Chapter 54

Dissolution

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"No, Noah, no ..." Mahariel watched in shock. She shook her head slowly, clutching her bow with such force that the weapon's silver etchings cut into her palm. Her gaze was fixed on Noah, but the Human was deliberately avoiding her gaze.

His hand gripped the hilt of his sword firmly. An elven sword, she realized, with all the characteristic designs of Dalish symbols on the blade.

She had seen that sword stuck in his belt as they walked toward the wolves' den, but had not really paid attention. She'd thought it was the Darkspawn sword he'd carried everywhere, and even after she'd recognized the familiar notches on the handle, she'd ignored them.

Foolish girl, she berated herself. How could she have been so careless?

If she had realized the source of his sword, perhaps she would have realized that something was wrong, and could have done something differently. And maybe ... maybe she could have prevented Noah from impaling the Lady so... horribly.

This further increased her frustration, but she pushed those thoughts quickly aside.

Realizing what he intended to do, she forced herself to recover from the initial shock and threatened, "Don't you dare ..."

Her voice trembled as much as her fist on her bow, but she did not flinch when she pointed an arrow toward the human. Mahariel's aim was as tight as could be, and she was aware that whatever whirlwind of emotions were affecting her judgment, they would never reach the point of her arrow.

Noah looked at her, just a glance, and saw disappointment rather than anger. Sadness rather than hate, and perhaps even a little fear - it was the same indescribably painful look, heartbreaking even, on a mother's face when she'd caught her son doing something terribly, irreversibly wrong.

She was sweating - cold, thick drops trickling down her forehead, mixed with the traces of rain still in her hair. She was so focused on the human that it was as if everything else around them had simply stopped in time, and that only the two Wardens existed in the whole world.

He remembered, for a brief moment, what it had felt like kissing the Dalish under the pouring rain - how it seemed strangely comforting and right - and immediately imagined a future where he failed in his mission. A place where he imagined he would be alone again, and anything good he'd experienced would be immediately muffled by pain.

It was not something he wanted to live through again. So what if she ended up afraid of him? Or hated him? It was a small price to pay to save lives.

In addition, he had a past with the Dalish. A history with many threats and promises of reckoning, but none of them actually fulfilled. She talked more than she took action, he concluded, like a barking dog that never actually uses its teeth.

Despite these thoughts, Noah decided to go ahead with his plan and turned his wrist, pulling Zathrian's long blade out of the body of Lady. For a moment he was grateful the Keeper had insisted he use this weapon, and his own sword was not dark with the spirit's blood. Without support, she dropped to her knees right in front of him. The thick, red liquid oozed from the hole in her chest slowly, almost agonizingly lazy. The blood gushed from her back, however, enough to have formed a modest puddle on the floor.

"I have to do it," was all Noah said before holding the woman by the hair, exposing the skin of her neck. "It's the only way ..."

He then raised his hand in a curved angle behind the line of the Lady's shoulders, as if to use his sword to make his way through a thick woods. But his objective was clearly to remove the head of the Lady.

The Lady, moreover, smiled. It seemed almost as if she was waiting for the final stroke, the imminent decapitation.

But he never got to finish the job.

The arrow flew from Mahariel's bow like a bolt of lightning, piercing the exposed skin between the shoulder and the neck of Noah, tearing the muscles near his collarbone. The pain felt by the human was acute and intense, like a snakebite directly to the nerves, rather than the flesh, and soon he staggered back.

His arm felt as if it were on fire, and he was quickly losing the strength in his fingers, but he forced himself to keep his sword drawn.

"What did you ..." Noah growled, moving a shaky hand to the wound. He found himself unable to maintain his firm stance - not from pain, but from the betrayal of the elf. Even if he hadn't been the first to tread this path, he still felt hurt by how easily she had turned on him. And this, coming from someone that he had endeavored to save, hurt more than the sharp arrow that sliced into his muscles every time he took a ragged breath.

The blood from the tear in his flesh soon spotted his armor red, as he pulled the arrow from his shoulder.

