Elysian stood frozen, Kaerthlyn’s raw pain washing over him like an icy tide. Suddenly, a small, treacherous voice whispered in the back of his mind.

  ‘This is an opportunity—a crack in her armor. A way to turn her grief into leverage.’

  The thought sickened him. He wasn’t a good person. Truthfully, he was ruthless. He would do everything he could for his advantage, more so to save anyone he held dear, but there were moments in life—that even Elysian would feel ashamed of himself. And this was one of those moments.

  As shame coiled through his chest, tight and unrelenting, Elysian quickly crushed that selfish instinct into dust. Guiltless or not, she’s grieving. Her pain was real—so raw it stripped away the hardened shell of his own struggles, exposing something fragile and human beneath. A bitter reminder that he wasn’t the only one drowning under unbearable weight.

  Wordlessly, Elysian reached out and squeezed her arm. Gentle, firm—offering something he couldn’t name. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice rough, the words unfamiliar as if he’d never spoken them before.

  Kaerthlyn broke as she sat on the wooden floor, her shoulders shaking as silent tears fell—soft drops splashing, pooling like the forest itself wept with her. Around them, the air seemed to still, as if the world held its breath.

  They stayed that way for a long time—time unmeasured and infinite. Elysian sat beside her, a quiet, steadfast presence as Kaerthlyn grieved. He didn’t try to fill the silence. He didn’t dare.

  Finally, Kaerthlyn’s trembling breaths began to steady. She rubbed at her tear-streaked face, as if embarrassed to have crumbled before him. “I… I’m sorry for that,” she murmured, glancing his way. Shame flickered across her features, fleeting and fragile—the instinct to hide her grief. To tuck it away like a blade she’d let fall. But when her gaze met Elysian’s, the apology died on her lips. There, in his eyes, she saw it—a grief as deep and unspoken as her own. And just like that, the shame faded.

  “Don’t be,” Elysian said softly, his mouth tugging into a faint, melancholic smile. It was an expression that didn’t belong to someone so young—a smile born of wounds still bleeding.

  Kaerthlyn looked away, blinking at the shadows pooling across the chamber’s floor. “I heard what my grandmother did to you,” she said suddenly, voice low with guilt. Her hands fidgeted in her lap— fingers scraping softly against wood. “I didn’t know she wanted something… that’s why she saved you.” Her shoulders sagged, the words a burden too heavy to hold. “I’m sorry. For that. And for your people… trapped in the fortress.”

  Elysian looked at her for a moment, searching her face. She meant it—every word, every breath. He could hear it in the tremor of her voice, see it in the quiet shame pooling behind her eyes. And gods, how strange it was—this half-troll girl worrying for his people. How strange, and how cruel.

  “It’s not your fault,” Elysian said, the words quiet, but resolute. For now, it was all he could offer.

  Kaerthlyn swallowed hard and said nothing more. In the silence that followed, the room seemed to shrink—the walls, the shadows, the grief itself pressing closer, suffocating in their stillness.

  “Let’s go,” Elysian said at last, offering her a small, weary smile. “I think some fresh air might do us good. Besides, I’m starving.” He tapped his stomach for emphasis, his tone light but edged with fatigue. “How long was I out again?”

  Kaerthlyn chuckled softly—a fleeting sound that broke through the gloom. “Three days.”

  ‘Yes, that’s right. I was asleep for three long days. Three days of being in their hands. And three days of suffering for those defending Grimwatch.’

  Elysian felt the weight of that time settle on his shoulders. A cold shiver trailed down his spine as the thought clawed its way up again, that shadowy whisper from the darkest part of him.

  ‘I feel relieved that I did not do anything stupid. Else, I would have never forgiven myself. There are things that I should never cross or I will lose myself. I would become the very man I hate.

  But… is there really a line I won’t cross? Is that worse… than losing the people I care for?’

  Elysian’s jaw tightened, teeth grinding as the dilemma gnawed at him. Finally, he sighed, the sound heavy and resigned.

  Kaerthlyn’s sudden laughter startled him from his thoughts. It was brighter this time, a fragile but determined sound. “You’re really hungry, aren’t you?”

  Elysian blinked, frowning. “What?”

  “It’s written all over your face,” she said, grinning.

  A beat passed before Elysian chuckled, deciding to play along. “Yes, fine. You caught me.”

  Kaerthlyn stood swiftly, stretching as she rose. Elysian followed, his movements stiff and slow, his body still waking from their prolonged rest. They stepped outside, and both instinctively drew deep breaths—as if the crisp forest air could scrub away everything heavy that clung to their hearts. It couldn’t, of course. But for a moment, it helped.

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  They walked in silence as Kaerthlyn led him toward what he presumed was the kitchen. The forest—Vel?n Kralvek—was different now. The great, towering tree still loomed above, its branches a living cathedral, but something had shifted. The stillness wasn’t peace. It was mourning.

  ‘This place is grieving.’

  Elysian’s gaze catching shadows that moved like whispers between trunks. Soft cries echoed faintly through the air, distant and low, blending with the wind. They weren’t the howls of beasts or the wails of anger—they were keens. Sorrowful songs carried by the leaves themselves.

  The paradise he had glimpsed when he first woke here was gone.

  ‘How many families lost someone to the Draen’Volruk? How many souls were swallowed whole?’

  Ahead of him, Kaerthlyn’s steps slowed, her head dipping lower. She stared at the ground as she walked, her earlier brightness dimming with every step. Elysian didn’t blame her. What words could fill the space left by grief?

