Several days had passed, and a strange equilibrium had settled among the survivors. Aisling moved from one to another, treating the wounds she could and gathering fragments of emotions and thoughts. Like shadows wandering in a dream, the humans lived in a state suspended between reality and the unreal. The Twilight Realm, once so cold and oppressive, now buzzed with the sounds of life. However, it was not true serenity that had spread among them, but a strange and heavy calm that enveloped every gesture, every exchanged word.
Each person seemed to walk under an invisible pressure, a weight on both their minds and bodies. From what Aisling observed and heard, they all felt a deep exhaustion, not only from the physical fatigue of making the ruined city livable again or from the visible traumas of past battles. No, it was something more insidious, more profound: the guilt of surviving.
Many shared with the young healer a strange dissonance. They knew they should be grateful to have escaped death, destruction, famine. They had survived where so many others had perished. But this survival came with a burden they bore without knowing how to lighten it. Every smile exchanged felt like a betrayal of those left behind, those who hadn't had the chance to pass through the portal. Every shared meal was tinged with bitterness, a sharp awareness of the injustice of still being here, of breathing, while others had lost that chance.
The nights were the hardest. The survivors slept little, often disturbed by nightmares or memories of the screams of the dead. Those who managed to close their eyes found no real rest, for the shadow of their guilt haunted even their dreams. Why them? Why were they still here when others had lost everything?
Aisling, like many others, felt this pressure. She deprived herself of sleep, sometimes of food, telling herself that others needed it more than she did.
"I'm alive, so I must be useful," she often repeated to herself, forcing herself to heal, to help, to tend to the visible and invisible wounds of the newcomers. But somewhere, she felt strangely absent, as if her own existence no longer mattered as much.
Added to this were strange dreams, far too real to be soothing. She kept dreaming of a huge tree, very different from the burning one in Nimrach. But every time she tried to get close to it, she'd wake up with a piercing pain in her chest that always brought tears to her eyes.
It was a form of isolation, an invisible barrier that had risen between them all. Even those who had fought together now seemed separated by a sea of pain and guilt they didn't know how to cross. And in this emotional void, many were lost. They weren't just survivors of a physical war; they were also victims of an inner war, where the joy of living had given way to a dark guilt.
Day after day, they continued to live, but no one yet knew how to heal.
It was in this strange atmosphere of silent tension that the Four returned from their exploration. The library, bathed in dim light, hosted far more people than usual that day. Ren had taken care to gather representatives from each group: hunters, warriors, farmers... None of the Watchers were present, an exclusion that persisted due to the Riders' mistrust of them. This mistrust hadn't stopped Aisling from keeping Nimue hidden in her ring, a precaution she always took. Sitting in a dark corner, she observed everything, silent.
Idris and Fenja were not far from her, also trapped in their thoughts. Fenja seemed downcast, her face marked by a deep, quiet pain. The loss of her father and the fall of Nimrach had crushed the huntress she once was. Paradoxically, this immense loss had drawn her closer to Idris. He, usually carried by a fiery warrior spirit, seemed calmer, more silent. The desire for war that had once burned within him had faded. Idris had helped Briana train new troops after the loss of so many soldiers in Nimrach, but even he seemed disoriented, uncertain of the future. Aisling glanced at them, desperately searching for something to say to ease the tense atmosphere, but the words eluded her. Everything felt hollow, inadequate.
She turned her attention back to the Four Horsemen, now gathered around Ren. Strife stepped forward to calm the murmurs rising among the crowd.
"We know what you're going through, what you're feeling," he said, his voice deep but soothing. "We sincerely hope to be able to help you."
Murmurs of agreement or concern rippled through the assembly. A man, one of the hunters, stood up and asked the question many had been wondering.
"Is it possible for us to settle here, for good?"
A tense silence followed. Strife answered without hesitation.
"We've explored part of this world. It does indeed seem viable for now, but there's still much to discover. In theory, yes, it's possible to establish here. But... there are still many unknowns."
The murmurs resumed, more worried this time. Strife continued.
"The Watchers have informed us that this world was created as a refuge. By whom, we still don't know. As for the previous inhabitants... they have been dead for a long time. The Watchers can't—or won't—tell us more about that."
"And Earth?" another person stood up, their voice filled with the fragile hope of those still dreaming of returning to what they had lost. "Isn't it possible for us to finally go back home?"