"Against the wall, Noah ..." She said, and her voice was cold. Her words came out shaky, but her tone was filled with cold despair, as frigid as a starless night in the dark of winter. She swung the bow menacingly toward Noah, ready with another arrow aimed at his sword-arm, motioning that he move away from the Lady. "Against the wall, Noah," she repeated, her voice still ice-cold. "For the love of the Creators, get your back against the fucking wall!" She ordered. "Or I swear to Andruil you'll never use your right arm again!"

Noah obeyed - not because he wanted to, but because he needed to lean against something, while the Lady, now lying on the floor face up, opened a red smile. She was as pleased and proud as a dying spirit could be.

"Few things are more dangerous than a healer with a weapon," she said to no one in particular, as if thinking aloud, and rested her hand on her chest, covering the wound with her palm. "They know how to cause pain without causing damage."

"Shut up, devil!" Noah cried, but was soon cut off by a stronger voice than his own.

"No, you shut up!" Mahariel's voice erupted in a shrill, broken burst; anyone who witnessed the scene might have said she was out of control, or even desperate, but her resolve was firm enough to keep her standing, even if unstably. It was as if she had collapsed inside herself, and a stronger force had taken control of her body.

She took long strides toward the human, and he backed further against the wall, like a cornered dog. It was not, however, because he was intimidated that he moved, but rather a willingness to be forgiving of someone who seemed about to freak out.

"You don't know what you've done...!" she exclaimed, now with her bow lowered so that her face was right next to him when she spoke. It was a means to hold his gaze without giving him the chance to look away, a way to force him to face that pair of green flames that were done with hearing more excuses.

"You don't understand!" It was his turn to raise his voice. Noah pushed his body forward, towering over her, while forcing her to retreat a few steps. Eye contact was maintained until he saw every one of her mixed emotions he had been forced to accept, turn into something different and absolute.

He could deal well with her hatred and fear - was willing to accept her disappointment, had even convinced himself he could stand it. But then he saw her pain. Not normal pain, like what you experience reliving old, bad memories or when someone is cut with something sharp - it was an empty, deep pain like, someone who had just had the floor stolen right from under their feet and was now drowning in a sea made of their own choices.

The look of someone who had just been betrayed by someone she trusted.

He found he could not bear it after all, and turned, and sought the support of the wall again.

"You .. can't ..." he whispered, the broken words barely audible departing from his lips as he stared at the bare feet of the Dalish. "I ..."

Before Noah could continue, slow, loud clapping drowned out his voice - Zathrian was slowly approaching, applauding satisfactorily at the magnificent spectacle he had just witnessed. Noah only watched the elf approach, lifting tired eyes in his direction.

His face had a triumphant smile, and tiny red droplets flew from his hands with every slap of his palms.

"Honestly, human, I did not think you would be able to fulfill your part of the deal, but I must say that you surprised me," Zathrian said, being truly genuine for the first time. "Good job!"

Mahariel finally decided to turn to face the Keeper, but all her determination had been replaced completely by surprise when she finally realized what was happening around her.

The strange feeling that time had stopped was not some sort of hallucination, as she had believed - the werewolves were actually frozen in time in a way, as if they were all just mere decorative elements, created by a very thorough artist, or a very talented taxidermist.

Well below her feet, several circles of fire burned faintly in blue and gold; strangely shaped drawings and peculiar symbols of ancient magic. There were at least seven that were spread throughout the room, surrounding all of the werewolves that had not been hit by his Hexes.

A Glyph, Mahariel concluded with disgust as she watched the Keeper maneuvering his way through the groups of paralyzed werewolves. His face was smiling and happy, but she could see heavy drops of sweat beginning to trickle down his furrowed brow.

Zathrian might be powerful, but Glyphs were high-level spells. It could not be easy - indeed, should not even be possible - for him to sustain so many at once.

"I hope you honor your word," Noah said, but even he was displeased with the strength of his words. They sounded more like a plea than a threat, and it only made the human feel worse.

"Elves have honor, something that you humans will never understand." He raised his hand to wipe a thick bead of sweat that threatened to fall into his eyes. "The barriers have fallen - it should not take long for my army to reach us. And once the place is cleared out of this vermin, I'll give you the cure that I promised.."

