It was almost laughable how weak she was.

He had praised her strength more than once, grateful for her support and impressed by her ability. He had complimented her talent, acknowledged her resolve, called her indispensable, even insisted he wouldn't have come so far without her.

Alisha knew the gap between their true strengths was an insurmountable one—what he generously shared with her was a modest fraction of his power—but the way he spoke to her and looked at her had made her truly feel like his equal when they stood side-by-side in battle.

Laughable.

The next time she hit the ground, she didn't rise. It wasn't for lack of trying—she was screaming on the inside, telling herself to get up, to move, that this wasn't over yet—but the combined weight of fatigue and despair and heartache was heavy. Her arms were nearly numb, trembling as she slowly pushed herself up from the rocky ground, which bit through her gloves and into her knuckles as she clutched the shaft of her spear. It was all she had left.

And yet, when he stepped up beside her, she didn't strike at him. She only stared at the droplets of her blood in the dirt, even when he crouched down beside her—even when he insulted her with the confident click of his sword returning to its sheath.

She braced herself as he reached for her—but more painful and breathtaking than any blow he could have dealt was the unexpectedly gentletouch of his fingers on her face. She stiffened, but he either didn't notice or didn't care. He cupped her chin in his palm and tilted it up to catch her gaze, his thumb hovering over her cheek as if prepared to wipe any wayward tears away. His skin was like ice.

He looks... so sad... That much hadn't changed from the start of their encounter up to now.

Sorey looked tired. He looked defeated. His dark stare seemed to pin her beneath its focus and yet go straight through her at the same time: he saw her, but his thoughts weren't entirely with her.

Half of her heart still pitied him and wanted to reach out, even though she knew he would just strike her down again. The other half was tight with fear and dismay, shocked and appalled at the malevolence enshrouding him so thickly that even she could sense it. It made her stomach lurch and her skin break out in goosebumps. It made her sick—it made her afraid to meet his gaze head-on, as if doing so might plunge her into the same cold depths of despair in which he now dwelled. Perhaps the weight of his presence was just that intimidating, or perhaps that really was all it would take to corrupt her. She didn't want to risk it.

After all, what did she—a mere squire—know of the Lord of Calamity's true power?

"I'm sorry." His voice was utterly unfamiliar to her. Gone was the warmth, and with it everything she had come to recognize in it. His touch moved up, slow and almost careful. His fingertips grazed her the top of her ear. The motions didn't strike her as affectionate, but apathetic, mildly curious, as if he were absently inspecting some inanimate object of interest. "I didn't think I'd have to go this far."

Suddenly his fingers tightened in her hair. She gave a choked cry as her head was forced back, her whole body twisted around roughly as he slammed her down to the ground, onto her back. His knuckles dug into the back of her neck as he leaned over her, his expression unchanged. "You're too strong for your own good, Alisha," he remarked grimly.

He was perched on her lance, pinning it beneath his weight, but her left hand still held tight regardless. Her right reached up and grasped at the arm holding her, pulling weakly, and to no avail.

It was stupid, so stupid of her to come here alone—

"Sorey," she gasped. "What do you want?"

—to keep pushing her luck, to challenge him, to drag her optimistic ideals here, of all places—

Cold. His eyes, his face, were so uncharacteristically cold.

—and stupidest of all, perhaps, was that she wouldn't change her actions if she could. She owed him the effort of trying, no matter what it cost her. She would rather die his friend than live forever knowing she'd turned her back on him.

"I want to save you," he answered.

The words were wrong. They didn't fit with the apathy in his tone. They didn't reflect the iron grip in her hair bringing pained tears to her eyes, or justify her cuts and bruises. For a long moment between heartbeats Alisha only stared at him, uncertain whether he was lying or mad.

His eyes finally left her face as he turned aside, staring at something far off—or perhaps at nothing. "I finally understand now," he mused quietly. "Everyone was right… but they were wrong, too. They didn't go about it the right way. And now I'll do things the only way I can. That's my answer." After a moment he seemed to remember that he wasn't alone, and looked down at her again. Still cold. Still wrong. "I want you to understand that, too. Even if… it's a tough lesson to learn."

