The silence that had spread across Whispering Pass grew even heavier. The fog, which once felt like an enemy, now wrapped around everything like a burial shroud. The black blood of the fallen Frost Wings lay scattered across the snow, slowly freezing. But the crimson blood flowing from Kyle's back was still warm, melting the snow beneath him as it seeped down into the cold earth.
Kyle lay there, half his face buried in the snow. His breaths… they were no longer proper breaths, but weak, painful rattles escaping his throat. His fingers twitched, scraping against the snow as if trying to grasp something invisible—some last support—but they soon went limp again.
"Human… hey, get up…"
Grommash's voice lacked its usual harshness. He knelt beside Kyle, leaning on his massive axe. His chest rose and fell heavily. Even for a Level 25 warrior, that thirty-second slaughter had taken its toll. Blood dripped from his own shoulder, yet his eyes remained fixed on Kyle's torn back.
He reached out to touch him—but stopped midway. He feared that even his rough touch might shatter Kyle's fragile, fading life.
"Damn it…" Grommash muttered, his voice heavy and broken. "I… I said I'd handle it. If… if I had been faster… if I had sensed those filthy birds earlier…"
His hand clenched into a fist, veins bulging as the faint crack of bones echoed in the stillness. His anger wasn't toward Kyle—but toward himself. For an orc, failing to protect a companion was the greatest disgrace.
Nearby, Arin's fingers twitched weakly. She wasn't fully conscious, but the terrifying Time Freeze spell had drained her soul dry. Her lips trembled, whispering only one name—"Kyle…"
Grommash looked back at her, then again at Kyle's lifeless body. He noticed the violet Draken energy (10% Corruption) fading from Kyle's body. The meaning was clear—Kyle was losing the will to fight. He had reached that irreversible state where survival was nearly impossible.
"No… you can't die like this, weak human," Grommash growled, but this time, helplessness laced his voice. "You promised that old Ravana… you promised me…"
He turned toward the fog, his eyes burning red. He could feel it—someone was there, watching them from beyond the mist. Gripping his axe despite his trembling hands, he roared,
"Whoever you are… come out!"
His voice echoed through the fog—but at its end lingered a faint hesitation. He knew… if another enemy appeared now, he wouldn't be able to protect them.
Amid Kyle's fading breaths, the white mist suddenly shimmered with a faint glow. A warmth unlike the cold—a light like the first ray of the sun.
At the edge of a rocky cliff, where icicles hung like sharpened blades, stood Lyra. Her breath formed warm vapor inside her woolen mask. The golden embroidery of the Lumina Ascendants glimmered faintly against her white attire. She clutched her small healing staff tightly, her fingers turning pale from the pressure.
Below her, the scene looked like hell itself.
Her eyes narrowed. A massive orc, covered in wounds and holding a bloodstained axe, roared below. But there was something in his voice… pain. Not cruelty. The teachings of Lumina had always told her that orcs were savage hunters—but this sight contradicted everything.
"Umbra…" she whispered under her breath.
Then her gaze fell upon the boy lying in the snow—Kyle.
The moment Lyra activated her Divine Sense, her body trembled. From Kyle's body rose a dark violet haze—Draken's corruption. The same rotten, ancient stench she had only sensed from the highest mages of the Umbra Conclave. She instinctively stepped back.
A fierce conflict erupted within her mind.
Are these the enemies? Did that orc kill innocents and fill this boy with corruption? If I go down there… will he sever my head too?
Her father's memory flashed like lightning. He too had once been consumed by such darkness… and no one had come to save him. A tear formed in her eye—but froze before it could fall.
"No…" she whispered, her voice breaking. "Father said… light does not choose. It simply burns."
Taking a deep, trembling breath, she stepped down the narrow path toward them. Each step cracked the ice beneath her feet. Her heart pounded like a trapped bird against her ribs.
As she reached the ground, Grommash's bloodshot eyes locked onto her. His axe rose instantly.
"Stop! Don't take another step, white-robed one!" he growled. "One more move… and your staff will be split in two."
Lyra tightened her grip on her staff. Her hands trembled visibly. Her throat had gone dry.
Her eyes shifted to Kyle—his breaths barely clinging to life.
"He… he's dying," she said softly, almost a whisper. "He needs… the holy light. Otherwise… the darkness will consume him."
"Y-you're a healer?" Grommash lowered his axe slightly, though suspicion remained. "From Lumina? Or another trick of Umbra?"
Lyra didn't answer. She simply took another step forward. Fear still lingered in her eyes—but the healer within her had awakened. She extended her staff without looking at Grommash.
"I… I need to touch him," she said, her voice trembling yet firm. "Even if you kill me… don't let him die in this darkness."
In that frozen silence, Lyra took the final step—one that could either save Kyle's life… or mark the beginning of their end.
She knelt beside Kyle, her breathing unsteady. She glanced once at Grommash, who still watched her with suspicion, then focused on Kyle's torn back. A foul stench rose from his wounds—the bitter rot of Draken's corruption.
"So much darkness… at such a young age…" she murmured. Sweat formed on her forehead despite the freezing cold.
She raised her healing staff above his back. "Hold him steady, Orc," she instructed. "The poison inside will try to resist."
Closing her eyes, Lyra channeled her Holy Light through the staff. A soft white and golden glow emerged, slowly sinking into Kyle's deep wounds.
At first… everything was calm.
Then suddenly—
Kyle's body convulsed violently.
"AAAAHHHH!"
A piercing scream tore through the fog. His eyes snapped open—completely violet. There was no consciousness in them. The 10% Draken corruption inside him saw the holy light as an enemy. It wasn't healing him—it was burning him.
His fingers dug into the snow. His body arched like a drawn bow. A dark wave burst from him, pushing Lyra back. His hand lashed out, knocking her aside.
"Stay… away… from me!" Kyle's voice wasn't his own. It echoed like something beastly.
Lyra froze, fear gripping her heart. The boy she came to save now looked like a monster.
Grommash lunged forward, gripping Kyle's shoulders tightly.
"Hold him!" he shouted. "If you stop now, the corruption will devour him completely!"
Lyra looked at her trembling hands… then at Kyle's agonized face.
Clenching her teeth, she shouted, "Stay still!"
Pushing aside her fear, she placed the staff back onto his wound—this time unleashing even stronger light.
Dark violet smoke began rising from Kyle's body. A brutal battle erupted between holy light and Draken's dark flames. The flesh on his back sizzled—but at the same time, the deep wounds slowly began to close.
Kyle's struggle gradually weakened. His body was drenched in sweat. It felt as if frozen ice within him was melting—yet that melting burned like fire.
Finally—
With one last violent jolt, the violet smoke vanished.
Kyle's body went limp, collapsing back into the snow.
Lyra's face turned pale, as if all her energy had been drained. Her hands trembled uncontrollably.
"It's done…" she gasped. "But this… this is only the beginning. His body… does not accept the light."
Grommash let out a breath of relief and looked at Kyle. His wounds had healed—but his soul still bore the scars of that battle.
Cliffhanger:–
"To save Kyle from the brink of death, Lyra used her divine power… but will holy light truly cleanse Draken's terrifying corruption—or will it only make it stronger? What will happen when Kyle's soul begins to rebel against this unwanted salvation? Does light always save… or can it sometimes cause even greater pain? What do you think?"