When Zathrian lowered his hand, leaving a scarlet-red trail above his eye, it finally all made sense to Mahariel. She need not even look at his hand to know that a deep, newly-made cut marred his flesh, acting as a catalyst for all this immense and inexplicable power.

"And once the place is clean ..." she repeated slowly, as if she needed some time to understand the meaning of his words. "He's going to kill everyone, including Alistair," She turned to Noah, and the green flames were back again, burning as strongly as the warmth he felt in his chest whenever he remembered the small hands of the elf grabbing his shirt. "And you're okay with that? You actually agree with it?"

There was such stunned disbelief in her voice, that Noah felt it like a punch in his stomach, as again he turned away from those accusing green eyes.

"Sorry, my dear, but he did not include your wolf friend in the agreement." Zathrian chuckled, apparently enjoying the situation.

She shook her head in disgust, and at a glance, saw Alistair in a corner, alert but clearly wanting no part of what was happening. He was in the shadows, and simply watched the scene unfold, seemingly calm and focused.

Without blood dripping from his fangs, or claws threatening to tear at her throat, he really made a handsome wolf. His soft fur was the same light brown that had once graced his head. The caramel eyes that watched Zathrian parading arrogantly about the cavernous room could have been plucked from Alistairs face. Yet, the man she once knew was nowhere to be found within the beast, and she wondered at Kallian's surety that the man still resided inside this ferocious animal.

Mahariel, however, trusted the redheaded elf, and regardless of what she could or couldn't find in this beast that was once Alistair, she would save him if she could. Kallian was counting on her, and more than anything she wanted to do the right thing. Which is why Noah's lack of response was the last thing she was willing to endure from him.

Something had to be done.

Mahariel couldn't stand it anymore. Her eyes were shining brightly, but the tears she would not let fall were not of sadness. It was anger - anger at having achieved nothing to change the situation; anger at Zathrian, being the asshole he was; rage for the Lady, who seemed to be happy with how it all turned out and didn't seem to care about the victory of the mage...

And mostly, rage toward Noah, for having betrayed her in nearly every way possible. And at herself for trusting him in the first place, especially knowing that he'd been up to something behind her back.

Never had she felt such contempt for anyone like she felt at that moment, and the sensation of losing control began to spread throughout her body. Not the kind of confusion that inhibits or suppresses the senses or logical, rational thinking, but instead she experienced what the heart feels when it's tired of waiting without doing anything - and then her chest was filled with the same fire that burned in her eyes.

Her bow was ready, and the moment was opportune - Zathrian was ignoring her as usual, and his attention was focused more on the Lady than anywhere else. This time the Keeper's arrogance, his willful dismissal of her as a threat, could work to her advantage. She would take action, and damn the consequences.

With the long practiced skill of a hunter, Mahariel took a deep breath, then quickly drew her bow, sending an arrow flying toward Zathrian. She had not truly aimed, and even though she had enough experience to hit a shot in the dark at that distance, she recited a quick prayer to Andruil, asking that if she missed Zathrian, she would at least not hit the poor wolves surrounding them.

She then started to run.

Zathrian, weakened by the amount of mana he'd had to use to stage his scene, took the arrow in his right shoulder with a dull thud. The blood mage staggered back furiously, and for a moment, the circles of burning flames seemed to weaken, dimming the cavern and deepening the shadows.

It lasted only a moment, yes, but it was enough for Zathrian to lose sight of Mahariel. He began to search for her everywhere, his eyes sweeping every little corner of the room as his breathing began to accelerate, but the Dalish was nowhere to be seen.

Noah only realized what was happening when he saw her cape lying on the ground, her bow resting on top of it. He looked around quickly and was surprised by the amount of shadows that a slim, sunlit crack in the ceiling was capable of producing. No one could find the Dalish in those pockets of gloom, if she did not want to be found, Noah knew, but he could not help but strain his eyes to search for her anyway.

"You cannot hide from me, you know." Zathrian grabbed the arrow and pulled it from his shoulder with a loud grunt, doing more damage than if he had simply left it there. His wounded shoulder was soon soaked in red.

