Evelyn opened her eyes, only to find Ben strewn across her lap, unconscious and drained of color. The weight of his lifeless body shocked her to her core. A sick feeling rose from the pit of her stomach, and the cry of horror she let forth would barely be audible as her voice had been claimed by her screams. "H-help," she rasped, hoping someone—anyone could hear her.

Her entire world had just come to a screeching halt; the whiplash of confusion quickly turned into sheer panic as she suddenly found herself plunged head-first into her worst nightmare. She looked back to find that Lailah and Omari had both made it safely. The Prince was conscious, though clearly disoriented as he attempted to stand up but stumbled, unable to get his bearings. Lailah was the only one standing, weakly as it were, pale as a ghostly apparition.

Evelyn realized that her friends could not help her. They had both been left far too depleted. She would have to save Ben—and quickly—if he were to have any chance at all.

Carefully supporting his head with her uninjured arm, she slid her legs out from underneath his weight, grunting in pain as her own wound gushed more blood with every movement. She considered going for their pack to take a healing potion, but on second thought, she realized that that would just cost her precious time.

She knelt beside him and placed her fingers on his neck, feeling for a pulse but failing to find even the faintest sign of life. In that moment, it felt as if her heart stopped alongside his. She cried out, to no avail as she'd not yet regained her voice.

Evelyn snapped into action, her expression shifting from sorrow to pure conviction. Blinking the tears from her eyes, she quickly ripped open his coat to reveal the fresh bullet wound. It was bad. She had seen soldiers die from far less. But now was not the time to dwell on the past. She needed to stay strong enough to heal him, as she had seen Lailah do for Omari. She could do it, she knew she could… and if not, she was fully prepared to give her life for his.

Evelyn placed her hands over his wound, closing her eyes as she summoned forth her Will. She focused on her intention, and slowly, the magic that swirled around her fingers began to turn green. Pulsing more radiantly, she began to see the viridescent glow through her closed eyelids.

It was working. She was doing this. Everything was going to be all—

"Stop!" Lailah shouted from behind her, using what strength she had left to pull Evelyn away from her task, effectively interrupting her channeling.

Evelyn instantly became enraged, shoving the other woman back forcefully. Still unable to speak, she shot a look of defiance at Lailah and then quickly turned back to continue her task.

Unphased, Lailah grabbed Evelyn, intentionally pressing her thumb directly into the open wound on her shoulder. Her grasp caused Evelyn to wince in pain, but more importantly, she now had her attention. "You must stop, now. This will kill your child," Lailah said, firmly.

Evelyn stood expressionless, as if she'd just had the wind knocked out of her. Her eyes locked with the healer's, searching for answers, and Lailah returned her gaze with pure sincerity. She was telling the truth.

"Oh, gods," Evelyn croaked. Her legs buckled under her weight, which suddenly felt like the weight of the world. She turned to look down at her husband and slowly collapsed into Lailah, who did her best to gently lower them both to the ground.

Omari rushed in alongside Ben. In a frenzy, he dug deep into their pack in search of healing potions.

"Those will not help him," Lailah told him, shaking her head with a sorrowful expression. "She needs them more."

Omari nodded, his eyes full of sorrow as he quickly passed a few phials of healing to Lailah.

Lailah poured the potion directly into Evelyn's wound. Overcome with grief, Evelyn cried out. Her scream reverberated through their cavernous surroundings as the medicine restored her.

As the skin around her wound continued knitting back together, the effects of the healing potion gave Evelyn a sudden burst of energy, and she tried to dart back up. Omari quickly knelt next to her and cupped her face with both hands, turning her gaze away from Ben. The downed soldier's expression was anything but peaceful; his eyes half-open and still, and his mouth hung agape as if he died screaming. It was a horrific sight, even for a man that had seen what he had. "You do not need to see him this way," he whispered, trying to mask his own emotions.

Evelyn's arms dropped and she wrapped them around her stomach, embracing something she could not even feel yet. Her body shook as she wept, softly. Was this karma for past choices or perhaps a cruel joke played by the gods? Why would fate finally give them a child, only to take Ben from her before he could see it born, or even know about it.

"I know," Lailah said in a soothing tone as she mended Evelyn's wound the rest of the way with her Will. "I know it hurts, but try to take comfort in knowing that we are never truly gone," she said. "His legacy will live on…" Her voice softened to a hush. "Just as I did, after my father passed."

Evelyn placed her hand over her shirt pocket, tracing the outline of her mother's note that had managed to stay with her. She understood, now. Painful as it was, she understood. "And I, after my mother," she replied, "...and our child—" she sobbed, unable to finish her thought.

Lailah wrapped her arms around Evelyn, knowing her pain all too well. Sitting along the other side of the Queen, Omari clasped her hand between his as he lowered his head onto her shoulder. The three of them taking a moment together to mourn silently for everything they'd lost during this journey.