"Sorey…" The tension in her voice eased some. Pity was winning over fear. "This isn't—this isn't you. I heard what happened—and I understand—"

"Do you?" The question wasn't angry, but it didn't sound genuinely curious, either. It seemed more like a reflex response. "For everything he did wrong, Heldalf did get one thing right: you can't comprehend the depths of someone's pain until you've been there yourself." Something in his expressionless face darkened, but what startled her was the disdain in his tone as he murmured, "I still wonder what he felt when I killed him. A coward in life can only be a coward in death, too, I'd assume."

Alisha's head felt light, and not just from his grip. This felt like a dream—an awful, horrible dream that she would soon wake from, eventually forgetting all these terribly realistic details as one always does after waking. That was the only explanation. Even if her pain attested to reality, there was no logical way this was really Sorey. The blood red sky overhead, the decimated village of Camlann around them, the shredded and bloody remains of hellions and soldiers alike along the ground—plastered to the cliffsides—all grim figments of her drowsy imagination, surely.

Her voice sounded distant when she spoke again. "Explain it to me, Sorey. I want to help you. It isn't too late." The word choice and the tone were different, but her request was just a repetition of her earlier beseeching. She had sympathized, she had reasoned, she had begged, and he had ignored all of it. Their ideals butted heads until they finally came to blows.

She wasn't surprised when this, too, fell on deaf ears. "There's nothing to explain. Our paths have taken us too far apart."

She chose to tempt fate, her eyes and tone like steel. "Then why am I still alive?"

His fingers eased up a fraction. Was that a shadow in the corner of her vision? Or were the stars in her eyes playing tricks? "I still think you could understand. But… you must have realized it by now: your ideals aren't realistic in this world."

Alisha's stomach twisted. Her throat seemed to close up; breathing was suddenly much more difficult.

And yet… you still want to stop the war. Right?

"The longer a heart holds out against the darkness, the farther it falls in the end. I understand it now."

I feel just like you in a lot of ways.

"I want to keep you from suffering the same, Alisha. Stop now, before the disappointment. And before all the pain."

...And the Alisha standing right here is as real as it gets.

His hands had been so warm then, gentle but firm and encouraging.

Now they were like stone, cold and unfeeling and harsh.

It was too much.

"Listen to yourself!" she cried. Her voice bounced off the surrounding cliffs. "You stood by me this whole time, ever since I met you! You encouraged me—you inspired me! You've been everything I couldn't! Even when faced with my own shortcomings, I could always look to you! You gave me strength, more than you'll ever know!" She shook her head as angry tears burned in her eyes. "I refuse to believe this is really you! You're not the Sorey I know—even if he did fall to malevolence, he would never—!"

She didn't see Rose until the last second. Alisha had no time to be surprised, no time to react, but she didn't need to: in a heartbeat Sorey whirled around, catching Rose hard by the wrist and halting her dagger an inch from his nose.

For a terrible, breathless moment time stood still around the fallen Shepherd and his squires. Then Rose smiled, but it was forced and cold and tight, lacking any humor. "You've gotten faster, boss."

Alisha didn't miss the opportunity. She rolled away from Sorey and brought her lance up in a hard slash—it was easier now, a little, after hearing him speak like that, as if she were truly unsure of his identity—but in that split-second of her back being turned he had moved, leaping to his feet and drawing his sword to parry Rose's follow-up blow. He tried to put some space between them, but Rose wasn't giving him the chance: she darted in low and moved like the wind, rapidly dealing a left slash—blocked—a right slash—parried—a feint, a kick—dodged—a right stab—sidestepped—and then jumping back. Sorey pursued with a return blow and she caught it with both knives, but the force of it knocked her back and clean off her feet.

Alisha leapt forward with a two-handed thrust. Sorey turned and batted her lance aside as if it weighed nothing, as if her strength was nothing. She recovered and slashed again, was driven away a second time, but it had bought Rose an opportunity and she leaped again at Sorey's back—but he was still one step ahead, as if time moved differently for him. He cleanly avoided the stab meant for the side of his neck and this time threw out his left hand in response, catching her point-blank with an arte.