Again, the fires flickered. It was only the briefest moment, perhaps - the space of a single heartbeat - but that was all the time necessary for Zathrian to take a deep breath and release more mana and blood to hold the wolves in his trap.

That small distraction was all she needed.

"I will kill you with the knife of my father," she whispered thickly. Mahariel had used her advantage to position herself behind Zathrian - she lifted her hunting knife with precision and firmness in front of her face, before placing a well-aimed thrust against the Keeper's nape at the base of his skull. From that angle, just a slight movement on her part would be enough to end it all.

He was too exhausted to avoid her attack, and too surprised to try anything that could match her speed.

"And by my own hand, justice will be served!" she said, digging her knife into the nape of the Keeper. She could already feel the tip of the blade penetrating the soft flesh of his neck, and smell the copper and salt of his blood invading the air, when she heard him whisper something.

A single word, short and pleading, that made no sense to her at first, but that completely changed the course of the situation.

"Come."

Mahariel

I always thought Zathrian should die for what he'd done.

A life in exchange for all the others that he had taken. It was fair, it was right, and I had the perfect chance to make it happen.

One shot would be enough - a single arrow from a powerful bow like mine, and it would be over. He would not even know what had happened to him.

Yet, I hesitated.

I saw an opportunity, so I decided to embrace the shadows rather than do it right and end it once and for all. The Creators gave me this chance to lock it down quickly, but instead of clinging to it with all my strength, I decided to opt for an alternative instead.

Yes, I had the chance to have a clean revenge, but that was not what I wanted.

I wanted pride - with all the blood and dirt I could get.

It had to be so, with the knife of my father ending his life as he reflected on why he was being judged. It was the only way to enact real justice. After all, it all began with Zathrian and Aldor, and with Aldor and Zathrian it would have to end. Perhaps the name of my father, etched into the blade of the small weapon, was enough to get the revenged he so deserved. A way to make an end to the old feud that had gone on for far too long.

That was my vision of justice.

But then, when I was about to break the link between his spine and his head, I felt him stiffen suddenly and only a single word came out of his mouth.

Come, he said.

At first I thought it was the tension of facing his death, and that, even then, he had just seen the opportunity to put one last provocation into the air before departing this world forever. What I didn't expect was how that one simple word would make my flesh crawl, or how my heart would fall into the chasm that opened in my stomach, especially because I had really believed it was over, until… everything went black.

In one second, I was in the middle of a perfect lunge, positioned to attack; in the next, I was thrown to the ground on my knees, with open arms, and not even knowing where my knife was. And pain, heavy, throbbing pain spreading throughout my body.

It looked as if there were two strong, big hands holding my arms with its claws digging into my flesh. The feeling was of lightning and of fire attacking my nervous system - warm and electric, sharp and cruel.

I had a slight idea that I started screaming in pain as the claws started to pull my arms, one on each side, but I could not hear my voice, even when I started to feel every part of me ripping in half, while claws tore at my skin towards my forearms. I could feel my throat bleeding dry and spit escaping from my mouth, but my ears were blocked. It was as if all my senses had been united into one, and were expanding all the pain that I felt.

It seemed like an eternity, but the truth was that moment ended just as quickly as it had begun, and soon I was lying on the stone floor in a spreading pool of my own blood.

It all happened too fast, yet for Noah, each small event passed slowly before his eyes.

It was clear Zathrian was visibly surprised to see Mahariel standing behind him. She had the advantage, the mage knew, even more so because he could feel his body faltering from the expenditure of so much mana. And Mahariel, she never missed, Noah thought, making the outcome of all this more than obvious.

And then, Zathrian suddenly paled. It seemed that all of the mage's energy drained out of his body - his skin lost its color and his eyes unfocused as if he might pass out at any moment, but instead, he was just standing there, nails digging into his palms.

The same hand he had cut earlier.

Once the blood started seeping through the Keeper's closed fingers, the air became slightly blurry. Noah thought it was his vision, at first, but then he realized it was as if a thick fog had arisen around them both.