CLINK!

All three of them became startled by what sounded like a glass shattering. Her face still drenched from tears, Evelyn was the first to spring up, pistols drawn. Omari shot up alongside her, swiping a blade from her holster as he'd lost all of his own weapons. Lailah rose calmly and channeled a bright, white light to illuminate their surroundings.

After a quick glance around, Evelyn let out a shaky sigh when she recognized where they were. They had made it to the catacombs beneath her castle. Having cleared it of all Hollow Men what seemed like ages ago, she knew they were safe from further attack, but the feeling of relief was eclipsed by the pain of returning home without Ben.

"What… what is that?" Lailah cast her light over Ben. "Do you see? There." She hovered closely over his side pocket which appeared to be drenched with some type of ethereal liquid that glimmered like crushed pearls when the light touched it.

Just then, Ben gasped for air like he'd been drowning underwater, his body arching up as if some invisible force had lifted him from the ground before dropping him back down with a thud. He gasped again before coughing violently as the air reentered his lungs.

"Ben?!" Evelyn yelled in a panic, her heart now pounding violently as she looked over at Lailah. "What's happening to him?"

Omari stood, mouth agape, nearly tripping over himself from the startling turn of events. Even having witnessed what was possible with his brother's cruel magic, he had never before seen anything like this… but it appeared that Lailah had. Her eyes, seemingly all-knowing, quickly assessed the situation before crouching alongside the fallen Hero as he again lay still.

Lailah held her hands out over him, one over his head and one above his chest. "He is… alive," she said, almost in disbelief. Her eyes jotted back and forth as she searched the recesses of her mind. "I've only read stories about this in the great library of Samarkand, but…" She trailed off. To be sure, she had to search for proof, so she began examining him.

Evelyn's face washed over with both tears and the look of overwhelming relief as she knelt next to her husband. She carefully placed his hand inside hers, clutching it close to her heart. "Thank the gods," she sighed.

"Ouch!" Lailah hissed as something sharp sliced into her finger from inside Ben's pocket. Carefully, she pulled a broken phial from within before removing the tiny shard of glass from her finger. As the small cut quickly mended itself, she nodded at the remains of the potion, noting its metallic encasement, which had a distinctive wing shape.

Omari stepped closer to them, perplexed by the item in Lailah's hand. "What is that?" he asked her.

"I've never seen one in person," she replied. "And I was not sure they even still existed, if ever at all." She held her hand out, giving the other two a closer look. "But somehow, this one did," she concluded, smiling. "And by either fate, luck, or both, Ben came to possess one: a Resurrection Phial."

Evelyn's eyes widened. "The one from inside Reaver's estate," she replied. With one hand still clutched onto Ben's, she reached with the other to push a few messy blonde tendrils from his forehead before placing a soft kiss there. She could feel that the warmth had returned to his skin as she pressed her lips to it, though he had still not come to. "Open your eyes, my love. Please," she whispered.

"It could take some time," Lailah told her. "The potion is designed to self-activate upon the death of the holder. It restores life and heals wounds, but he must come about on his own."

Evelyn's brow knitted with worry.

"He is going to be alright," Lailah reassured her with a gentle touch to her shoulder. "But we will need to take him somewhere safe to rest."

"We aren't far," Evelyn replied. "I believe we're underneath Brightwall Academy. We can rest up in town before making our way back into Bowerstone."

"Then we had better get going," Omari said, with a strain as he stood to his feet with Ben over his shoulder. "I think we could all use some—" he paused, grunting. "Fresh air and food."

"That is not a good idea, Prince Omari," Lailah said as she approached him to try and lend a hand. "You are still very weak, and Ben—"

"He saved me," Omari interjected. "This man carried me through a dungeon and across the desert at great personal risk, I am sure." He gently hiked the unconscious King up higher on his shoulder. "And I intend to do the same for him," he said, firmly. "Please, lead the way, Evelyn."

Earlier that morning, at Bowerstone Castle...

Logan emerged from the map room looking sharp as ever, wearing the same royal regalia as he had during his reign as King. He was not particularly fond of it, but as the nation's acting Regent, he needed to project strength; though what he felt underneath the whole facade was quite a different story.

"Your Majesty!" Reaver called out from the foot of the stairs, his tone full of playfulness and amusement. He strode up to greet him, his long legs carrying him swiftly and gracefully up to the ruler whom he met with an elegant, overexaggerated bow.

"Not now, Reaver," Logan replied, the annoyance evident in his tone as he waved the other man off. "I have far too many important matters on my agenda today."