She went sprawling across the dirt, grunting as her back slammed into the side one of the burned-out houses. Even then, cringing and panting, she immediately moved to rise—but she was slow, her jaw clenched and her head hanging. Sorey started towards her at a calm walk; Alisha darted in between them to stand before her, glaring him down as she dug in her heels.

Humoring her, perhaps, he came to a stop. His sword hung by his side. Despite the danger, Alisha risked a glance over her shoulder. "Are you alri—Rose!" The other girl looked pained as she leaned on her knees, shoulders heaving. "What's wrong?"

Rose shook her head, never taking her eyes off Sorey. "This malevolence… even now, I can tell it's really something."

Alisha bit her lip. Was Sorey's power truly so terrible? There was definitely something about him now, an oppressive and threatening aura—the utter opposite of everything he'd once been—that grated even on Alisha's low resonance. How much more was Rose suffering under the weight?

Whatever the case, it was obvious she wasn't about to let it stop her. As Rose continued the arduous climb to her feet, Alisha turned back. "Sorey, please! I know this can't be what you really want!"

His shoulders sagged slightly. His grip on his sword loosened a little. For a moment she dared to hope, but then the same listless tone answered her: "What I really want… isn't possible anymore. It's just a dream." His free hand grasped at his chest, his Shepherd's mantle. Alisha still remembered the day she had it tailored for him, the happy look on his face when she complimented how well it fit him. "It always was."

"Sorey, it doesn't have to be this way!"

"Save your breath, Alisha." Rose's voice was heavy as she stepped up beside her, her breathing labored. "He's long gone."

"How can you say that? He's your—"

"I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess that he's offered to 'save' you—am I right?" Rose chanced a sidelong glimpse at Alisha. Her eyes were surprisingly hard. "All you have to do is join him because it's in your best interest. Some lame drivel like that." She turned back to Sorey. "And judging by her bruises, it looks like she didn't go for it, either."

He didn't answer.

Alisha wasn't fazed. If anything, knowing he had appealed to Rose as well gave her a little more hope. "Rose—we owe it to him to try—"

"No." Her voice was as hard as the gaze still fixed on Sorey. Alisha had never seen her look so fierce. "I owe it to him—to end this. Before he sinks any lower… and hurts anyone else he cares about."

Anyone else…?

Ice bloomed in Alisha's chest. She looked quickly at Sorey, who continued to watch them impassively. "Sorey," she said slowly, quietly, "where are the others? Mikleo, and…"

Silence. Her fingers were gripping her shaft to the point of numbness. "Rose," she whispered. "The seraphim aren't with you?"

The following pause couldn't have been more than a couple seconds, but it felt so much longer. Rose's ominous reply was a cold hand around her heart.

"No."

Sorey suddenly exhaled loudly, either annoyed or dismissive or just weary. Alisha couldn't tell. "No, they couldn't be with you." A nimble twist of his fingers sheathed his sword again. Almost casually, he added, "They're with me."

This time the pressure on Alisha's chest wasn't figurative: without warning the air seemed to grow thick and heavy, pushing against her on all sides until she was short of breath. It flooded her mouth with the taste of copper and smoke; it weighed down on her shoulders until all her joints ached.

She heard Rose hiss. Before she could turn her head, the earth trembled beneath the crack of bone-shaking thunder and the very walls of the valley echoed with the sound.

Except…

No… not thunder—

Another crash, this time of splitting, crumbling stone. Alisha looked up and her breath caught in her throat.

At first she thought it was smoke, or maybe storm clouds having descended too low. The shape was enormous and dark, a shadow rolling over the lip of the valley wall—except a shadow wouldn't have enormous claws capable of digging into stone like a knife into butter. A shadow wouldn't have piercing red eyes. A shadow wouldn't have been covered in glinting olive-ivory scales or baring razor sharp fangs or billowing steam from its nostrils.

It wasn't as large as the one in the Basin had been, but that was hardly saying anything. It was still too enormous to be real, still the stuff of incomprehensible nightmares.

As she stared in dread and disbelief at the second dragon she had ever seen, Alisha heard another crash, shocking her from her daze. She quickly turned to see another dragon clamber up onto the opposite wall—this one with a hide the color of rust—and similarly perch to glare down at the group.