This question, despite its obvious weight, brought a heavy silence to the library. Everyone waited for the answer with a quiet dread. It was War, impassive but with a distinct gravity, who took it upon himself to respond.
" Earth... is no longer the one you once knew." His voice was calm, but every word carried the weight of brutal truth. "The demons have won the battles there. As for the angels, they are barely surviving in what has become a wasteland. Demon lords have begun dividing the Earth into different realms, each claiming a portion of the world as a trophy."
A wave of murmurs swept through the crowd, faces darkening at this revelation. But that wasn't all, and War continued, his gaze hard as steel.
"Now that the last Seal has been broken, the Apocalypse must be carried out. There is no going back."
This time, Fury stepped forward, her voice burning with contained anger, yet also an unwavering sense of duty.
"The Horsemen's role has always been to serve the Balance, up to the End War. This final war was only meant to happen when the Seals that protected humanity were broken. These Seals were forged to give you time to prepare to participate. When these Seals break, our duty, as the Four Horsemen, is to ride, to act as arbiters, and to punish those who try to cheat. But we discovered a conspiracy... The Apocalypse was triggered too early, and War was blamed for it. Some are seeking to gain an unfair advantage. They want to subvert the Balance, to take control of the Apocalypse for their own gain."
The tension in the room rose sharply. Murmurs returned, mixed with growing anxiety. Many already knew this; the Protector had passed down this knowledge to previous generations. But for many here, these words had carried no more weight than legends. Death stepped forward.
"Understand this: our role is not to take sides. Not with the angels, not with the demons, not even with you. Our role is to maintain the Balance. The war must proceed as intended, without interference. But some, including those we once… served, are trying to overthrow this order."
A heavy silence followed this statement. Strife, Fury, and War exchanged glances.
"The Charred Council was once the guardians of this Balance. They charged us with protecting it, to act as its champions. But today..." He paused for a moment, as if weighing his words. "They are corrupt."
"The Council saw humanity as a threat," Fury continued. "Not just to the Balance, but to their own power. They know that if humanity participates in the End War, it could change the course of events... and threaten their control over the universe."
War spoke again, his voice heavy with restrained anger.
"The Council wants to maintain the status quo. They would rather humanity lose this war, as it would ensure their continued dominance. They no longer seek Balance, they seek to preserve their own power. That's why they want to get rid of us as well. Because we, the Horsemen, serve the Balance above all else. If the Council stands against that Balance, we will destroy them, just as we will destroy anyone who betrays the Balance."
"So no... Earth is out of reach. For now. For a very long time. As for these lands, we still haven't found the Tree of Life that connects this world to others. Without it, we cannot guarantee that this refuge is secure."
Aisling frowned at these words. The Tree of Life... A portal, yes, but also a path for souls. Death had said they struggled to find their way to Nimrach and were lost on Earth, whatever that meant. Without the Tree of Life, they wouldn't be able to find the humans here. How many children, once awake, would take their breath? They had no new proposals to give, only an old solution that had led them exactly where they all stood: on the brink of extinction. Again..She stood up instinctively, unable to suppress the burning question inside her.
"And what do you intend to do once you find this Tree? Destroy it, like you did at Nimrach?"
The question, more accusatory than she had intended, echoed through the room. The murmur of the crowd fell silent instantly. It was Death who responded, with his usual icy calm.
"It was a necessary evil."
"A necessary evil?" Aisling couldn't keep the anger from her voice. "You condemned Nimrach! You prevented humanity from growing!"
"It's the price of your survival."
That was the breaking point. The anger and despair that had been bubbling inside Aisling exploded, her nerves strained by restless nights and that ghost of strange pain in her chest not helping.
"What survival? The Heavens and Hell found us anyway. Our brothers and sisters were taken, and we don't even know where they are."
The people in the crowd exchanged stunned glances, shocked that she dared to speak this way to the Rider. The tension was palpable, almost suffocating. Ren stepped forward, his face marked by calm, yet firm authority.
"Aisling... enough."
She shook her head, refusing to remain silent.
"You say you understand, but you have no idea what humanity feels. You hide us away, like rats, under the pretense of protecting us. But at what cost? If that's the case, they only had to follow YOU to find us. Our blood is on YOUR hands, Horsemen! "
A heavy silence followed. Strife, War, and Fury remained motionless, their inquisitive gazes fixed on her. Death, as usual, showed no emotion. The conversations in the room had ceased, and Aisling's words still hung heavily in the air.
