The rain hadn’t let up, but it had softened, more like a gentle curtain than a storm now. The setting sun was retreating behind the clouds, its golden hues slowly giving way to the pale glow of the moon. A heavy calm fell after the chaos.
Alexia extended a hand toward Lysandros, who was still lying on the wet ground.
Without a word, he grabbed it and let her pull him up.
“Thanks,” he said, brushing his damp hair back. “I would've been a goner if it wasn’t for you. Couldn’t deliver justice to the dead woman if I died myself. Maybe next time I’ll get it right, deliver it properly. Especially to those freaks we just met.” His voice had shifted, soft but serious.
Alexia tilted her head. “How’d you even catch on fire? You were moving like a lightning bolt.”
Lysandros winced slightly. “Two of them got me. I was inside the Red Keep already. Saw torches lit up in the hallway. I stopped. That’s what got me. Something about that didn’t sit right. This place is supposed to be abandoned, right? But the flames, they weren’t old. They were new. Still warm. Too warm.”
“Torches?”
He nodded. “Yeah. And don’t ask me how they were burning. That place hasn’t had life in it for decades. Not even rats. I’ve been through a lot of ruins, castles, kingdoms, and even one creepy empire with bats for walls. I’ve never seen torches still lit in a ghost house. Someone’s living here or something.”
Five people with the same fracture. And one who can summon fireflies. That wasn’t normal.
“You got hurt?” she asked.
“Nothing serious. My shovel, though,” He looked at his empty hand like it had betrayed him. “Gone. Vaporized. My tunic, too. Those two burned it off, thank the gods I wore something underneath. But this?” He tugged at the scorched fabric. “I’m not walking into your kingdom half-naked. I’ll freeze.”
Alexia wasn’t listening, her gaze had already shifted to the sky, toward the place where the fire-being had leapt with its rider. Her mind kept replaying the moment. That presence.
That power.
“Hey,” Lysandros called. “You still there?”
She blinked, then nodded. “Yeah. Just thinking.”
She turned to him. “Don’t worry about your shovel. We’ll get a new one in the Kingdom of Agrekya, the kingdom where I live.”
That name made him squint slightly. “Kingdom of Agrekya? I’ve heard about that place.”
“Hm?” she said.
“That’s the one where the entire royal bloodline died out, right? All but one? Even the noble houses got torn to pieces. Real mess.”
“Yeah. Princess Ismene Basileides. She’s the only one left,” Alexia replied quietly.
“Must be rough. Watching your entire bloodline get erased by a plague.”
“No doubt about that.”
A pause.
“So?” she added.
“So what?”
Alexia gave him a side-eye. No words needed.
“Ohh. My fracture. Right, right.” Lysandros scratched his cheek. “You’re curious.”
Alexia just raised an eyebrow.
“You helped me, so now you get to know more about me. Bit of a hassle honestly. I mean, I could’ve just told you without all the drama. I'm not secretive, you know?” He grinned.
Alexia groaned. “Downhill. All downhill.”
“Okay, okay, cheer up, will ya?” he laughed, throwing his hands up. “My fracture! Well, it’s kind of complicated. I don’t know the exact mechanics, so don’t expect a scholar’s explanation.”
She crossed her arms. “So that’s why you were willing to spill it without anything in return. You don’t even understand your own fracture.”
He pointed to the sky. “I got it!”
“What?” she asked, confused.
He suddenly shivered. “Let’s take cover first! I’m soaked. I’ll catch a cold, and then who’s gonna avenge mysterious dead women and look handsome doing it?”
“HEY!” Alexia snapped, glaring as he hugged himself dramatically and made a show of waddling toward the Red Keep.
They stepped inside. The air inside was musty but dry, and the sound of rain dulled against the stone walls. Dim torchlight flickered along the corridor, their flames alive and unsettling.
Alexia squinted. “You were right. The torches. That is strange.”