Before she could fully process that—two dragons, impossible—the horror repeated itself as a third alighted next to the previous. It was roughly the size of the others and mud brown.

Her throat dry and her heart racing, Alisha held tight to her lance and took a small step closer to Rose. She opened her mouth to speak, but then the earth exploded.

At least, that was how it felt: something bright filled her vision and she was thrown off her feet as the ground shuddered violently. They both lost their balance and hit the dirt, both swiftly righted themselves, but only Alisha started in surprise as she looked up.

The fourth and final dragon had descended from the sky instantaneously, landing in a spray of earth on the ground directly behind Sorey. No—not behind, she realized, but over him, its massive forelegs on either side of him and its long necked bent forward, head stooped and eyes locked aggressively on the two young women. Sorey didn't seem to so much as blink.

It was the eyes that Alisha noticed first. More than the slender build, the smaller size, the dirty-silver scales, her attention was drawn to those eyes. Where the others' all burned a hateful crimson, these were a fierce, shimmering violet—the shade of encroaching sunset on a lake's surface, a frozen river in the early dawn.

At this point in her life, Alisha didn't believe in coincidences.

Its poise was angry. The other beasts' presence was threatening enough, but they looked relaxed in comparison; this one was tensed, fixated on them, its thick muscles rippling beneath its hide and betraying an eagerness to spring.

Of all things, she was reminded of an alleycat she'd come across in the city years ago. A mother who'd recently given birth to half a dozen kittens, she had thrown herself over her children when Alisha came too close, back arched and ears flat and teeth bared. Mankind had said many things concerning the difference between humans and beasts, but there were some instincts that the two undoubtedly shared.

This couldn't have been the same—dragons were the worst of hellions, after all, separated from their original identities and emotions and catering only to urges of destruction and negativity. And yet, as Alisha stared up at the harbinger of calamity, as she noted Sorey appearing utterly relaxed and unalarmed despite the several tons of muscle and hostility just over his head, she could have believed in that moment that this dragon would sooner tear her apart than allow her to step any closer to the boy standing in its shadow.

As intent as she was on the dragon, she was slow to react when Sorey moved first. Rose intercepted him and they locked blades with a clash, but her arms and knees immediately buckled and threatened to give. His strength was a monstrous one, Alisha knew, although whether it stemmed from Sorey the Shepherd or Sorey the hellion was anyone's guess.

Rose withdrew, regained her footing, and darted forward again, now with Alisha close behind.

By some unspoken command, perhaps, the dragon didn't intervene as the three fighters met. None of the dragons did. Alisha was focused entirely on the fight at hand, but she didn't miss the way they all watched.

What Sorey lacked in sword skill, he made up for in raw power. Point-blank artes worked just as well as a block or parry, after all, and those hit much harder than he could. It quickly became a guessing game, a perilous dance between movements as they tried to predict and distinguish his actions.

There was no honor in this fight. Alisha and Rose struggled to stay on opposite sides, searching for blind spots, but the merchant was right: Sorey did seem faster, or perhaps Alisha had never noticed quite how deadly he was as an ally.

He focused primarily on Rose, either as the bigger threat or the one most likely to fall first. She was struggling beneath the weight of the five domains, far worse than Alisha was, but every bruise and scratch and knockback seemed to fuel her on all the more fervently. Her movements became rushed, edging toward desperate, all while Sorey continued to flourish under the fog of malevolence.

There's no hope in this battle, Alisha realized. Not like this.

Rose miscalculated. She stumbled. Sorey's blade didn't have to be sharp to hurt as he drove his hilt into her stomach. Even then, gasping and groaning, she buried a knife in his thigh in retaliation. He didn't even appear to notice before he smashed his fist into her temple, dropping her instantly.

She could have been unconscious or dead. Alisha couldn't tell. She didn't stop to think. She rushed at Sorey's back, putting her all into the spear-thrust that would never land. She caught a blur of movement, a glimmer of those bright green eyes, and then her arms shook and stung as a crunch and twang of steel pierced her ears. She fell backwards, the abrupt shift in momentum making her head spin.

