracked, pages stained with what looked like coffee or blood. Herbs hung drying from the rafters in bunches that dripped faintly onto the floor, mixing with the sawdust and stone dust that coated everything. Empty wine bottles teetered in a pyramid near the hearth. Tools—chisels, punches, strange devices that hummed with latent thaumic energy—lay scattered across the floor like caltrops.
"Shit, watch the tripod," Vivin's voice called from somewhere in the mess. "That's expensive."
Thal carefully navigated the obstacle course. Vivin was waiting for him, partially obscured by a hanging curtain of beaded crystals that clacked when she moved. She was a slender elf with long black hair and golden eyes, her face lined with faint scars. As Thal entered fully, she rushed toward him, kicking a empty tankard out of her way with a clatter.
"Holy shit, look at you," she said, her voice warm but rough around the edges. She circled him, smacking his arm with the back of her hand. "Fucking mountain got bigger, didn't you? And the hair—the beard! Christ, Thal, you look like you ate a bear and then decided to wear it."
"You haven't changed," he rumbled.
"Bullshit." She traced the scar on his cheek, her thumb rough with calluses. "You've gotten harder. Or older. Same fucking thing at your age, probably."
"I came for your help," Thal said quietly, cutting through her inspection. "The three with me aren't ready for the Spine. They need runes. Three of them."
Vivin raised an eyebrow, planting her hands on her hips. "So you're trusting humans with the Spine again? You must have lost your goddamn mind." She smirked, though her eyes were keen. "Fine, fine. I'll make the fucking things." She waved a hand, then paused, something shifting in her expression. Softer. "But first — Neo. How is he? Still haunting that cabin like it owes him something?"
"Still there. Still watching."
Vivin snorted, but there was fondness in it. "Still doing the whole..." She gestured vaguely at Thal's entire existence. "...stoic mountain routine, I assume? Stood there looking unmovable, says twelve words a day, makes everyone around him feel slightly judged?" She tilted her head. "You know he got that from you. Little bastard watched you for twenty years and just... absorbed it. Wears it better than he should."
Thal said nothing.
Vivin pointed at him. "See. That. That's exactly what I mean."
She picked up a chisel, turned it over in her fingers without really looking at it. "And the twins?"
"Tor stayed behind. Tar's with me."
"Of course he is." She smiled faintly. "Tor always did hate leaving that place. And Tar never did learn to let you out of his sight." She set the chisel down, leaning against the workbench. "I've thought about them. More than I expected to, honestly. You never think you'll miss a pair of Minotaurs until they're not around to knock your shelves over."
Thal said nothing, which she took as agreement.
Vivin was quiet for a moment. Then, more carefully: "And Nyra? I think about her, you know. Her and Neo — the two of them used to tear through this village like the fireflies owed them something." A short breath, almost a laugh. "I'd braid her hair just to keep her still for five minutes. Sneak her those honey-cakes even after she'd already had too many." She shook her head. "How is she? Wherever she ended up."
Thal looked at her steadily. "She's outside."
The chisel clattered to the floor.
Vivin stared at him, her golden eyes widening… then "You absolute fucker. Shut the fuck up." She didn't wait for a response. She bolted for the door, nearly tripping over a stack of grimoires, and shoved past Thal's bulk with surprising strength. "If you're lying to me, I'll cut your fucking balls off!"
She threw open the door.
Nyra, Valen, Luken, and Tar were standing in a loose cluster outside, trying not to look like they were eavesdropping. The afternoon light silhouetted them—three humans and the massive Minotaur looming behind them like a cliff face, his horns catching the sun. They saw Vivin—saw the pointed ears, the golden eyes, the absolute chaos of her hair—and froze.
Vivin's gaze swept the group in an instant: Valen with his hand hovering near a blade, Luken clutching his staff like a shield, Nyra with her arms crossed, and Tar... Tar just stood there, his massive arms crossed, regarding her with that familiar stoic patience.
"Well, shit," Vivin breathed, her eyes widening. "You brought the whole fucking circus, didn't you, Thal?"
