The sky bent low in hues of amber and peach, the kind of evening light that made even broken lands look whole. Wind stirred the grass in quiet sighs. Somewhere nearby, birds called lazily, as if even they had grown too comfortable to flee.
Thal lay back on a sun-warmed stone, arms folded behind his head, the weight of his body softened by the earth beneath. Sprawled comfortably across his chest was Neo, the small Kruu'Voth boy kicking his heels idly against Thal's ribs as he watched the sparring below, white hair catching the golden light and bright violet irises gleaming against the black sclera
For once, nothing hurt. For once, the silence wasn't heavy.
"She cheated," came Lucian's voice, sharp with mock irritation.
Thal cracked one eye open.
Across the small field, she stood tall, smirking, the jagged stump of her left horn catching the golden light—broken long ago, worn smooth by time. Her remaining horn curved proud and sharp. When she squinted at the young boy, her black sclera made the red glow of her irises seem to burn hotter, like embers banked behind smoked glass. The segmented plates of her exoskeleton spine flexed subtly beneath her collar as she moved, chitinous armor clicking softly with each shift of her shoulders. Her tail—rigid, bone-white, tapering to a bladed point—dragged a shallow line in the dirt behind her, counterbalancing her stance.
"I didn't cheat," she said, her voice low but teasing. "You're just slow, Lucian."
"Nah uh Quincy" Lucian scoffed. "I was letting you win."
"That so?" Quincy reached up to touch the broken horn, a habitual gesture, her fingers tracing the blunt edge. "Still complaining about the handicap?" she asked, red eyes gleaming. "Imagine how embarrassed you'll be when the one-horned woman beats you again."
She stepped closer, eyes squinting slightly, that permanent strain in her gaze never fully leaving. "Next time I'll try swinging with my eyes closed. Might be fairer."
Thal smiled without showing teeth. It was rare but here it came easily.
Lucian muttered something under his breath and turned away but not before gently nudging her shoulder as he passed. It was subtle protective in its own way. Always hovering, never smothering.
Thal sat up slightly, resting one elbow on his knee as he watched.
She was healing. Slowly. Her steps didn't flinch as much now. She held her back straighter. There were still nights where she curled too tightly when she thought no one was watching, still moments she froze at laughter too sharp or footsteps too sudden but fewer now. She didn't flinch when Lucian raised his voice. Didn't shy away from Thal's gaze.
And then Neo suddenly pushed himself upright on Thal's chest, nearly losing his balance as he scrambled to his knees.
"I saw a dragon!" he declared proudly.
Lucian turned, brow raised. "A dragon?"
"Or a big bird but it looked mean."
"You mean the owl?"
"No!" Neo said, digging his heels into Thal's ribs as he leaned forward. "It hissed at me!"
Quincy crouched low, the rigid plates of her spine fanning slightly as she bent, and opened her arms.
Before Neo could launch himself from the stone entirely, Thal's enormous hand rose almost absentmindedly and closed gently around the boy's middle. Neo barely filled the giant's palm. Thal lifted him as easily as one might pick up a dropped apple and lowered him carefully to the grass beside the stone.
Neo immediately sprinted toward Quincy.
She crouched low, the rigid plates of her spine fanning slightly as she bent, and opened her arms. Neo charged into her like a storm, small arms wrapping tightly around her waist. She grunted softly—barely audible—but didn't let it show. Her hand moved instinctively to shield her stomach, the chitinous armor there warm against his cheek, and she held him close. The bone-tail curled stiffly around her side, a protective bracket rather than a whip. "You're a menace," she whispered, brushing ash from his hair.
Neo grinned, utterly proud of himself.
Thal stretched lazily, glancing up at the sky. "Three wins in a row," he said aloud. "I might actually have to promote someone."
"Promote me," Quincy said, easing down beside him. Neo settled in her lap like he'd never known fear. "I'm clearly the strongest."
Lucian dropped beside them with a huff. "You're just lucky."
Thal snorted. "You're all lucky. I should've left you in the woods."
"You're old and soft," Quincy muttered.
"I'm not soft," he replied, feigning offense. "I'm just weathered. Like a cliff."
"Yeah," Lucian said, smirking. "A cliff that complains about its knees."
Thal gestured vaguely. "Gravity's gotten worse over the years."
Neo giggled, then yawned, pressing closer to Quincy. She adjusted her grip, resting her chin against the top of his head. Her fingers never stopped moving petting, comforting, anchoring. He had no memory of his mother but this... this was all he'd ever need.
The quiet stretched long and golden.
No war. No fire. No Harbingers.
Just warmth. Just family.