But she didn't wait for more. Her hands were trembling, her heart racing. Without another word, she turned on her heels and left the library, her face burning with anger and despair. Behind her, the conversations slowly resumed, but she no longer heard them.
Aisling marched up the streets, letting her rage and frustration guide her, her footsteps hitting the cobblestones with an almost mechanical force. Her mind was swirling, unable to calm down. Every thought collided with the indignation she felt: the crushing helplessness, the bitter truths, and the growing sense of being trapped. With no real destination in mind, she pressed on, her breath quick, refusing to stop, as if stillness might overwhelm her with despair.
Suddenly, a faint shimmer caught her attention. Nimue slowly emerged from the ring on her finger, floating in the air beside her, struggling to keep up with her pace. At first, Aisling ignored the little specter, continuing to walk briskly, her thoughts too muddled to pay attention.
"I don't know if you're brave... or just completely mad, Aisling," Nimue said, her voice soft but laced with sharp curiosity. "Standing up to the Horsemen like that, in front of everyone..."
Aisling frowned without slowing down, her eyes fixed straight ahead.
"What else could happen? We're already on the edge of the abyss."
"Have you run out of fear? I'm genuinely surprised they let you leave the place standing and breathing. Perhaps they've changed after all..."
"Or maybe some stupid human is right. I couldn't care less. We need a solution ... really ... really need a solution. They'll kick my ass when they get one. I have only two eyes to gouge out, it will be quick."
Her voice was hard, cutting. She had passed the point of caring about consequences. To see someone's world burn and fellow humans disappear had perhaps this tendency on one mind. The Watcher crossed her tiny arms and stared at her intently. Her voice, though soft, was filled with rare determination.
"I might have an idea…"
Nimue pointed towards the castle, perched atop the hill, its imposing and stern architecture dominating the landscape.
"But we can't go in there anymore!"
"The Horsemen and the other humans, maybe. But if you're looking for answers, that's where you'll find them. And after all, you've got better things to do? Besides waiting for four of the oldest creatures in Creation to come back and finish this conversation with you?"
"Quite right... Let's give them something else to be mad about, then."
"The fact that you made it to adulthood alive amazes me... "
Aisling moved with utmost discretion as she made her way up the hill toward the castle, constantly checking to make sure she wasn't seen or followed. Her light steps moved through the evening shadows as her silhouette blended into the fading light. She hadn't had the time to return here since the Four had attempted to search the place and forbidden anyone from approaching it. "Too dangerous," they had said, and with good reason: the thorns that wrapped around the castle had returned, even thicker and more menacing than before.
Still, encouraged by Nimue, Aisling kept moving forward, despite a slight apprehension without paying attention to the cawing of a crow above her. To her great surprise, the twisted mass of vines began to part gently at her approach, creating a narrow path for her to follow. She cautiously walked through, and when she glanced back, the thorns had closed behind her, as if they had never moved. Puzzled, Aisling murmured aloud,
"How is this possible?"
"Because you hold the key."
A spectral whisper answered her question. The old Watcher, floating in the courtyard, had evidently been waiting for her arrival. He gestured to the ring on Aisling's finger, then turned to the little specter.
"You know what you must do. Go."
Nimue nodded, winked at Aisling with one of her three eyes, then flew back toward the city.
"Why didn't you tell the Horsemen?" Aisling frowned, turning her attention back to the elder Watcher. "Not that I'm dying to go back and talk to them right now, but ... Why keep these secrets?"
"For the same reason the Four don't trust us," the Watcher let out a long sigh, his translucent form floating slightly above the ground. "We all once served the Council."
He paused, his gaze distant.
"I don't know why you were able to access this place the first time, nor why you were able to seize the key, that flower. But I am no one to question the will of the masters who once ruled here."
He silently gestured toward a large statue standing at the back of the courtyard. Aisling turned to the imposing figure, depicting the angel and demon locked together in stone.
"Who were they?"
"The angel was called Seraphel, and the demon, Varakh."
His voice carried an unusual respect for those names. Aisling, even more perplexed, approached the statue.
"An angel and a demon, working together? How is that possible?"
"You would be surprised, Aisling, how many of us have grown weary of this endless war, this existence bound to conflict," the Watcher smiled sadly. "Seraphel and Varakh were among those who sought something different. A refuge, a solution, a peace... a hope."
He turned his spectral gaze toward the heavy doors of the castle. "Come, I will show you what they left behind."
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