Then her gaze locked on Nyra.
"Oh, you absolute bitch!" Vivin shrieked, her voice carrying across the village square. She launched herself off the stoop with the force of a catapult.
Nyra's eyes went wide. She tried to back up, hands coming up in a warding gesture. "Wait, Vivin, I just—"
Vivin tackled her.
The two women went down in a tangle of limbs and cursing, Vivin's arms wrapped tight around Nyra's shoulders, her face buried in Nyra's neck. "You fucking left! Eight fucking years, you stupid, beautiful, tall bastard! I ought to kick your ass!"
"Can't—breathe—" Nyra wheezed, though she was laughing, her arms coming up to return the hug.
"Don't care!" Vivin squeezed harder, pounding her fist once against Nyra's back. "God, look at you. White hair? Badass tattoos? You grew into a fucking specimen, didn't you? Thal's Junior, my ass. You're Thal's fucking Senior now."
Valen and Luken stood frozen, watching the elf physically assault their companion with affection. Behind them, Tar let out a low, rumbling snort—not quite a laugh, but close. The sound vibrated through the ground beneath their feet.
"Is this... normal?" Valen whispered.
"For Solharra?" Luken adjusted his spectacles, his face flushed. "I have no idea. The texts don't mention... this."
Vivin finally released Nyra, who stumbled back gasping but grinning, and surged to her feet with elven grace. She grabbed Nyra's face in both hands, squishing her cheeks. "You look good. Healthy. Strong. I'm still mad at you, but fuck, I'm glad you're not dead."
"Missed you too," Nyra mumbled through squished cheeks.
Vivin let her go and turned to the others, her eyes sweeping them with razor-sharp assessment. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand, leaving a smudge of stone dust on her face.
"Tar," she said, nodding to the Minotaur. "Still brooding, just like Thal said. Good to see you too, you big lump of black wool."
Tar gave a slow, respectful nod back, his horns dipping slightly.
Vivin turned to Valen and Luken. "Well? You two just going to stand there with your dicks in your hands, or are you going to tell me your names before I have to carve your fucking epitaphs?"
Nyra, still catching her breath, stepped forward. "Vivin — Luken, Hero of Will. Valen, Hero of Skill." She gestured to herself with a grin. "And you already know me. Hero of Strength, apparently."
Vivin snorted. "Heroes. Great. Fucking wonderful." She looked back at Nyra, her expression softening just slightly. "You brought heroes to my door, Nyra. You really went and got yourself a death wish, didn't you?"
"It's complicated," Nyra said.
"Everything with you is complicated," Vivin said. She jerked her thumb toward the hut. "Get inside. Try not to knock anything over. It's a mess, but it's my mess, and I don't need you breaking my shit."
She turned and walked back toward the hut, muttering under her breath about "fucking humans" and "goddamn reunions," but her long braid swished with unmistakable pleasure.
Thal stood in the doorway, watching the exchange with the faintest twitch of his lips.
"Coming?" Vivin called from inside. "Or are you going to stand there looking constipated all day?"
Thal ducked inside after her. Tar followed, his massive frame filling the doorway completely before he squeezed through, taking up a corner of the workshop with silent, watchful presence. The others followed, stepping carefully over the threshold into the chaos.
Once everyone was inside, Vivin turned her attention to the heroes, clapping her hands together. "All right, let's get this shitshow started. I'll need to assess each of you to determine what kind of trinkets will suit you best. These won't just be any ordinary charms—they'll be tailored to your strengths and needs."
As she began her work, carefully examining each hero, her mind remained partially on Thal. She knew this journey wasn't just about the Spine or the heroes' quest—it was about Thal confronting his own past and the scars he carried—and as much as she wanted to help the heroes, she couldn't shake the feeling that it was Thal who needed her support the most.
Vivin sighed as she adjusted the thick goggles over her golden eyes, the lenses flickering faintly with runic symbols. Her slender hands worked deftly, carving intricate symbols onto small, flat stones and amulets with tools that hummed with power. Each rune she etched glowed faintly before fading into the material, locking its magic in place. Despite her focused demeanour, there was a heaviness in her movements, a weight she couldn't shake.