She landed on her elbows with enough force to knock her weapon from her hands—both pieces of it. She could only stare as her spear landed on either side of her, cloven neatly in two just under the blade head. The useful end skittered out of reach.

For the second time Sorey stood over her. She met that grim stare without hesitation, chest heaving and body aching while he looked no worse for the wear. Almost like an afterthought, he remembered Rose's dagger in his leg and pulled it free, frowning slightly before tossing it aside. Once more he sheathed his sword and she knew he would try again—most likely for the last time. After this, she was out of chances.

"There's nothing here worth dying for, Alisha." He didn't sound even remotely winded. "I'll ask you again—so please… think before you answer."

Behind him, the dragons loomed.

"You can walk away right now. Forget all of this and never see me again."

I can't, she thought immediately, her throat thick. I can't forget you, I can't leave you like this, I could never no matter what it costs—

Sorey extended a hand, open and palm up. "Or stay with me."

Alisha slowly pushed herself up, leaning back on her hands as she stared at his.

"You're strong, Alisha… but I don't think you're prepared for what's to come. It's better that you give into it here and now. I can make sure you keep your human form—I can help you control it."

Behind him, Rose still lay unmoving.

His expression was so sincere it hurt. He wasn't lying, Alisha knew—he honestly thought this was best for her. He wanted to help her, to protect her.

And she wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe they could find a way through this, together. She wanted to believe that it was really so easy, that she could end what was surely a heart-wrenching loneliness and crushing guilt by staying by his side.

But giving in for him meant abandoning everything and everyone else. What of the people she had struggled so hard for? Were the lives of hundreds of thousands worth her own personal happiness? Were they worth his?

No matter what she decided, Alisha knew, she would carry the regret of the discarded choice for the rest of her life.

And if that is the case…

Her fingers scraped the dirt as her hands balled into fists. Her eyes fell to his knees. "The seraphim…" she murmured. "What of them?"

Sorey was very still for several beats. His sigh was a quiet one. "I don't think... they're totally gone. Our pacts weren't broken before we turned. Maybe that's why…" Alisha glanced at his face and for a moment the troubled, hesitant look there was a shadow of the Sorey she'd once known. "I'll keep them safe, too," he said finally. "They won't hurt anyone." He reached a little bit closer. "With your help, I know we can do it. Together. I'm not Heldalf, Alisha," he added, tilting his head. "If I couldn't protect this world as the Shepherd, I'll do it my own way, as the Lord of—"

"You'll protect this world," she echoed, voice hard, "but you would kill Rose to do so?" Sorey was back to being impassive, but his eyes thinned slightly. "You once told me what it meant to carry that ceremonial sword of yours. You once told me it was your dream to reunite humans and seraphim—how can you stand by either of those ideals as the Lord of Calamity, Sorey?"

His face went slack. His eyes flicked quickly between both of hers, as if searching for something. He was listening.

"Lailah said the confrontation between the Shepherd and calamity is a cycle," she pushed. "As long as the Lord of Calamity exists, there can be no—"

"I'll break the cycle."

"At what cost?" she demanded, voice rising. "Look around you! You're hurting your friends! You've killed soldiers who were merely acting in the interest of their country! How is this right, Sorey? Peace bought at the price of innocent lives is no peace at all! You know that what you're doing isn't the right thing!"

He winced. Took a step back. Alisha didn't rise—she hardly dared to breathe, as if the slightest movement might break whatever meager hold she had finally managed to put on him.

Sorey's gaze wandered the valley, over the corpses and the blood and the dragons, over Rose. It looked down at Alisha's broken spear, at his open hand, and then finally back to her. He looked pained, torn, and it took everything she had not to take his hand in a pleading gesture.

You're not lost, Sorey. Not completely. You're stronger than this.

"No… it isn't the right thing to do," he agreed softly. He clenched his fists and closed his eyes. For the space between heartbeats Alisha thought the pressure of his malevolence might have lightened slightly—but only for that instant. When his eyes opened and looked at her again, her heart ached, because she already saw his answer in them. "But… it's all I can do."

He offered his hand one more time.

She would regret her choice either way.

A harsh, ungrateful world that would continue to take and take, or the broken boy who could well drag her down to depths too dark to recognize herself.