Thal leaned back again and let the moment settle over him like a second skin. "Remember this," he said softly.
Neither Quincy nor Lucian responded right away.
Then Quincy murmured, "I already do."
The wind shifted.
A faint chill edged into the dream, distant and strange enough that Thal's hand twitched slightly where it rested on the stone. For a moment the breeze carried something sharper than grass and evening warmth.
Smoke.
But the sun still burned gold. The laughter still lingered. Neo still slept, and Quincy still held him like she always had.
He wanted to stay.
Just a little longer.
…The warmth faded.
The field dissolved. Grass wilted into ash. The golden light turned pale, bleached, cold and empty. Laughter echoed, stretched thin like a scream heard underwater.
Thal stood now.
But he wasn't in the meadow.
He was in the ruins of a shrine.
The stones beneath his feet were slick with blood. The sky above had turned white, not with clouds but with a light so blinding it looked as though the heavens themselves had been torn open. A pillar of that light still hung in the distance, cutting from sky to earth like a divine spear buried in the world's heart.
And at its base... Quincy.
Her body was crumpled near the altar, the white robes she'd worn soaked red. Her broken horn—the same jagged stump she'd always carried—was finally matched by violence to its twin, the proud curve now snapped at the base, bleeding ichor into the stone. Her black-sclera eyes stared upward, the red glow extinguished, dimmed to rust.
Frozen.
Lucian was screaming.
He stood over her, taller now, broader, hair tied back and teeth bared like a beast unchained. His claws were soaked. His armor was shattered and patchworked, steam rising off him in waves as if the rage alone was burning through him.
"They killed her," he snarled, voice raw. "They they knew what she was doing!"
His foot came down on a soldier's chest, crushing it with a sickening crunch.
More bodies were everywhere. Human soldiers, priests, mages, scouts—torn apart. Ripped open. Their weapons lay scattered across the blood-slick stone, rusting already in the spreading dark. Some were still trying to crawl away.
Thal stood in the centre.
His arms were trembling not with exhaustion but restraint.
He looked down at the weapon in his hand. A massive sword, the metal cracked with red light, its edge humming with a curse old as the stars. The runes along its length burned brighter with every heartbeat. It had not been drawn at first.
But when the light came down when the ritual failed and Quincy screamed and then fell—
Thal had stopped holding back.
Now his knuckles were white. His breath ragged. His chest heaving.
Lucian looked at him, eyes alight with grief that had mutated into hatred. "Don't stop," he growled. "Don't you fucking stop."
Thal didn't answer.
He raised the blade again.
A wall collapsed ahead of them, stones tumbling outward as soldiers burst through the smoke—desperate, blind with fear, some screaming prayers, others simply running.
Too late.
Thal moved like a storm let loose.
The first man reached him with a spear raised. Thal's sword cut clean through the weapon, through the man's arms, and down into his chest in a single motion that didn't even slow when it struck bone. Blood sprayed across the cracked stone.
Another soldier lunged from the side.
Thal caught him with his free hand.
The man's helmet crumpled inward under Thal's grip with a wet crunch, the metal folding like thin tin before the skull beneath it gave way. Thal threw the body aside without even looking where it landed.
Lucian followed at his heels, a shadow in fire.
Where Thal cut, Lucian crushed.
Where Thal struck high, Lucian struck low.
A priest stumbled backward in front of them, chanting something desperate through blood-streaked lips.
Thal didn't bother with the sword.
He drove his fist straight through the man's chest.
The body lifted from the ground before sliding free and collapsing in a heap at his feet.
Another soldier tried to run.
Thal stepped forward and brought his foot down on the man's back.
Bone shattered.
The scream ended instantly.
The stone beneath them had turned slick now, coated in blood and ash, but Thal moved through it without slowing. The sword carved wide arcs through the air, each swing splitting armor, limbs, and bodies alike. When the blade wasn't enough, his hands finished the work.
A shield shattered beneath his grip.
A man's throat collapsed under his fingers.
One soldier swung wildly at him with a mace. Thal caught the weapon mid-strike, ripped it free from the man's hands, and crushed the man's skull with the same blow before letting the twisted metal fall.
Lucian roared beside him, claws tearing through a line of soldiers who tried to form up near the shattered pillars.
Men screamed.
Prayers broke apart into sobs.
None of it mattered.
There was no formation left.
No battle.
Only slaughter.
Thal drove forward through them, his blade splitting two men apart before he grabbed a third by the collar and hurled him across the shrine floor hard enough that the man's spine snapped against the base of a pillar.
Another tried to crawl away across the blood-slick tiles.