Her gaze flickered briefly toward Thal, who stood silent and still by the wall. She knew no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn't help him—not in the way he needed. There was a fortress around his heart that even she, with all her years of knowing him, couldn't breach. He bore his pain alone, just as he always had. The thought stung, but Vivin pushed it aside, focusing instead on the task at hand.
Valen, sitting cross-legged on the floor amidst a pile of discarded leather straps, watched her work with mild curiosity. "So... this fog," he began, breaking the silence. "It messes with your memory? How does that even work?"
Vivin paused, her fingers lingering on the edge of a half-finished rune. A sly smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. "You really want to know, pretty boy?"
"Why else would I ask?" Valen shot back, arching an eyebrow.
Her smirk widened as she set the tool down and turned to face him. "The fog isn't just any ordinary weather. It's the remnant of Empyrean corpses, to be specific. Even in death, their power lingers. Their essence seeps into the land, the air, and yes, the fog." She leaned forward slightly, her golden eyes gleaming. "Their very presence is enough to warp reality—and if you were to ever meet a live Empyrean..." She let the words hang in the air, her smirk growing. "You wouldn't just lose the fight—you'd lose your fucking mind. Even with the runes."
Valen's expression faltered, a flicker of unease crossing his face. "Great," he muttered. "Good to know we're walking into something completely sane."
Valen, scanning the disaster of the workshop, couldn't help himself. "How do you even find anything in here?"
"I have a system," Vivin said flatly, not looking up.
"What kind of system looks like this?"
"An effective one. The rune you're about to sit on, for instance — move your left foot."
Valen looked down. Moved his foot. Said nothing for a moment.
"How did you even—"
"I heard it crack when your weight shifted." She turned a chisel over in her fingers. "Sound travels differently on stone dust than on wood. You learn to read it."
Luken, genuinely curious now, leaned forward slightly. "That's actually fascinating. Is that an elven trait or trained?"
"Both," Vivin said. "Take something you're born with, sharpen it for two hundred years, and it stops feeling like a gift and starts feeling like a responsibility."
Valen tilted his head. "Two hundred years of listening to things fall over in here?"
"Among other things."
He glanced at her ears. Looked away. Glanced back. "They really do all the heavy lifting, don't they?"
"I could stab you with one and you'd never hear it coming."
Flat. Warm. Like she'd said it a hundred times before.
Valen turned slowly and looked directly at Nyra.
Nyra was staring at the ceiling with the quiet devastation of someone who had been catastrophically wrong and knew it.
Valen said nothing. His smile said everything.
"Steeling yourselves will only get you so far," Vivin continued, her tone turning serious as she returned to her work. "These runes will help protect your memories, but they're not perfect. The Spine isn't just dangerous because of the fog—it's dangerous because it's alive in a way. The Empyrean may be dead, but their influence remains. The mountains themselves have been shaped by their will."
Luken frowned. "Shouldn't all of us have one then? There are five of us walking in there."
Nyra glanced at Tar, then back at Vivin. "He has a point."
Valen nodded. "I'm not usually one to argue for more caution but if we're talking about losing our minds..."
"Tar's had one for years," Vivin said, not looking up. "He's been through the Spine before. The rune held. He's been through worse since. He's fine." She set a finished stone on the table with a quiet click. "As for Thal..."
She paused, chisel hovering over the next stone.
"He doesn't need one."
Luken's brow furrowed. "Why not?"
"Nephilim don't have those channels," Vivin said without looking up. "No Node, no channels, nothing for it to find. The fog reaches into Thal and finds..." She turned the chisel over in her fingers. "Nothing. Like trying to drown something that doesn't breathe. The fog is drawn to magic the way water is drawn to cracks in stone — it finds the weak points and works its way in. But Thal has no cracks. No Node. To the fog, he's just rock. It doesn't go after rock. There's nothing there to take."
