Chapter Eighty: Death's Kiss

  Marcus moved forward with a quiet inevitability, nudging them away. He didn’t speak, didn’t glance at any of them. His face was a mask, unreadable in its stillness, as he knelt beside the Tinker like some ancient ritual had taken hold of him. From his inventory, he drew a small vial, gold-edged, its contents a dark, rich blue that pulsed faintly in the dim light, as if the liquid inside carried a song of forgotten tales. It was the kind of blue that lived only in twilight skies, just before the stars claimed their dominion.

  Without ceremony, he tipped the vial to the man’s lips, the potion flowing like silk, smooth and deliberate. Jace sensed a strange bond with the potion, as though a forgotten part of him stirred, reaching for it—a silent rhythm shared, echoing the same primal language as his Word of Power.

  For a heartbeat, the world held its breath.

  Then a cough. Not the wet, ragged sound of death, but sharp and alive. The man gasped, his chest heaving as the remnants of the blood spilled from his throat. A soft, amber glow spread through his body, creeping like dawn over a dark horizon. Wounds knit themselves together with gentle pulses of light, sealing the breaks as time appeared to reverse its cruel hand. His eyes fluttered open, clearer, as life drifted back into him as if coming from some distant shore.

  Alice’s voice trembled with disbelief, barely more than a whisper. “It worked. He’s… he’s okay.” She stared at Marcus, the unsaid truth hanging between them. “That potion had to be…”

  But before she could finish, Loren blinked, disoriented but whole, and a smile touched his lips—a small, tired thing that held the weight of years. Lara, sobbing, threw herself into his chest, wrapping her arms around him. She held him tighter than she had ever held anyone, or ever would again, her tears soaking into his tattered shirt.

  The moment lingered, fragile and precious, like the last notes of a song fading on the wind.

  He winced, though the warmth in his eyes softened it. “Ouch, Button,” he rasped with a weak chuckle. “I might not be dying, but I’m still old.”

  They laughed—soft, tentative, as if afraid the moment might break if they breathed too loudly. But the joy was real, a quiet thing that wrapped around them like a blanket after a long, cold night.

  When they looked up, Marcus was already walking away, his back to them, as if the moment had never happened.

  Jace and Dex exchanged glances, a mix of confusion, relief, and something neither could name. Marcus—their Marcus—had tried to kill them both at the start of the school year. And now...

  Marcus sat off to the side, distant and unreadable.

  Jace sheathed his sword with a sigh, wiping his brow. The clouds above seemed to relent, the oppressive weight in the air lifting slightly, but the tension remained. The dark woods still loomed around them, silent and watchful.

  The immediate threat had passed, and the group set about salvaging what they could from the wreckage of the broken cart. One cart remained intact, and after some searching, they managed to corral one of the horses. No one would be able to ride—the load was too heavy, and the path too uncertain. They stacked the remaining cart as high as they dared, though much of the goods had been destroyed or scattered too far into the forest to recover.

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  Before setting off again, they took a few minutes to rest and share a stew Jace had stored in his Chronospace Pouch—emerging as pristine as when it had gone in. The meal was simple but hearty, a moment of warmth before the road called them back.

  But the Flavor Saver triggered a reaction in Lara and Loren that Jace hadn’t expected. The moment it touched their tongues, both stiffened. Lara’s eyes widened first, a twitch of surprise tugging at her lips. Loren, however, chewed slowly, his jaw tightening as though he were working through a mouthful of lemons.

  “An... acquired taste, I’m sure.” Loren gave a stiff nod. “A Traveler delicacy?”

  “Gods, that’s vile,” Lara said, unashamed.

  Laughter rippled through the group as Jace accepted the plates back, chuckling. “Must affect Travelers differently,” he said.

  The Tinker and his granddaughter exchanged a glance—an unspoken agreement—before turning to their familiar rations, safer and decidedly less adventurous.

  From the corner of his eye, Jace watched Marcus, who sat glaring at his bowl as if it had somehow offended his honor. He stabbed at it with his spoon, bringing it to his lips with all the enthusiasm of a man about to chew gravel. Jace half-expected him to spit it out.

  But then, something changed. Subtle, barely perceptible. The line of Marcus’s mouth, usually locked in a frown, softened. His chewing slowed, thoughtful. For the first time since Jace had met him, Marcus didn’t complain.

  “Did it have to be stew?” Marcus grumbled, a hint of a whine in his voice.

  There it was.

  It was oddly reassuring to know Marcus was still in there.

  After they finished, they dusted themselves off and reassessed their travel plans. With their adjusted pace, the journey to the town would now take two days.

  They each got to packing and getting ready for the road.

  When Jace and Alice found a moment alone, Jace finally voiced the question that had gnawed at him for hours.

  “What was that potion? You seemed to recognize it.” His voice was low. “I thought healing potions wouldn’t work.”

  Alice didn’t answer immediately. Her gaze drifted to Marcus in the distance, watching him methodically pack his belongings, each item disappearing into his inventory. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft.

  “A regular one wouldn’t,” she murmured. “But what Marcus used… that was something else entirely. I’ve only seen pictures, but it’s rare—very rare. It’s called a Death’s Kiss. They say it can pull someone back from death’s door—even if they’ve already stepped through.”

  Jace’s breath caught, but Alice continued.

  “It can only be crafted by someone who’s touched Death, who’s seen the end up close. Some Travelers say it’s a gift from one of Mythica’s many incarnations of Death. Others claim it must be stolen during someone’s final breath. Some claim it’s found only in the inventories of high-rank players who’ll never return to Mythica... the kind who have died in the real world.”

  “I thought when we logged out, our bodies here just vanished. How do we have inventories?”

  “Yeah, that’s what most people think. But there are records… strange ones. People who never logged back in, their in-game bodies have been found wandering around, lost in the wilderness. There’s more to this place than anyone admits. I thought it was all just crazy theories, but now... I’m not so sure.”

  A chill ran down Jace’s spine.

  “Whatever price Marcus paid to get his hands on that potion,” Alice said quietly, “it wasn’t a small one.”

  They both looked back at Marcus.

  “What are you two staring at?” Marcus shot them a glare.

  “We were just—uh,” Jace searched for something to say. “We should get moving,” he stammered.

  They rejoined the group, and Alice cast a wary glance at the darkening sky, her brow furrowing. “Jace is right, we should go. We want to cover some ground before nightfall catches up with us.”

  Dex stretched lazily, a tired grin on his face. “On the bright side, at least we know how to handle magical puddles now.”

  “It could’ve been worse,” Jace said. “At least it wasn’t a Gold Rank or something.”

  The group collectively turned toward him, their expressions a symphony of disbelief, the kind that asked, “Really? Again?” without a word spoken.

  “What?” Jace’s eyes flicked between them, bewildered.

  Even the trees seemed to rustle disapprovingly, the wind pausing just long enough to make its silent judgment clear.

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