"That is why I am here to help, Your Excellence," Reaver chided. "You mustn't let all of my skills go to waste on menial tasks such as boosting the morale of your royal staff." He delicately stroked the fur that lined his coat, and a cheeky grin spread across his perfectly chiseled jaw. "Amusing a job as it may be, I am but one man and this castle contains a considerable number of chambermaids and guards; all chomping at the bit to be the lucky recipient of my... coaching. There simply aren't enough hours in the day, I tell you."

"Reaver," Logan seethed. "Do not test my patience today."

"What?" Reaver placed his stovepipe hat back atop his perfectly coiffed hair and placed one hand on his hip as he gestured with the other. "Come now, Majesty, I was merely reminding you that my skill set is quite vast." He grinned again, this time he was quickly met by Logan's piercing glare. "Oh, alright," Reaver sighed, scaling back his tone in concession. "I can see clearly that you are not in the best of spirits. Judging by the way your staff is avoiding you, I believe you have made that much apparent to the entire castle as well. Why not allow me to help?"

"Your presence is rather the opposite of helpful," Logan replied, taking a step toward Reaver. "Now, leave me."

Upon closer inspection, Reaver found the King-Regent much worse for the wear. His complexion had grown dull and was practically devoid of color. His eyes appeared tired and puffy, and his uniform—while admirably clean and impeccable—hung loosely from his frame. Reaver had known a thing or two about coming back from dark places, and while he certainly was not about to revisit his own past or feelings, he knew he had to do something.

"I shall take my leave once we've reviewed some important items." He reached inside his coat pocket and came out empty-handed before searching his pant pockets and procuring a small scroll of paper. "Ah. There we go. I have everything ready to discuss." He gestured over to the study. "Shall we, then?"

"If you insist," Logan hissed, turning to set off briskly toward the royal study. "But you had better not be wasting my time."

Inside the study, Logan seated himself at the desk. He slouched to one side on the elaborate chair and reached out his hand. "Now, let me see these important orders."

Reaver walked right past Logan, heading straight to the bottle of bourbon that sat on one of the shelves. Swirling what little spirits were left inside, he turned back toward Logan and replied, "Been hitting it a little hard, have we, Majesty?"

"Must I remind you, again, that this is not a social call, Reaver?"

The Industrialist grabbed two short glasses and headed to the desk, promptly pouring what was left of the bourbon evenly between the two. "This is also not a business meeting," he replied, seating himself across from the Regent. "It's rather impossible to accomplish anything business-related with you in this state."

"You have some nerve questioning my abilities," Logan pushed himself up to stand. "And lying. What is on that paper?"

"This?" Reaver pulled the crumpled scroll back out from his pocket, flattening it out on the desk. "I fear this will be of no use to you," he replied. "Unless you're looking for a spectacularly talented whore. This insatiable little minx just wouldn't let me leave without taking her name."

Logan swiped the parchment from Reaver's hand and crushed it, making a tight fist before pounding it down onto the desk and nearly shattering the glasses in the process. "Get out."

"This act may work on ordinary people, Logan, but not only can I see right through it, but it simply does not scare me," Reaver casually stated, leaning forward to grab his glass before taking a long sip. "Now, as your adviser, I suggest you sit down, have a drink, and tell me how we can fix whatever has you so… rabid."

"Perhaps if my problem involved drinking, gambling or whores," Logan replied, his face now red with suppressed rage. "But I could never expect you to fathom what I am feeling." He tossed back the drink and exhaled as he retook his seat. "From what I hear you are rather devoid of feelings. Some even call you a heartless vampire."

"Pah!" Reaver chuckled. "You shouldn't pay mind to the gossip, Logan. It is almost always pish-posh. For instance… whispers in the castle say that Miss Engel has vacated with her dead brother to lay him to rest. I, of course, know that to be only half-true as I saw the aforementioned corpse departing on horseback alongside her."

Logan grew quiet. He leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. A long sigh of exasperation escaped him and his face reddened. He raked his fingers through his hair as he brought his head back up. He looked an absolute mess, like a battered husk of the man he'd worked so hard to rebuild.

"Listen, I may not be like Benji, sappy King of Hearts as he is, but that in no way renders me unqualified to deal with matters such as these," Reaver assured him. "That aside, you simply cannot run a kingdom this way, Logan."

"I have done all that has been asked of me," Logan curtly replied. "And more." He rose and began pacing as his insides began to boil again.

Reaver stood and leaned against the desk. "Oh, that much I do know," he replied. "After all, nothing ever escapes my astute notice. I know all about you rescuing your beloved's Mercenary brother from where he should have rotted, and I also know about the great lengths to which you went in order to restore Traitor's Keep because of it all." He paused, shaking his head in disbelief. "Seriously, Logan, you spent hundreds upon thousands of gold on prison reform to fund more… humane incarceration…" A look of disgust crossed Reaver's face. The thought of humane punishment was an absolute and hypocritical joke in his opinion. "And after all of the money and manpower spent in restoring the Keep and relocating all of those filthy prisoners… she still left you. Even a heartless monster such as yours truly can see that this has hurt you beyond measure."