  His gaze drifted to her—the way her shoulders curled inward, the way her hands fidgeted restlessly. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but the words died before they formed. What could he offer? What comfort did he have to give at that moment?

  Instead, he looked around—at the forest, at the silence, at the sorrow that soaked into the earth itself—and let it settle within him. The forest mourned. And for now, so would they.

  Thankfully, it didn’t take long for them to arrive at the kitchen. Elysian noticed it immediately—a flurry of activity as thralgars moved in every direction, carrying armfuls of plants he’d never seen before, their strange colors and shapes both beautiful and alien. Farther ahead loomed a much larger building, its structure unlike anything Elysian had ever encountered. Smoke curled lazily into the air from unseen fires, the unmistakable scent of cooking wafting toward him.

  Suddenly, his steps slowed. A flicker of panic knotted his stomach

  ‘Wait… do they even serve food I can eat? What if it’s disgusting… or worse—poisonous?’

  Elysian cast a quick glance at Kaerthlyn, who walked beside him without concern.

  ‘Stop being an idiot. She’s half-human. Surely they make something a human could eat. Then again… They have stronger bodies, regenerative abilities. What if their food is…’

  “Is there a problem?” Kaerthlyn tilted her head, her voice dragging him back to the present.

  “It’s nothing,” Elysian muttered, shaking himself. He tucked the anxious thoughts away, forcing his feet to keep moving. But as they drew closer, something else caught his attention. A voice—a voice speaking his language.

  Elysian froze mid-step. At first, he brushed it off. Some trolls and thralgars spoke bits of his tongue—he’d heard as much in passing. But this… this voice wasn’t just familiar. It struck a chord deep in his memory, vibrating against something he thought was impossible. His chest tightened.

  ‘No. It can’t be.’

  The voice grew clearer the closer they walked, its inflections unmistakable now. A chill slithered down his spine, and his heart hammered as the impossible thought wormed its way to the surface. He stopped in his tracks, disbelief flashing across his face.

  ‘What the hell? That’s not… Am I imagining things?’

  “Elysian?” Kaerthlyn called softly, but he wasn’t listening.

  His pulse roared in his ears as he moved without thinking, his caution forgotten. He shoved through the bustle of thralgars, ducking around broad shoulders and sidestepping anything in his path as confused glances followed him. He didn’t care.

  “Hey! Where are you going?” Kaerthlyn’s voice chased after him, startled, but her words couldn’t reach him.

  The kitchen door loomed ahead. Elysian skidded to a stop just outside, his hand gripping the massive door frame as if to steady himself. His breath caught in his throat.

  There, inside the kitchen, a familiar figure moved with casual ease, balancing trays of food while an elderly thralgar barked at him. The boy—tall, blond hair, appearing as perfect as ever with a grin on his face—grumbled back good-naturedly, clearly enjoying the banter.

  Elysian’s mouth fell open. “Sybil?” The name left his lips in a whisper, disbelieving. Of all people… Sybil. The talented young soldier he’d fought alongside. A friend. Maybe even… a comrade. And there he was, laughing—in the middle of a troll kitchen, carrying food as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’

  Elysian blinked hard, half-expecting the vision to vanish—but it didn’t. Sybil was still there, grinning like a fool, his familiar handsome face was out of place here as a flame in the depths of the ocean.

  The grin faltered when Sybil’s eyes locked onto Elysian’s from across the room. For a long, suspended moment, neither moved. The kitchen seemed to fall into a peculiar hush, the sounds of busy thralgars fading into a distant hum.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Elysian blurted, his voice splitting between a shout and a laugh, drawing every gaze in the room to him.

  Sybil’s face lit up, and before Elysian could process it, the young soldier dashed forward, nearly tackling him in an embrace. “Young master! You’re awake!” he exclaimed, his voice loud enough to hurt his ears, unrestrained joy spilling from him. “I thought you’d die!”

  Elysian stood frozen, disbelief pinning him in place. His mind struggled to reconcile the absurdity of seeing Sybil here, in Grimwold of all places.

  ‘What… how… why here?’

  But as the seconds stretched, reality sank in. Elysian slowly returned the embrace, his grip firm. “You f*cking idiot,” he growled, though his voice softened into something between relief and exasperation. “What the hell are you doing here? I left you back in Ironspire.”

  Sybil pulled back, his wide grin instantly replaced by a scowl. “Yeah, you b*stard! You did leave me behind,” he snapped, pointing a finger at Elysian. “After everything we’ve been through, you just forgot about me? You think I’d stay put while you ran off to the frontier?”

  Elysian sighed, shaking his head as a deep, familiar frustration rose within him. He should have felt relief—here was a friend, someone loyal, someone he could trust in this alien, dangerous place. But instead, a weight settled on his shoulders. Sybil’s presence wasn’t just a comfort; it was a complication. Another life hanging in the balance. Another pawn they could exploit.

  ‘You reckless fool! Why did you even come here?’

  At that moment, Elysian could only clench his mouth shut to keep the frustration in check before he sighed in resignation.

  ‘What can I even do? This idiot’s here now. I have to figure out a way to keep him alive too.’

  “Ah, so you’ve met already,” Kaerthlyn interjected, stepping beside Elysian with a sheepish smile. Her tone tried for lightness, but it landed awkwardly, as though she sensed the storm brewing in his chest. “Sorry. I, uh, forgot to mention him.”

  Elysian whipped his head toward her, brow furrowing. “Forgot?” he repeated, his voice tight with incredulity.

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