And then, what had been only empty space split into several fragments, right before everyone's eyes. It reminded Noah of a wall of glass shattering into several pieces after being shot with a stone, but instead of being a wall, the very air was breaking - specifically the empty space right behind Mahariel.

Noah's eyes widened, holding his breath when he realized something was forcing its way through the barrier from the other side.

Claws, Noah concluded with terror, demonic claws were breaking through the veil from the Fade, and they fiercely grabbed both of Mahariel's arms. Only it did not grab her, but instead dug its nails into the soft skin just below her shoulders, and raised the Dalish and up from the floor: her body hung in the air in the shape of a cross, while blood dripped from her arms in an constant flow .

The scream echoed through the hall as Eilleen's arms were pulled, one from each side, as if to rip her in half with brute force. And, by the desperate way she was screaming, that creature probably soon would.

That agonizing sound of her pain seemed to hurt the ears of Noah as surely as if he was being tortured instead of the Dalish. And as her arms were pulled slowly but steadily with impressive force, those rending nails left a horrible trail of cuts on her arms.

The creature did not seem in a hurry to end the evil service, quite the opposite - he seemed to feed upon the desperate cries of the poor Dalish, who was squirming more and more, writhing in agony, as time passed.

Still in shock, Noah looked up at the mist above the place where the demonic arms hovered, and what he saw made his stomach turn violently - a pair of red eyes, fierce and bright, intensely watching. That simple exchange of glances between them was enough for Noah to understand what he was dealing with.

A demon, Noah concluded, and it was like none he'd ever seen before. No lesser demon could have filled him with such dread and terror using only a glance. For a moment, he could only stand there, unable to move, caught by the gaze of those evil, scarlet eyes, which penetrated to the deepest level of his being, withering his soul and burning his very bones.

If that was Zathrian's master, then that thing was mightier than everyone in the room put together. And a creature with such power would not hesitate to rip the life from her, if only for the sheer pleasure of it, and leave nothing more than a ravaged corpse where the blond elf had once been.

"NO!" The human leapt up once he realized the imminent danger, and ran towards Zathrian in wide and firm strides, grabbing the mage's neck before he could realize what was happening.

The Keeper, pale and fragile, just stared at him, too shocked to react. Yet, his nails were still buried into the cut on his hand.

"Tell that thing to stop," Noah commanded fiercely, roaring like a lion who's defending his pride. "Tell that thing to stop, NOW!"

The human finger pressing against Zathrian's jugular forced the elf to break the blood bond that held the Crushing Prison spell on Mahariel, and soon the magic effect was lost - fog gathered in the air as the demon receded, and the tear in the veil began to close.

The elf coughed, choking, but Noah refused to release him until the effect completely ceased. The spell took a long time to fade, even after Zathrian stop feeding it with his blood.

The demon just stood in place, indifferent to what was happening around him. He still held Noah's gaze, exuding that sick and gloomy aura that aroused the deepest despair in the heart of the human - fears that he'd never known existed clutched at his chest violently, and more than once, he had difficulty breathing properly. And, Noah thought this would all only get worse with more and more interference from him - after all, the demon would no longer be able to feed on the Keeper's blood or the Dalish, which he would find extremely frustrating.

But Noah's blood froze as he realized there was actually a gleam of amusement in the incandescent slits of his eyes. Fun and daring, in fact, like a gambler who grins when he realizes that he will win the game.

He even cracked a smile - the same bright red line as his gaze (and just as disturbing) came into the empty space, cutting the air irregularly below his crimson slits, like a shaky drawing.

For a moment, Noah thought the demon would strike the final blow, even after the spell effect had passed, but he just dropped her - indeed, he threw her body down with violence, as if hitting a piece of wet cloth on stone. And the poor Dalish could do nothing but fall seemingly lifeless to the ground, making a loud thud before she winced in pain.

Noah dropped Zathrian immediately, pushing him out of his way as he ran up to Eilleen. The Keeper staggered back, breathing in huge lungfuls of air while holding his swollen, red neck. He just stood there, staring at the man with contempt as collapsed on the floor beside the Dalish.