Thal stepped past him.
The soldier looked up just long enough to see the giant's shadow fall across him.
Thal's heel came down.
The body flattened against the stone with a sickening crack.
Still Lucian kept moving.
A mage raised shaking hands, light gathering in his palms.
Lucian tore his arm off before the spell finished forming.
And then—
"Thal…"
The voice was so faint it might have been the wind slipping through the broken pillars.
His next swing faltered.
Behind him Lucian roared again as another body hit the stone.
"Thal…"
This time he heard it.
He turned.
At the base of the altar Quincy's lips had parted slightly, blood darkening the corner of her mouth.
Her chest lifted once.
Shallow.
Uneven.
Thal crossed the stone in two steps and dropped beside her.
Behind him Lucian was still killing.
Claws tore through flesh somewhere beyond the broken altar, followed by the wet sound of another body collapsing onto the blood-slick floor. A man screamed once before the sound was cut brutally short.
But for Thal the shrine had already gone quiet.
Her red hair was matted against her face, strands clinging to the blood that had dried across her cheek. The jagged stump of her broken horn was still there—unchanged, familiar—but the proud curve of the other had been snapped clean at the base. Dark ichor slid slowly along the line of her temple and dripped into the shallow grooves of the ancient stone beneath her.
"...Thal."
The word was barely breath.
His hand slid beneath her head immediately, lifting it gently from the cold altar stone. Even now he moved carefully, as if the wrong pressure might break what little remained of her.
"I'm here."
Her eyes struggled to focus. The red glow inside them flickered weakly against the black sclera.
Behind them Lucian roared again, the sound feral and distant as another body struck the ground.
Quincy blinked slowly.
For a moment her gaze settled on Thal's face.
Then, faintly, one corner of her mouth twitched.
"Took you long enough," she rasped.
The words were weak, but the tone was unmistakable.
Thal's jaw tightened.
"You shouldn't be talking."
"Relax," she murmured, breath uneven. "I'm still winning."
A wet crash sounded somewhere behind them as Lucian threw another soldier against the stone.
Quincy's eyes shifted briefly toward the noise.
"Lucian's… having fun."
Thal didn't answer.
His grip tightened slightly around her hand.
Her teasing smile faded slowly as the pain caught up with her breathing.
"Don't…" she whispered.
Thal leaned closer.
"Don't what?"
Her eyes flickered again toward the chaos behind him.
"Don't let him burn the world."
Lucian's claws tore through something with a sickening crack.
Thal closed his eyes for a moment.
"You should have waited," he said quietly. "You should have told me."
A faint smile returned to her lips.
"I did."
Her gaze drifted upward toward the pillar of light splitting the sky above the ruined shrine.
"I knew… you'd come."
Her hand tried to lift.
It barely moved before falling again.
Thal caught it anyway.
Her fingers were already cooling in his grasp.
"Lucian will break," she breathed. "You… have to be the one who doesn't."
The last screams in the shrine faded.
Quincy's eyes returned to him.
The red glow inside them dimmed further.
"But you'll remember."
Her fingers tightened weakly around his.
Then—The strength left them.
The warmth slipped from her hand.
Behind Thal, Lucian finally stopped moving.
The shrine fell silent.
For a long moment Thal didn't move.
Her hand still rested in his, lighter now than it should have been, the warmth already slipping away as if the world itself were reclaiming what little heat remained.
Behind him Lucian stood somewhere in the ruined shrine, his breathing ragged and uneven. The frenzy that had carried him through the slaughter had burned itself empty, leaving only the sound of air dragging through blood in his lungs.
The pillar of white light above the altar flickered.
Thal looked down at Quincy's face.
The faint smile that had lingered there was already fading, the muscles of her jaw relaxing into stillness. Strands of her red hair clung to her cheek where the blood had dried, the broken edge of her horn catching what little light remained in the shrine.
He brushed the hair away carefully.
His thumb followed the familiar line of the jagged stump of her horn, tracing it the way he had a hundred times before when she'd joked about it, complained about it, pretended it didn't matter.
The chitinous plates along her spine lay exposed beneath the torn robe, rigid now, unmoving.
Cold.
Behind him Lucian took a step forward.
The sound of his boots against the blood-slick stone echoed too loudly in the sudden quiet.
"She's dead," Lucian said hoarsely.
Thal didn't answer.
Lucian's voice cracked.
"They killed her."
Still nothing.
The sword hung loosely in Thal's other hand, the runes along its length still burning with the same furious red light that had fueled the slaughter.
For a moment it looked as though he might lift it again.
Instead his fingers opened.
The weapon slipped free.