"The treasury has been overflowing with gold since my sister won the war," he replied, pacing back over with a fresh bottle of brandy and seating himself back at the head of the desk. He filled his glass and placed the bottle down without offering any to the provoking know-it-all sitting across from him. "I reformed the Keep to spare my sister a public relations nightmare." He took a gulp from his glass. "At the end of the day, anything that prevents the people from revolting is simply good business. Nothing more."

"Now aren't you just the gleaming portrait of political prowess and public service..." Reaver uncrossed his legs and leaned forward in his chair, his voice dropping to a hush. "A little tip for one man who has no time to waste from another… Lying to yourself—and everyone else—is rather counter productive to this goal."

"You want to lecture me about lying?" Logan snapped back.

"Well, why not, Highness?" Reaver calmly replied. "I am, after all, quite the aficionado when it comes to the art of deception."

Logan slumped back into his chair. He unclasped the collar of his uniform and sucked in a deep breath before picking his glass back up. "So, what, then?" he asked Reaver, swirling his drink around before taking it all down with one gulp. "You honestly want me to believe that you are here in my interest and not your own?"

"Of course not, Majesty," Reaver replied, almost chuckling at the notion. "It serves both of our best interests for you to recover from your—err—setback."

Logan shrugged and shook his head. "And just how do you propose this miraculous recovery?"

"I'm glad you asked." Reaver leaned back in his chair, satisfied that he'd finally persuaded the King-Regent. "First, you are going to purge yourself of all of the feelings you've managed to stuff inside." He had known from personal experience that this was true and sound advice, though the very thought of feelings being let out was downright nauseating. He fought the urge to physically cringe at the topic, but carried on. "Not here, or now, of course. Perhaps with a trusted confidant. Or even alone, where you have more space and privacy."

"Well, that is utterly useless advice," Logan spat back. "When I am alone, I am numb." He looked down into his hands which faintly trembled with stress. "And the only people I trust are either dead, dying or elsewhere."

Reaver looked toward the door and then turned his attention toward the window, scratching his chin. The castle had certainly grown quiet since the old glory days he'd remembered. "Why don't I stay on for a while, hmm? You've no resident advisers, no treasurer…" He rose and paced over to the window. A devious grin crossed his lips as he gestured toward an area of the gardens nearly surrounded by hedges. There, a guard could be seen aggressively riding one of the castle maids behind a gazebo. "And clearly you need better staff management, seeing how your honored guards carry out their... duties?"

Logan sighed, squeezing his temples between his thumb and forefinger. "Reaver, I must warn you, I am truly reaching my limit."

"Then perhaps you should just agree with me, since you know I am right, and we'll go about our merry ways from there," Reaver insisted.

Logan pushed out of his chair, the screeching of its wooden legs against the plank of the floor almost ear-piercing in the otherwise quiet castle. "Enough!"

Just then, an urgent knock rapped at the door.

Both men's attention darted to the door and back to each other. Reaver shrugged at Logan, who was equally as baffled by the late intrusion.

Logan strode over and aggressively flung the door open, annoyed by the unwelcome and sudden disturbance. A young boy dressed in commoner's garb trembled on the other side as he held up a note bearing the Queen's mark.

"Beggin your pardon, Majesty," he murmured as he attempted a failed bow, which looked more like a curtsey. "I've been sent from Brightwall with an urgent message from the Queen," he continued, out of breath.

Logan swiped the letter from the boy's weak grasp and closed the door in his face. He frantically read his sister's message before passing the note over to Reaver.

Logan,
We have made it safely to Brightwall, just barely. Ben was shot. We've managed to keep him alive, but he has yet to wake up. I was also wounded during our escape, but I am healing quickly. We need to remain here to recover, but I promise we will make it home soon. Please, don't worry. The castle must not be left unattended. Not after everything we've discovered. I will see you soon, brother.
- Evie

Reaver dropped the note and his eyes shot up at Logan. Both of them seemingly knew what the other was thinking, and they both darted from the room. "Guards!" Logan's voice reverberated from the stone walls of the castle interior. "Ready my horse, at once!"

Reaver cleared his throat. "And do make sure to fetch my steed from the stables, as well!"

Author's Note: It's been a long while, I know, but I am staying true to my promise to myself and my readers that this story is getting finished! To those who are still around, reading and reviewing, thank you so much from the bottom of my heart. It certainly helps me move along with updates when I know at least someone is out there enjoying the content. (Shoutout to Astrariumcatcher for being that reader, this time!) I'd also like to thank Kiltsaresexy for giving me the courage to hit that publish button again for the first time in so long!