The road to the mill was unlike any other we had walked within the valley. It wasn't just the absence of life that made it unsettling, but the persistent feeling that we were moving toward something that was already waiting for us. The ground grew drier with every step, cracking beneath our boots with a harsh, hollow sound, as if beneath it there was nothing but ancient dust and forgotten bones. Lyria walked beside me without saying a word. Her silence wasn't uncomfortable, but neither was it natural; there was a constant attentiveness in it, as if she were listening to something I couldn't perceive. More than once she tilted her head slightly, as though following a distant whisper, but she never explained what she was searching for. The mill appeared without announcing itself. It didn't rise on the horizon like another structure in the valley—it imposed itself suddenly upon the landscape, as if it had always been there and we had simply taken too long to notice it. It stood crooked, its dark wood worn by time, planted in the middle of a dead field where nothing grew. There was no wind, no breeze, and yet its blades turned slowly, emitting a constant creaking that wasn't entirely mechanical… but organic. It mimicked a heartbeat, an irregular pulse repeating over and over, as if the mill were breathing. As we approached, details began to take shape: ropes hanging from the outer beams, open cages, some empty, others not. Remnants of cloth, small bones, objects that had once belonged to someone who had never left this place. And yet, the most disturbing thing wasn't what was there. It was what was missing. There were no cries. No voices. Only a heavy, unnatural silence, as if even suffering had been exhausted into nothingness.
—We're too late —I murmured.
—No —Lyria replied quietly, without taking her eyes off the mill—. Not yet.
That's when we saw them. They weren't near the mill. They were moving away from it in a liturgical march. Dozens of children walked in line, advancing in the same direction with slow, perfectly synchronized steps under a single will. Their gazes were empty, fixed on something that did not belong to this world, and their bodies moved without resistance, without doubt, without fear.
—The cliff —I said.
Lyria nodded. But they weren't the only ones moving. In the distance, closer to the base of the mill, I saw chaos. Aldric, Serah, Maelor, and Eldran were fighting. The two witches circled above the field like living shadows, their twisted forms rising and falling with predatory movements, while around them a tide of dead bodies advanced with relentless slowness. Men, women… remnants of what had once been villagers. Their movements were clumsy, but constant, impossible to fully stop, because there was no will left to break. The line was collapsing. They were being pushed back toward the mill.
—We won't reach both —I said.
Lyria didn't hesitate.
—The children.
There was no argument. We ran. The sound of the mill faded behind us, replaced by the echo of our steps and the growing murmur of the abyss opening ahead. I moved clumsily, slower than usual. My body still ached from the battle hours earlier. Before leaving the village, Lyria had bandaged my broken arm, and I had used the wrappings to tie the shield in place. After a few ragged breaths, the cliff appeared, a sheer drop where the mist churned in dense layers, hiding any trace of the bottom. The children didn't stop. Not even when we were only meters away.
—Stop! —I shouted.
None of them reacted. Lyria stepped forward, extending a hand as if trying to break something invisible between them and the void.
—They're not listening… —she murmured.
We tried again and again, without success. Only a few steps remained before the children reached the edge when the sky darkened. It wasn't a cloud. It was a presence. I looked up—and saw him. Agramor floated above us, suspended in the air with his arms extended outward in a cruciform pose. His calm was elegant.He watched us with a smile that held neither urgency nor effort. Around him, a mass of winged creatures spiraled downward, like carrion drawn in before death itself.
—For your amusement, dear Captain —his voice said softly.
He said nothing more. The creatures descended, and the mist swallowed him whole. The impact was immediate. One lunged straight for my throat, but my shield was already raised, intercepting the blow with a sharp crack that ran through my entire arm. Another came from the left, I spun and cut it at the torso, feeling its body dissolve before hitting the ground. Lyria moved beside me with a different kind of precision—fluid, almost inevitable, as if she anticipated each attack before it happened. Her movements weren't those of an ordinary fighter; there was something ritualistic in them, something instinctive, as if she were fighting within a language she already understood. But for every creature that fell, more took its place. And behind us… the children kept walking. One step. Then another.
—They won't stop! —I shouted.
—I know —Lyria replied, her voice tightening—. Something's missing… She turned, searching. —Where is—? She didn't finish.
The first child reached the edge. My body moved before my mind. I ran, but I didn't make it. The world seemed to stretch. One after another, they began to fall. I tried to grab as many as I could while my back endured the assault of the creatures. Some clung to my neck, my armpits, the joints of my armor, seeking the places it didn't cover. Time slowed. Then... The sound of wheels. A sharp impact against the ground. A voice:
—Out of the way, filth!
The cart burst in from the side like an uncontrolled projectile, dragging dust and stone in its wake. The horse moved with unnatural force, as if it barely touched the ground. And atop it, unsteady but firm, was Tim. Timothy Lightbarrel raised his staff with a crooked smile that clashed with the chaos around us.
—I think I made it just in time.
Light exploded, but not like at the bridge. This time it didn't expand. It focused into a clean, almost liquid beam that pierced the air and reached the children at the exact moment the first one began to tip into the void. Some creatures released their grip on me. Others were cut down by Lyria's precise strikes. The children changed. They didn't stop, but they turned. As if an unseen force had taken hold of them and redirected them away from the abyss. I breathed, for the first time in what felt like hours. Lyria let out a short laugh.
—You're late.
Tim shrugged.
—I arrived at the heroic moment.
His eyes met mine. There was no clumsiness in them, only clarity.
—Now comes the hard part, Captain.
He gestured toward the mill. I turned and saw it. The group was being pushed against the structure. The witches rose and fell around them like dancers, while the mass of corpses sealed every possible escape. Aldric still held the front line, but even from a distance I could see the weight in every movement. Serah was barely holding. Maelor… barely casting. Eldran stood with his hands raised, rings of fire spinning around him.
—We'll take the children back —Tim continued, as if it were simple—. You have to choose.
—Choose what?
Tim smiled.
—Save your friends and continue the prophecy… or go to the Arcane, break the cycle, and save the valley from the curse.
My body was broken, but my mind was not. Blood ran from multiple wounds. My shattered arm struggled to hold the shield. My dented armor pressed against my chest, stealing my breath. I hesitated for a moment. Then I understood. This was the moment. I drove my sword into the ground and, with effort, I stood up. Tim and Lyria stared at me, stunned.
—I've already made my choice —I said. —I'm going to save them all.