The blade struck the stone floor with a sound like thunder cracking through the ruined shrine, the impact echoing up through the broken pillars and into the white wound in the sky above.
Lucian flinched at the noise.
Thal didn't.
He leaned forward slowly, bowing his head over Quincy's body as if the weight of the world had finally settled onto his shoulders.
His hand remained wrapped around hers.
But she didn't move.
She didn't breathe.
The wind began to push through the shattered temple walls, carrying ash across the floor in thin gray trails.
The pillar of light above the altar dimmed.
The broken sky faded from blinding white to dull gray.
And Thal—who had walked through centuries of war without bending—closed his eyes.
A single breath escaped him.
Not from rage.
Not from exhaustion.
But from failure.
The memory began to rot.
The stone beneath his knees turned brittle.
The blood darkened to ash.
The air went cold.
The warmth of her hand faded last.
He held on anyway.
There was nothing left to hold.
And the shrine—collapsed.
Then Thal jolted awake.
His body arched like it had been struck by lightning. His fist slammed into the earth beside him with a crack that split the stones and sent sparks leaping from the fire. The sound tore through the camp like a thunderclap, startling every soul awake.
Nyra shot upright, hand already on her weapon. Valen stumbled from his bedroll with a curse. Luken twisted toward the noise, and Tar, for once, actually flinched. Neo's eyes flared violet in the dark.
Thal was sitting now no, crouching his breath wild, chest heaving like he couldn't draw enough air to stay alive. His hair was matted with sweat, and his shoulders trembled beneath the torn edge of his cloak. His eyes gold, wide, and broken darted in every direction, not seeing the present, still trapped somewhere else.
Nyra reached out. "Thal ?"
His head snapped toward her. Not aggressive. Not hateful. Just... haunted.
And then, without a word, he stood.
He shot to his feet, his motion violent, almost convulsive. His frame wavered like he might fall again but he didn't. He took a step then another and began walking. Fast. Shaky. Like a man dragging himself through a dream that hadn't ended. His eyes stayed forward, vacant and burning. His fists clenched at his sides.
"Thal!" Nyra called again but he didn't stop.
He walked toward the trees.
They didn't stop him.
Each trunk he collided with massive, twisted old things splintered and cracked. Not a single step paused. Bark exploded. Roots tore free. The forest split open in his path like it feared him.
Nyra started forward. "We have to "
A hand caught her shoulder.
Alinda.
"No," she said firmly, her voice low but unyielding. "Not you."
Nyra turned, incredulous. "But he he's "
"He's not awake," Alinda said, eyes fixed on the path of destruction. "Not fully. Not enough to see who's near him. He's still in that place."
"But "
"I'll go," Alinda interrupted. "You go after him now, even speak too close, he could crush your skull without meaning to. Or worse meaning to."
The firelight caught the edge of Alinda's silver runes as she stepped past, her cloak rustling as she moved. The others didn't argue. Not Tar. Not Neo. Not even Valen, who looked more shaken than he'd ever admit.
Nyra clenched her fists, heart pounding. "Is he... okay?"
Alinda paused, halfway into the dark.
"No," she said softly. "He just remembered the day his world ended."
And with that, she disappeared into the trees after him.
He didn't feel the bark split against his shoulders. Didn't notice the blood on his knuckles. Didn't care that the wind had picked up or that the moon was hidden.
The trees cracked under his steps.
The world had gone silent but for the sound of his breath and his voice.
Low. Ragged. Like something chewing glass inside his throat.
"No... no, no, she was just— she was— why did they— " He stumbled, righted himself. "I told her not to do it—Not alone—Not again... I told her."
He gritted his teeth. His jaw clenched so tight it creaked.
"She smiled," he whispered. "She smiled like it was okay."
His hands rose suddenly and raked through his hair, fists twisting at the roots. "They always smile before they fall."
He looked up but the sky was gone, smothered by leaves and the weight of memory. Only pale gaps between the canopy looked down on him, distant and indifferent. The stars reminded him of her eyes.
Too dim to see clearly.
He took another step.
Another tree shattered.
"Lucian wanted to burn the world," he muttered. "I let him—I let him—I let him. Because I couldn't carry it anymore."
His voice cracked.
"I dropped it. Dropped the sword. Like that would undo it. Like that would fix it."
He staggered, collapsing to one knee, gripping the earth like it might hold him together.
"But it didn't bring her back," he breathed. "Nothing ever brings them back."
A twig snapped behind him.
He didn't move.
Didn't turn.
Only muttered again, softer now, like a lullaby recited at a grave.
"Don't go where the light breaks the sky. Don't go alone. Don't go—don't go..."