Luken had gone very still. "No Node," he repeated slowly, as if running the words through a filter. "Not a weak one. Not a dormant one." He looked at Thal, his academic instincts visibly wrestling with the concept. "None at all."
"None," Vivin confirmed flatly.
Nyra glanced at Valen. Valen shrugged.
"Is that... important?" Nyra asked.
"Yes," Luken said immediately. "It should be impossible. Every sentient race has some analogue — even a vestigial remnant. The Node isn't just the seat of magic, it's tied to cognition, to memory consolidation, to how a mind processes reality. Without it..." He trailed off, his brow furrowing deeper. "I don't actually know what that means. The literature doesn't account for its complete absence. We've never had a subject to study."
Valen tilted his head. "So you're saying nobody knows what's going on inside his head."
"I'm saying nobody knows if 'inside his head' works the way we assume it does," Luken said quietly.
The scratch of Vivin's chisel filled the silence.
Luken looked back down at his hands, flexing his fingers slowly as if suddenly very aware of what sat behind his own sternum. Then, before he'd fully decided to, he looked up at Thal.
"What does it feel like?" he asked. "Having none of it. No Node, no channels, no... framework. What does that mean for you?"
The room was quiet. Vivin's chisel had stilled.
Thal looked at him for a long moment, his golden eyes steady and unhurried. Then he said, simply:
"What does it feel like to have one?"
Luken opened his mouth. Closed it.
He didn't have an answer. He'd never had to find one before. The Node had always simply been there, as unremarkable and assumed as a heartbeat, and now, faced with its absence in something that stood ten feet tall and had outlived everyone in the room by centuries, he realised he had no idea how to describe it.
Thal said nothing further. He didn't need to.
The silence stretched long enough to become uncomfortable. Valen let it sit for a moment, then rolled his shoulders and looked away from Thal entirely, as if deciding that particular line of thought was somewhere he didn't want to follow.
Valen glanced at Tar, whose stoic expression didn't shift in the slightest. "And you're sure these runes will work for us?" he asked.
"No guarantees," Vivin said bluntly, finishing another rune and placing it on the table with a sharp click. "But they're your best shot. Without them, you'd forget why you even entered the Spine within minutes—and then it's only a matter of time before the mountains claim your sorry ass."
Nyra, who had been quiet up until now, shifted uneasily. "Sounds like we're walking into something we're not prepared for," she said, glancing at Thal. "Are we sure this is the right path?"
Thal's deep voice rumbled from where he stood. "It's the only path."
The room fell silent after that, the weight of his words settling over them like a heavy cloak. Vivin's hands moved faster now, the urgency of their situation driving her to finish the runes. As much as she wanted to reassure them, she knew better than anyone that the Spine offered no promises—only trials—and though she couldn't help Thal in the way he needed, she could at least help these heroes survive the journey ahead.
As Vivin placed the first completed rune on the table, it glimmered faintly before fading to a dull, matte sheen. She let out a breath, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. "That's one down," she muttered, her voice tinged with exhaustion. "The rest will take some time. These things can't be rushed if you want them to actually work."
Thal was already moving. He said nothing — simply ducked through the doorway and was gone, his footsteps fading before anyone thought to speak. Nyra watched the empty doorframe for a moment, then looked back at Vivin.
Vivin's eyes lingered on the door a beat longer. Then she turned back to her work. "I'll send Tar to fetch you when I'm done. He'll make sure no one dawdles."
At that, Tar gave a slow, approving nod, his massive arms crossed over his chest. He stayed behind, silently taking a seat in the corner to watch over Vivin as she continued her work.
The heroes left the small workshop, stepping into the cool evening air. The village was alive with soft, ambient sounds—the crackle of fires, faint laughter from the inn, and the murmur of villagers winding down their day. They made their way to the inn, a modest but welcoming establishment with a sign creaking in the breeze.