At first, Noah wanted to wrap her in his arms, but soon pushed away that thought. The poor Dalish was very sore - her arms were covered with deep, long scarlet scratches that came up to below the elbows. Also, her right shoulder was twisted at a weird angle, and any attempt to move it would only do more harm than good.

Blood, tears and sweat covered her face. She was frail, vulnerable and exposed. And Noah, he hated it. Every injury was like a cut to his own heart, and he shared her pain more deeply than he'd ever expected to be able to feel. His chest felt as if it would explode from the inside out, in a combination of despair, pain and sadness.

Noah also realized in a single, brief moment of reflection, that this was the first time in weeks that his usual anger at everyone and everything was completely drowned out by something bigger. Even the ringing in his ears, which easily made him crazy and screamed at him to get up and kill the Keeper, was completely muffled. Instead, his rage was replaced by a deep, silent empathy for this brave woman and the agony she so clearly suffered.

He wanted nothing more than to stand beside her; was overwhelmed by the desire to care for her.

With a trembling hand, he approached slowly and wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth. At his touch, the Dalish winced slightly, but did not protest. Just allowed him to trace the line of her jaw, and wipe the tears from her cheeks with the back of his warm fingers.

At no time, however, did she look at him.

"I hope you're satisfied," she said suddenly, and Noah almost jumped. Her voice was dry and hoarse, as if white sand was scratching her throat as she spoke. "Gotta give the victory to Zathrian."

As if the pain in her voice was not enough to wrench his heart, the coldness with which she uttered the words sunk down into his own inner well of guilt.

"I did what had to be done!" Noah cried, not recognizing his own voice. It sounded insecure, and maybe even a little shaky. "I had to finish it ...!"

"At what cost?" she asked sarcastically, as if it were the most obvious thing wrong of all. She tried to give a short laugh, but could only cough up a little blood. "Using Blood magic?"

"I did what had to be done," he repeated, but his own speech seemed achingly empty. It was as if he himself no longer believed in his own words. "I made all the tough choices so that you did not have to pay for any of them," he continued, and his tone had changed dramatically, as if begging her, for the love of heaven, please believe me. It was almost a plea, an apology after a confession of something very, very bad. "It was the only choice to be made ..."

"Blood magic is not a choice!" she cried louder than she'd planned. She punched the ground beside her with her good arm as she spoke, and as the sharp, intense spasms of pain spread through her body from the brutality of Zathrian's spell, she seemed to use that pain as fuel to feed the frustration in her speech. "It's an easy way out for the poor in spirit who do not have the courage to face their battles alone!"

"I was running out of time !" Noah exclaimed indignantly, his voice too shrill voice from desperation. He was no longer able to control his feelings, and like her, they were bursting out as if neither had anymore more room in their hearts to keep them stored any longer. "What did you expect me to do?!"

"I hoped you would have trusted me!" she said at once, and tears spilled from her green eyes again. Noah opened his mouth to churn out a great deal of frustration, but no words came out.

He just froze in place, too shocked to say anything. It was definitely was not what he'd expected to hear. Not her, not there, much less in that way. In fact, if she had thrown the blame on him for her injuries, if she'd accused him of almost having her killed with blood magic, even indirectly, it would not have hurt as much as that statement.

He just watched open-mouthed as she closed her eyes tightly and breathed deeply several times, as if to keep the tears and her own feelings under control.

"I ..." He began, a tremulous whisper muffled by his heavy breathing. "You do not trust me. You never trusted. You ..."

"I trusted you," she said, opening her eyes, and Noah was forced to face the ground: Could not endure so much disappointment overflowing in her eyes - eyes that he found so beautiful and determined, and now held only sorrow.

"I trusted the man who saved the woman in Lothering, without asking anything in return," she continued. "I trusted the man who wept over the body of Nihael. But that proved to be a lie." She shook her head in disapproval. "You proved to me that was a lie, and I do not know if I'm angry with you, or with myself, for believing you could be different..."

