Riley came back to life shaking from grief and shock. That rat, strange as the thought would have sounded to him only a few months ago, had been his friend. One of the few friendly faces he could rely on, who had clearly cared for Riley a good deal.

  And now he was gone too.

  “M-mesquard?” he called, hoping in vain that he would have respawned too. But, as he knew deep down, there was no answer. Mesquard was gone.

  He sank to his knees, lit solely by the pale light of the Lodestone. “God, no,” he murmured. She crushed the life out of the little guy... all Riley could hope was that it had happened too fast for him to feel anything.

  “Riley?”

  He looked up into Arubis’ luminous eyes. “I know this is a harsh blow to suffer. But you cannot let this hinder you. Do not allow despair to roost within thine heart.”

  “I doubt you know what I’m feeling right now. You wouldn’t get it,” Riley said, scoffing and turning his gaze from her. “How could you understand? You’re a... weird angel thing. Stuff like loss and grief... you probably can’t feel them.”

  Silence filled the musty tomb. Almost at once Riley felt bad for what he had just said, guilt heaping itself atop his grief.

  “I know what it is, to lose. To know that sorrow in mine own heart,” Arubis said softly. “You are not the first Warden I have aided, Riley Blake. And thngs being as they are, it is likely you shan’t be the last. I have spent years growing to care for Wardens, aiding them through trials and triumphs. And to lose them... is a pain I would never wish upon any.”

  Riley gripped his knees and did not meet her gaze, fearful of the look he would see on her face. “Sorry,” he said eventually.

  She lowered herself and placed a hand on his shoulder, gentle and warm. “Loss is painful. The issue with growing to care for another is that... you will care far more, in their absence. Yet those we care for would not wish for us to wallow in sorrow.”

  “I just... I just can’t believe he’s gone.”

  “Such is the nature of death. Sudden, and leaving a gaping wound behind. But when Mesquard chose to travel with you, he doubtless knew that his life would end in such a way sooner or later. Such is the risk of travelling with a Warden. Yet he did so gladly. To be of use to you, and to Aqar’Ghul. And though his time with you was short... he lived that brief, fleeting life as a colossus among rats.”

  Riley, to his shock, found himself smiling. He lifted his mask, rubbing his eyes with a gloved hand. “Yeah. Maybe he did.” It was going to be hard to get used to his absence. That haughty voice in his head, that noble arrogance... That rat had been one of a kind. “I’ll miss him.”

  “His memory will live eternal, in thine heart. And he would scoff at you for wallowing.”

  “Ha... yeah, you’re right.” He forced himself to his feet. “Thanks, Arubis. Sorry about that stuff I said to you.”

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  “I cannot fault you for your impression of me. Emotions are a dim, cold thing to my kin. We are that way by design, our feelings muted so that they do not clash with our duty. Yet, even if our feelings are dulled, they do not vanish.” She offered him a sad smile

  Riley nodded and drew his torch from his Inventory, the glowing spark of the Emberstone lighting the blackness. “I’ll keep that in mind for the future. But... for now, Mesquard will... hah... probably haunt me if I don’t avenge him soon.”

  Novara was not singing as Riley entered the chamber, his torch swapped out for his Shotel. She glared at him as he appeared, a baleful gleam in her eyes.

  “Phakta.”

  “No matter how many times I fall... I’ll keep getting back up. Until I make you pay.”

  Novara swept toward him, moving fast enough to shatter a swathe of the tiled floor. Spikes exploded from the ground to greet her charge, chunks of stony shrapnel cutting into her and sending Novara skidding back.

  She hissed, spraying smoke around her to ward off any approach. There she lurked, scanning around for any sound of Riley coming closer.

  A buzzing sound hit her ear (or what had once been here ear), and she slashed toward it. All her blade hit was a spectral swarm of mosquitoes, wafting around her. They parted around her blade, but seemed to have little interest in attacking her. Dead, leathery flesh had no value to them.

  Riley burst into the center of the smoke, just at Novara’s side, and slashed at her left arm. He cleaved it clean off at the shoulder, letting it clatter to the ground.

  She shrieked and lashed out at him, and Riley barely raised his weapons to block. They absorbed much of the force behind the blow, but he was still sent sliding back with a strong ache rocking his skeleton. Novara pounced and wheeled toward him, and Riley sprang away with his heightened agility. The edge of her sickle grazed his back, cutting through leather and flesh, but Riley barely felt the pain.

  He swung around as Novara slashed again. Their blades clashed with a thunderous spray of sparks, and Riley was sent stumbling back. He couldn’t match her blow for blow, he knew, but better to try and block the strikes if he didn’t have an opening to dodge. His anger had cooled into an icy rage of determination, focused solely on defeating Novara and making her pay.

  She cursed and spat at him, pressing her assault with relentless intensity. And with each blocked strike, Riley felt the pain swell in his arms. It was only the power of his Nimbleness stat that gave him the speed and reflexes to even partway keep up.

  Yet, in her anger, Novara’s movements became predictable. Her swing went wide, allowing him to back up and take aim with his staff.

  Blinding Mist flew from the spike of his staff, washing over Novara and making her snarl. Another stroke of her blade went wide, and Riley seized on the opening. His shotel cleaved through the air, striking the blinded Pict in the waist. Her spine buckled and split apart, her torso and legs parting ways.

  She swung again as she fell, slamming the hook of her sickle into Riley’s shoulder. He cried out in agony, the pain and the shocking weight of her mass threatening to pull him to his knee. They stumbled into the moonlight, and through that glow he could see the rotten remnants of Novara’s jaw, gnashing and spitting beneath the rim of her mask.

  Whatever nobility or grace the queen had once had was long gone. All that remained was a living corpse, trying frantically to pull his throat out with her teeth.

  Riley huffed and gasped from the pain and fought hard to focus through it. His shotel swung upward, meeting Novara’s neck. Her head flew from her shoulders and tumbled away, collapsing into dust. Save for her mask, which gleamed in the moonlight.

  He fell flat on his back as her remains collapsed into dust, leaving a rusted hook lodged in his shoulder. “This is... generally not a good idea.” He gripped the blade, trying to avoid his grasp slipping in his own blood. Pulling a foreign object from the body while still bleeding, without a painkiller or medical supplies on hand? He could imagine his old med school lecturers despairing at what he was doing.

  Riley cried out as he pulled the blade free, gasping at the fresh blood that spilled from the wound. His gloved hand darted to the Lodeshard, rife with energy, and pressed it to his body. His wounds healed swiftly, leaving the blood to dry. He took a few slow and deep breaths to steady himself, doing so until the last tremors of pain faded away.

  Once he felt good enough to do so, he sat upright and checked the item that had just appeared in his Inventory.

  Aspect of the Pictish Queen

  The lingering remnants of Novara, Final Queen of the Picts. Able to imbue power into a Warden, once activated by an Oracle. Spend mana to release the vengeful wails of the Picts, damaging foes and striking fear into their hearts.

  Novara saw the end of her kin as an inevitability as humans encroached deeper and deeper into the Gravewood. She was not willing to roll over and die quietly. Thus she and her devout priests made a call beyond, to any force willing to hear their plea. Death answered them.

  Riley took a deep breath and decided not to focus on the implications of what he had just read. For now, at least. There was only one thing he actually wanted to focus on.

  “That was for Mesquard.”