Lysandros shook like a wet dog, flinging droplets everywhere. “Told you! Creepy stuff.”
She walked to one of the torches, staring into the flame like it might talk. “So. Your fracture. Lysandros, right?”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
He gasped dramatically. “You remembered my name! How sweet.”
Lysandros straightened up slightly, still dripping rainwater. “It’s actually Lysandros Damarchos. And as you already know, I’m from the village of Riverbend.”
Alexia gave a small nod. “Alexia Lethiane. As you already know, from the Kingdom of Agrekya.”
Then, more serious. “Right. So, here’s how it works. I can borrow the skills of people I’ve buried. I call it, the Fracture of Unburned. That’s the best way I can describe it. For example, earlier when I ran past you, I was borrowin someone, someone who used to be a war chief of our village. He was crazy fast. And strong too. But I’m just a regular villager. I didn’t start out with any of that.”
“You worked as a gravedigger?”
“Exactly. In Riverbend. My home. Wasn’t always like that, but after the Lymesis Plague tore through, well, there were too many dead and not enough living. Someone had to do the burying. So I did.”
Alexia gave a small nod. “That’s... interesting. Any side effects?”
“Oh yeah. Muscle fatigue. Big time. My legs feel like overcooked noodles right now.”
He glanced outside, the rain had nearly stopped. Only a few droplets still clung to the world.
He turned back to her. “So. What about you?”
She looked up. “My fracture lets me erase my presence. I can make people not notice me. Or forget. I can also mute sound, distort focus or erase momentum entirely.”
Lysandros blinked. “Okay, that’s creepy and cool. Warrior-grade stuff right there.”
She nodded. “I don’t use it much. The side effects are unpleasant. Sensory fading. Disconnection. Makes you feel like you're not in your own skin.”
“Yikes,” he said, rubbing his arm. “Okay. Yours sounds like the scary kind. Mine’s just exhausting. Yours might erase your soul.”
They stood there for a moment, both drying in the torchlight, surrounded by ancient stones and flickering silence.
Outside, the last raindrops gave way to the full rise of the moon.
Alexia looked up at the sky—clouds thinning, the rain now just a soft mist. “I might get back to my kingdom now, now that the rain’s stopping.”
Behind her, Lysandros scrambled to his feet. “Hey! What about me? I thought we were getting me a new shovel in your kingdom?”
Alexia raised a brow. “What? I didn’t say that.”
“You did!!” he cried, pointing a dramatic, accusing finger. “You were like, ‘Let’s go to Agrekya, get you a new shovel, maybe a warm meal,’ and then you tossed in something about honor and kindness and being noble and all that! Don’t you remember?”
She blinked. And then it hit her. “Oh. I did say that.”
Lysandros gasped. “Does your fracture come with memory loss too? Because that’d explain a lot.”
Alexia rolled her eyes. “I only said that so you’d tell me how your fracture works. Now that I know, you’re on your own.”
Lysandros clutched his chest. “First, that’s incredibly rude. Second, that’s bold. Third—how dare you abandon a handsome, shovel-less man in the wild, with only a half-burnt tunic and his charisma to keep warm?”
“Fine, fine,” Alexia sighed, undoing the clasp of her cloak. As she peeled it off, it revealed her knight-like armor underneath—weathered from use but proud, polished in places where rain had struck.
Lysandros stared in awe. “Whoa.”
She tossed the cloak toward him. “What are you looking at? Here. Borrow this for a while. It'll help with the cold.”
He caught it and hugged it close. “Thank you.”
She nodded. “So… let’s get moving?”
But Lysandros was already distracted, holding the cloak up and turning this way and that. “This… this is a look. I look like some tragic figure, cursed by destiny, left to wander the ruins of the world with only memories and style.” He pulled the hood up. “Waaaaargh! Do I look like I bite now?!”
Alexia walked up and smacked his temple with two fingers.
“Ow! Hey, what was that for?”