Inside, the inn was warm and inviting, with wooden beams and a roaring hearth that cast a golden glow over the room. The innkeeper, a stout man with a thick beard, greeted them with a polite nod and directed them to their rooms after a brief exchange. Nyra, Luken, and Valen each dropped their things in their respective quarters, though the tension between them lingered.
Valen broke the silence as they regrouped in the common area. "So… anyone else feel weird about Thal just walking off without saying a word? Where the hell does a guy like that even go?"
"Probably somewhere to brood," Luken said dryly, leaning back in his chair. "He doesn't strike me as the 'let's all stick together' type."
Nyra frowned, her arms crossed. "He's always been like that. He's not much for explaining himself, but he's never abandoned anyone either. He'll be back."
"Still," Valen said, tapping his fingers on the table. "We're in a village full of people who think he's some kind of legend. The guy can't exactly blend in. What if he stirs up trouble?"
Nyra rolled her eyes. "Thal isn't the trouble-stirring type. If anything, he avoids it."
Luken shrugged. "We'll see. Just don't expect me to go looking for him if he vanishes."
Thal left the warmth of the village behind without looking back. The path he took was overgrown but familiar, winding around Vivin's hut and leading to a small clearing behind it. There, nestled among the tall grass and wildflowers, stood a single grave.
The stone marker was simple, unadorned except for a name etched into its surface in a language older than the village itself. The grave was meticulously cared for — fresh flowers lay at its base, and the grass around it had been neatly trimmed. Thal knelt before it, his massive form dwarfing the small, quiet memorial.
For a long moment, he didn't move. The wind picked up, rustling the leaves in the trees and carrying the faint scent of pine and frost. His eyes held a weight that seemed too great for even his massive shoulders to bear.
He reached out, his calloused fingers brushing lightly against the stone. "I haven't forgotten," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the wind. "Not for a day."
He could still see her face in the firelight. Could still remember the scream before the light took her.
And the light from the sky. That too.
He clenched his fist, his hand trembling slightly as he fought to keep his composure. "I don't know if I'm doing the right thing," he admitted softly, as if speaking to the grave itself. "But I have to try. For them. For what you believed in."
He was quiet for a moment. "You always said mercy was strength. That they deserved saving even when they... even when they did this. I don't know if I can keep that promise. But I'll try. For you."
The Spine loomed in the background, its shadow stretching across the clearing. Thal bowed his head, his shoulders trembling once — just once — before he stilled.
Then he stood, towering over the grave once more. He gave a slight nod, a silent promise made between him and the past. Then, without a word, he turned and walked away, his massive frame disappearing into the mist that clung to the edges of the village.
Back in the workshop, the fire had burned low. The village outside had gone quiet.
Vivin's hands moved mechanically, fingers etching runes she could do in her sleep. Her gaze kept drifting to the door anyway.
She set the rune down harder than she meant to. Tar's eyes shifted to her — just that, nothing more. She didn't need more.
"He hasn't changed, has he?" she said, her voice quieter now, almost to herself. "Still carrying all of it. The world, the guilt — everything. Like if he puts it down for a second it'll swallow him whole." She let out a slow breath. "I don't know if he'll ever forgive himself. Not for what happened. Not for what we all lost."
Tar said nothing. He leaned slightly closer, the way he always did when words wouldn't cover it.
Vivin's voice wavered. "I remember the way he looked back at me. Before everything fell apart." The tears came quietly, without theatre. "That day broke him. And I left anyway — like a fucking coward." She clenched her fists against the workbench. "I tell myself I had reasons. Good ones, even. But I was there for none of it, and he carried it alone, and I don't know how to make that mean something different no matter how many years go by."
Tar gave a soft grunt.
Vivin closed her eyes. The silence stretched — not uncomfortable. Just old. The kind that had weight and shape and didn't need filling.
"I don't know if I can fix it," she whispered. "I don't even know if fixing it is something that exists." She opened her eyes, looking at the unfinished rune in her hand. "But I'm still here. That's what I've got."
Tar's amber eyes held hers for a moment. Then he looked back toward the door, patient and steady, the same as always.
Vivin picked up the chisel and went back to work.