Her duty or her friend.

Princess or squire.

One love or the other.

Think before you answer.

There was no need to think. She'd known from the moment she walked into Camlann what her final answer would be and how much she was willing to give, to lose.

Everything.

As she had done so many times before without a second thought, Alisha placed her hand in his. Even through their gloves, he was freezing, but the sad hope in his eyes was warm. She gripped tight, her smile equally fond and grim.

And then she gave him a hard pull forward as her left arm blurred, snatching up the lower half of her broken spear and thrusting the jagged end into his stomach.

His weight did most of the work. Sorey grasped the spear in his free hand, struggling to hold himself up, but Alisha kicked hard at his knee and struck his leg out from under him.

She watched scarlet blossom over white. She felt the shaft pierce through his back as his expression contorted further in pain.

He slid down the spear to land on top of her in a heap, heavier than he looked and crushing the air out of her. He stopped just short of butting heads with her—close enough for her to feel his cold breath on her skin and see her reflection in his eyes.

Alisha didn't shy away from his gaze, but met it head-on and readily. If he had the time and strength to kill her yet, she would accept it without flinching. She had made her choice.

And yet, there was no anger in his look, no hatred. Sorey only appeared stunned, but curiously so, as if recognizing her for the first time. She felt his body slacken slightly, finally releasing that distrustful tension that was so unlike him. Rather than relieved, she only felt worse.

I'm sorry, she wanted to cry, I'm so sorry. But she refrained, wary of her resolve breaking even now. She bit down on her lips until they hurt, not trusting herself to speak—but the longer he looked at her like that, wearing the shock of betrayal, the more she wanted to apologize, to explain, to break down entirely and take it all back and cast off the painful weight eating at her from the inside.

Instead, tentatively, with shaking fingers she reached up and brushed his hair away from his forehead. Her touch swept over the throbbing pulse in his temple, down lightly over his cheek. Her palm settled against his clenched jaw; her fingers curved around the back of his neck, anchoring him in place. He never so much as blinked. She wondered vaguely if he could even feel it anymore.

His lips were parted slightly, his breath low and fast and labored. For a feverish, thoughtless, despondent moment Alisha debated leaning up and kissing him, to get across whatever her silence and her stare and her touches didn't.

But this, too, she resisted.

What right did she have to assume anything? To take anything else from him?

She stayed as she was, holding tight to both him and her weapon. This was all she could do. She was determined to see it through to the end, or die trying—

A sound as sudden and heavy as a battering ram shook the air—high and piercing but at the same time guttural like thunder, it wavered between two long, broken notes in a wild wail. It dragged on until Alisha felt her very bones shaking with its echoes, her vision blurred by the vibrations in her skull.

The ground trembled and jerked. They both looked over his shoulder to see the grey dragon barreling in their direction, eyes alight and mouth open in an angry snarl. Pinned beneath Sorey's weight and weaponless, Alisha could only watch as death leapt towards her—and she was surprised only by how little fear she felt right then. There was no urge to struggle, no impulse to flee. She had done what she came here to do, in one way or another. Perhaps she didn't deserve to walk out.

In the instant before the dragon reached them, she closed her eyes and turned her face against Sorey's cheek. She waited.

Sorey didn't.

Suddenly his weight was gone as he pushed off of her, a gasp and a splatter of blood that glinted in the scarlet light. He was a blur as he whipped around, turning his back to her, and she caught a glimpse of silver in his left hand, but then the dragon closed in and Sorey moved and there was a blinding flash that knocked her back and for a long moment the world was just mind-numbing noise and white light.

When the roaring faded and she could see again, she quickly sat up. Even once her eyes had recovered fully, she needed several seconds to understand what she was seeing.

Sorey was a haggard, slumped silhouette against a backdrop of purple flames. In his hand hung the bladed end of her spear, coated with a thick, black ichor that dripped slowly from the tip in time with the crackle of the fire.

Before him on its side lay the dragon. Its violet eyes had dimmed; its sharp breaths now came shallow and slow. As Alisha climbed shakily to her feet, she saw why: a wound as wide as she was tall had been slashed from its chest up across its long throat. Its dark blood coated its scales and continued to seep forth. There would be no recovery from an injury that grave.