Footsteps, slow and steady. Barely audible over his rasping voice.
"Quincy?" he whispered. "No... no, not again. I buried her. I buried her. I saw her chest stop. I felt it."
"Thal."
No response.
"Thal, look at me."
Still nothing.
He stayed kneeling, shoulders hunched, hair clinging to sweat-drenched skin. His breath steamed in the cold, and his voice came soft and bitter like a prayer he didn't believe in.
"They're dust," he murmured. "All of them. The world breaks them, and they die screaming, or quiet, or worse they hope. Just to die anyway."
Alinda's face tightened. "That's not true."
His head tilted slightly, as if he'd heard something but his eyes didn't lift.
"I held her in my arms," he muttered. "Felt her warmth leave. Felt it bleed into nothing. Not even a flicker left behind. No soul. No echo. Just... gone. Like she'd never existed."
"Quincy wasn't nothing," Alinda snapped, taking a step closer. "You know she wasn't."
He exhaled harshly, like a laugh twisted into something cruel. "You think that matters now? In the grand scheme? Her kindness didn't stop them. Her pain didn't change them. She gave everything and they still strung her up like she was a warning."
"She believed in them."
"SHE WAS FUCKEN WRONG!"
Alinda flinched.
Thal finally stood but not all the way more like a crouch but still towering over her, his body coiled with the weight of too many wars, too many dead. His fingers were curled like claws, trembling slightly at the tips. He didn't face her.
"They're dust," he repeated, quieter. "Born of it. Die in it. Fight over it and we—" his jaw locked, voice tight, " we tear ourselves apart for them, hoping one day it'll be different but it never is."
Alinda stepped closer, more cautious now. "She mattered to you. That's why this hurts."
He laughed again empty this time. "Of course she mattered. That's the curse. We remember them after they're gone and then we carry their graves on our backs like trophies."
She didn't stop.
"You're sounding like him." Her voice didn't need to name him. The weight behind it did.
That made Thal pause.
Just enough.
He turned his head slightly enough that she could see the gleam of his eye in the dark.
"I'm sounding like the truth," he said. "He just had the spine to accept it."
Alinda's fists clenched. "He gave up on the world."
"No," Thal said. "He saw the world for what it was and stopped pretending it deserved saving."
A silence passed. Heavy. Thick with ash and memory.
She finally stood before him. Close now. Brave.
"You didn't used to think like this."
"I didn't used to bury children," he hissed. "Or torch cities full of the innocent and the cruel alike. I didn't used to wake up with blood under my nails and not remember how it got there."
Alinda didn't speak right away.
She reached out slow, deliberate and touched his wrist. Not to hold. Not to restrain. Just connect.
"You're not the only one hurting, Thal," she said. "But I still choose to believe they're worth something. Even the dust."
For the first time, his body stilled.
Not relaxed. Not healed.
Just... paused.
The wind moved around them again. Cold and slow, dragging ash through the broken forest.
He didn't look at her.
But his voice, when it returned, cracked at the edge.
"She smiled when she died," he whispered. "Like she knew. Like she forgave them."
His hand finally opened. The tension drained, just a little.
"I don't know if I can."
Thal's body trembled barely but it was there. A quake beneath skin that hadn't faltered in centuries. His breath hitched, then steadied, then broke again. The rage was gone. The fire that had always burned just behind his voice flickered to embers and then
He sagged.
Not like a man wounded.
Like a man exhausted from carrying too much for too long.
His knees shifted forward into the dirt. His chest bowed and before she could say his name again, he fell forward slow, heavy, like stone surrendering to gravity.
Right into her.
Even kneeling, he dwarfed her. His broad shoulders slumped against her chest. His forehead pressed against her collarbone. His weight wasn't violent it was hollow. Crushed from within.
Alinda staggered slightly under him, her arms instinctively catching his sides. She didn't speak. Couldn't.
His breathing was shallow but sharp.
Wet.
She felt it. The heat of it against her neck. His eyes were watering. His breath quivered.
He was crying.
The Nephilim she'd once watched walk through flames without flinching, was trembling in her arms like a boy who'd finally accepted he couldn't save the ones he loved.
Alinda clenched her jaw, her grip tightening around him not out of strength but desperation.
"I'm here," she whispered, more to herself than to him. "I'm here, you stubborn bastard..."
Thal didn't answer. Didn't move.
Just broke. Quietly. In the arms of the only person left who saw him before the world began to take him apart.
And for a long time, neither of them moved. The night pressed in around them like a held breath, and the forest stood still silent witnesses to the weight of grief carried too far.