Noah frowned painfully, like someone who had been found guilty and accepted his award with pride. "Great. You can blame me for what I did, be mad at me! I don't care." His voice was a soft, hoarse growl and, fraught with tears he wanted to cry but could not. "But know that I will not ask your forgiveness for having fought for a cure for you, and for the redhead. I chose to pay the price, and would gladly pay it again!"

Mahriel laughed - a horrible and depressing laugh - and more tears streamed down her face. She could hardly control the sarcasm in her voice when she spoke. "No one needed healing."

If Noah had entertained hopes that he would rise from the bottom of the black hole he was in, her last statement was like someone pouring concrete through the only opening.

"... What?" he stammered, half surprised, half skeptical. "She was ... The redhead was almost dead in my arms!" he questioned, with less certainty than he wanted to convey. "The attack on the camp ... Your arm ..."

"My only problem was my partner allowing me to be attacked by a demon," she answered, short and direct, and Noah sat back down. He wanted to question her, but again found only emptiness in his search for words. "Da'shal is resisting the curse. She proved to be immune, Noah, immune - And will probably outlive both of us."

When Noah did not answer, and a long silence ensued, Mahariel sighed. She could hear Zathrian and the Lady having their own private conversation, but honestly, none of their speech seemed worthy of her attention. The fight she had engaged, and fought with such dedication and tenacity, seemed to belong to a too distant past to matter now.

The demon may have torn part of her body, but what hurt most was her heart.

"I ..." Noah finally said, in a broken and sick whisper. "I did not know ..."

"No, you didn't know," she replied promptly, as if she had rehearsed this answer so many times in her mind already knew it by heart. "You didn't bother to find out. They are completely different things." She stared at him again, and she could clearly see the color draining from his face as the weight of her words fell on his back. "We are a group, Noah. A group! That's what Kallian wanted me to believe when she asked me to stay, and that was what I was forcing myself to believe in all this time. That we were in this together!"

Noah just listened to her words in silence. At this point, he was not sure if he wanted to say something else. Or if he even had the strength.

"We were to act as partners. We were to be like a small clan, who would watch one another's backs through the bad times. And what did you do when everyone else needed you? You did what you do best - turned your back on us!" She continued her speech. It was no longer rage that punctuated her words, no - it was only a tired rant. Maybe she was too exhausted to be angry, and needed only to release the dead weight of her pain and her sorrow. And so she did, continuing with her hurtful words. "If only you had listened to me ... If you had listened to me ..."

None of this would have happened, Noah thought ruefully.

If guilt was something tangible, it would be a rope, he concluded. And if he had to describe this moment with words, he would say that rope was around his neck, and his agony would be comparable to someone who was being executed by hanging - eternally frozen in the final moments of the subject's life, where pain, shortness of breath and a feeling of helplessness and hopelessness were greater than any misery he'd ever felt.

"... It was all in vain?" Noah asked of no one specifically. More to himself than to her.

She did not answer; it was not needed.

"There are three things, beyond death, which are indisputably irreversible," she said, and her strength was fading fast. She'd lost too much blood, and she felt the decrease of adrenaline in her veins more than she'd imagined. "The spoken word, the released arrow and the lost opportunity." She closed her eyes. "You said everything that should not have been said, pointed your sword at those who you should not, and missed several opportunities to do everything as it should have been done."

Opening his eyes again, Noah finally realized she was bleeding to death - the terribly dark circles under her eyes were highlighted because of the lack of color in her cheeks, and her lips were the pale shade of a sheet of parchment.

"You could have done the right thing," she continued. "But instead, you made all the wrong choices. And even if it was not your intention, you ended up condemning the only person who really needed your help ..."

Noah knew that she was talking about Alistair, but Noah made no attempt to find him in the crowd of paralyzed wolves. His eyes were fixed on Mahariel. He watched as she whispered the last words in a faint whisper, and her eyelids began to weigh more than she could endure. She shuddered one last time before closing her eyes, losing consciousness before she could hear Noah screaming her name Noah in an uncontrollable despair.

Blame soon gave way to panic when history began to repeat itself before his eyes - a cruel deja vu, where Noah lifted the inert body of someone precious to him into his arms….