It—He was dying.

It was difficult to tear her eyes away, but eventually she managed and looked again at Sorey. He hadn't moved, but now she noticed his struggling breaths—and the blood on the back of his shirt and his mantle, framing the shaft that protruded from his core. It seemed she'd only just missed his spine.

Sympathy won over doubt. She stepped up beside him. If she'd thought his eyes were distant before, they were empty now. He stared at the dying seraph with a hollow gaze and a tight frown. The spearhead fell from loose fingers. He looked more exhausted than she had ever seen him—or anyone.

"He wouldn't have wanted to hurt you." The remark was barely audible. "I… owed him that much."

Alisha's heart went out to him more than it ever had right then. She hurt in a way she couldn't describe—heartache seemed much too mild a term for it. It was the suffocating, throbbing desperation of wanting to do something, anything, to ease his pain, wrapped in the dreadful realization that nothing she could do would make a difference.

Despite everything, Alisha reached for his hand.

Something, anything—

Their fingers brushed. She felt him twitch. He didn't recoil or strike. He didn't react at all. Slowly, she slipped her hand around his, gradually squeezing until her grip was tight. He was still cold.

If possible, her heart hurt even more right then. For him, for their friends, for failing him so miserably, for what could have been.

When he turned back to her, she didn't flinch. She didn't feel afraid, as stupid as that probably was. She stood as tall as her injuries would allow, her cool, searching stare to his guarded one. His face was still an ambiguous blank tinged with pain, but this was the first time today that she thought he truly looked like himself. Shattered, torn, and tired beyond human limits, but himself.

She felt no relief, no fresh surge of hope. This wasn't the face of someone who'd had his eyes opened and his mind changed; it was the wretched, despondent look of one who'd been broken in more ways than he could count, betrayed by the belief that he couldn't possibly hurt anymore than he already had. It was the face of a shell of person long past the point of being found again.

The world had never seemed so cruel and unfair to her as it did right then.

This is reality, Alisha.

For his sake, she didn't let go or look away. She held tight to his hand and his gaze, offering familiarity—and forgiveness.

She didn't let go or look away, even when Rose slammed into him and drove a knife deep between his ribs.

The strange thing was that he didn't look surprised. He staggered slightly, eyes narrowing in a wince, but his face remained blank as he looked down at Rose. Her hair hid her face, her shoulders heaving with each ragged breath. His only reaction was suddenly gripping Alisha's hand back, hard enough to hurt, but she didn't pull away. Neither did Rose. The three of them remained in that deadlock for some stretch of time, their heavy breaths and the dragon's rumbling, slowing, dying pants the only sound.

"May these weary bones find peaceful rest."

Rose with her knife still inside him, her gift that of release through death.

Alisha clutching his hand, just as they had done so many times before.

Sorey defeated and lost, accepting these final gestures of generosity without a struggle.

He breathed in slowly, the sound shaky and wet. Red lined the corners of his mouth. "You did good, Rose," he whispered.

"I told you a long time ago, didn't I?" She tried for a short scoff. "You weren't getting off the hook just because we're friends."

"No… I know. That's… how it should be." His hold on Alisha loosened—and then tightened again, but gently, and she knew his next words were for her even before he looked over. "Don't blame her for this."

It was a statement, but it was also clearly a request. Alisha nodded, closing her eyes as tears blurred his face. "I don't… and I don't blame you, either." Her voice was thick and starting to crack. "I know you tried—so hard… If anyone's to blame… it's me. If I hadn't met you—if you'd never come after me in Ladylake, you…"

You could have gone on living peacefully. You could have left the world's problems to someone else. It didn't have to be you. It isn't fair. You're the last person who deserves to suffer. You never did anything to anyone and you ended up suffering the most. It isn't fair…!

The words caught in her throat, but the tears fell freely and her shoulders shook. Sorey's thumb brushed her knuckles, a silent comfort, but that hurt most of all.

"Hey," he nudged quietly.

Drawing an arm across her eyes, Alisha forced them open and willed herself to look at him. She would accept whatever grudge or ire he might curse her with while he was still able. They both deserved that much.