“I’m hungry. Let’s go already.”
Right on cue, Lysandros’ stomach growled. “Me too.”
Alexia took a look outside the Red Keep. The rain had stopped completely, and night had blanketed the sky. “We don’t want to get eaten by wolves or a hungry bear, right?”
Lysandros paled. “No, no, no—don’t say that! Imagine getting mauled just because someone didn’t keep their deal about a shovel! Noooo—”
She was already walking. “Let’s go. You’re probably missing the aesthetic of holding a shovel.”
But Lysandros suddenly slowed his steps, his tone shifting. “Wait. I still got something to do.”
Alexia paused. “What is it?”
— ? — ? —
The sky was black velvet, the rain has stopped. The two of them now stood in a small graveyard just outside the keep, beneath the faint light of the moon. Twenty graves, freshly dug, lined the field like scars on the earth.
Lysandros carried the body of the woman they’d found earlier in both arms, careful and quiet.
“You dug all of these?” Alexia asked.
“Yes,” he said, voice low. “It’s a habit. Makes me a living, too. I travel from village to village, digging graves. Some pay me in coins. Others in food or just thanks.”
They reached a hole at the edge of the row. Lysandros slowly lowered the body into it, placing her down with reverence, brushing the blood from her face with his hand. He adjusted her pose to something peaceful, something that defied how she died.
“May your soul find peace,” he whispered. “Despite all that life has taken from you. I’ll serve justice in your name, and for all those who’ve suffered as you have. As I always do.”
Alexia, watching from behind, felt a stir in her chest. She said nothing.
Lysandros climbed out of the hole, glancing back down at the woman’s body.
“So,” Alexia asked, “how are you going to bury her without a shovel?”
He didn’t answer right away. Then he closed his eyes.
“O’ great War Chief, lend me your strength.”
The words barely left his mouth when a quiet force surged through him. He bent down and began scooping the earth with his bare hands—load after load, precise, swift, unrelenting.
Alexia watched in silence. His arms moved like tools, tireless. And even when the dirt smeared the cloak she’d lent him, he didn’t hesitate. She glanced down at her sword. Something in her reflected there.
When he was done, he patted the last mound of soil flat and stood.
“Whew,” he exhaled. “Sorry to keep you waiting. And sorry about the mess on your cloak. I’ll clean it when we get to the kingdom. I’ve got some silver from previous jobs.”
Alexia shook her head. “It’s fine. I’ll cover it. The cloak. The tunic. The shovel.”
He looked at her. “You’re rich, aren’t you?”
She smiled faintly. “No. I just have a habit too. Not as noble as yours. I use my fracture a lot to avoid paying for things.”
He raised his brows, then shrugged. “Hmm. Makes sense, I guess.”
She turned toward the path ahead. “So, shall we keep going?”
“Hmm! Let’s go!” he grinned. “I’m excited for this new journey, not as a gravedigger, but as a wanderer, alongside a mysterious woman with a mean right hook.”
He laughed softly. Alexia smiled without meaning to.
And as they walked into the quiet night, Lysandros lifted his arms dramatically.
“What a beautiful scenery. The sun’s gone down, the rain has stopped. I have been blessed. Ah yes, this is how the great tales end, a tragic hero, wounded not in battle but in the soul, beginning a new chapter beside a cloaked warrior who may or may not hate him!”
He clutched his stomach. “I’d love to eat something delicious. A feast to honor the fallen! A soft, buttery loaf of bread. not those crusty ones they toss at soldiers, no no. The kind with golden crust, the little crackly bits on top. Maybe with honey. Or cheese. Or honey and cheese. That’s the good life!”
“Hey!!” Alexia snapped from ahead.
Lysandros straightened. “Right behind you!”
The moon shimmered above, catching on puddles left behind. And together, they disappeared down the path, two figures, one armor-clad, one cloak-draped, drawn forward by rain-washed roads and something like fate.