Instead, she was greeted by his smile. Not the blank expression up until now. Not a fake or insincere look. It was warm and reassuring, it was Sorey, and suddenly she was back in the Bors Ruins with his hands on her shoulders and his comforting words as he reminded her of her identity and her self-worth when she'd thought she lost them both.

"If I hadn't gone after you, I'd have regretted it forever," he told her. "Even if I'd lived as long as a seraph. And if I hadn't met you—" He coughed, the sound rattling in his chest as he leaned against Rose. She didn't push him away. Pain was written all over his face, but the smile stayed and he finished, "—I'd have missed out… on so much…" His grip weakened, but he made an effort to give her another squeeze. "Thank you for everything, Alisha."

Slowly, he turned back to Rose. Even though she couldn't see his smile, it was in his voice. "And you, Rose." His hand came up, settling heavily on her hair. "For never changing."

She made a sound that was probably supposed to be a laugh. "That's the worst compliment you can give a girl, you idiot."

Sorey exhaled softly. "Guess I haven't... changed, either, in the end. That's… a relief…" He fell to his knees. Rose's knife withdrew; Alisha's hand stayed, keeping him upright. When next he spoke, it was surprisingly steady and firm. "Rose. You need to leave. Before I… my malevolence..."

He didn't finish, but Rose seemed to understand.

"I'll… take care of the rest," he added as he looked up at her. "Make sure you two... don't look back."

She nodded. "Sure you can handle them by yourself?"

His fingers found and grasped the shaft in his stomach. With a hard twist and a quiet snarl he wrenched it free, either unaware or unalarmed by the fresh stream of blood that followed. He leaned forward with another wet cough, his nails scratching the dirt as he clenched his fist. "...I have to."

A ghost of a wistful smile might have passed over Rose's face then; Alisha couldn't say for sure with her vision still clouded by tears. "You got it." Sheathing her knives, she stepped around Sorey to take hold of Alisha's arm. "Let's go." When Alisha hesitated, Rose hauled her roughly to her feet. She wasn't waiting. "Now," she stressed.

There was clearly no time to ask why. Trusting them both, Alisha obeyed and stepped back from Sorey, but her fingers clutched his for as long as she was able. She held his weighted stare, her heart aching and racing as she realized this was the last time she would see him. What else was there to say?

Right as their hands were about to part, Sorey suddenly gripped tight, forcing Alisha to a stop. She felt Rose tense, but Sorey was smiling again—now a little playfully, almost shyly.

"If I could do it all over," he murmured, the words labored, "I'd go to Pendrago with you. I'm… sorry I didn't."

She knew he meant well—but that, ironically, was the absolute worst thing he could have said.

What was left of her heart broke completely.

Alisha struggled for her voice, but she didn't find it in time: Sorey released her and doubled over with a grunt, gasping and shaking.

"Alisha!" Rose yelled in her ear. "We need to go!"

They ran. Back through the village, back towards the ruins, hearts and ears pounding as three deep roars shook the air. Alisha stumbled, but Rose didn't let her fall. At the entryway, she chanced a glimpse back.

Sorey knelt beside the fallen dragon, his left hand resting between its eyes—which had gone dark—with his head bowed, as if in prayer. In his right was Alisha's broken spearhead. Overhead the other three circled, as though the death of their kin or the escape of their prey had shattered whatever authority Sorey held over them.

The red one dove first.

Silver flashed.

They kept running. Even when their lungs burned and their legs were nearly numb, they ran on, through the stone corridors and up the endless stairs. The lack of malevolence was a breath of fresh air, a weight off their shoulders, but that reprieve only did so much.

They made it to the foot of the seraph statue on the top floor before Rose collapsed. She lay in an ungraceful heap, half her panted breaths coming out as chokes. Alisha fell beside her, arms wrapped tight around herself as if it might subdue the suffocating pain coursing through her.

This time she didn't hold back. She cried.

She cried until her head pounded and her throat was raw. She cried until her tears ran dry, until her voice failed and her ragged breaths were her misery's only sound.

She cried until she was utterly spent.

And then she cried some more.