Chapter 28: Goodbye

The dust had not yet settled when Joren forced himself up from the rubble. His fingers trembled as he braced against the jagged remains of the bridge, the stones still warm from the magic that had unraveled them. The roar of collapsing stone had faded, leaving only the murmur of the river below—calm, almost mocking in its indifference to the destruction above it.

He staggered forward, eyes scanning the thick mist that clung to the air like a veil between worlds. It curled around the ruins, shifting with a will of its own, as though reluctant to release what it had claimed. And then, through the swirling haze, he saw her.

Lyria.

She stood at the edge of the mist, her form wavering, half-solid, as if the spirit's grip had not yet fully taken her. Her long dark hair drifted in the spectral wind, her eyes solemn and shining with unspoken sorrow. Joren's breath hitched.

"Lyria!"

He stumbled toward her, but his foot caught on the fractured stone, and he fell to one knee. The cold bit into his palms as he steadied himself, his heart pounding in his chest like the beat of a war drum.

Lyria smiled softly, the kind of smile that spoke of love and loss entwined.

"You shouldn't have come this far," she murmured, voice carrying through the mist like a whisper of wind.

Joren's throat tightened. "I didn't—" His voice cracked. "I didn't come all this way just to lose you now."

The mist thickened, its tendrils wrapping around Lyria's arms, her legs, pulling her further away. She flinched but did not fight it. Joren pushed forward, reaching for her, but the space between them stretched impossibly far, an invisible force keeping them apart.

"No," he gritted out. "No, damn it, this isn't how it ends."

A shape shifted behind Lyria. The spirit, ancient and formless, its presence looming like a shadow of time itself. Its voice, layered and echoing, rippled through the air.

"The bargain is struck. The curse is broken. One must remain."

Joren's hands curled into fists. "Not her," he spat. "Take me instead."

Lyria turned sharply. "Joren, no."

He ignored her. "You want a soul to tether to this bridge? Fine. Take mine. Just let her go."

The spirit did not answer immediately. Its presence seemed to shift, considering, watching with the patience of something that had existed for far too long. And then, slowly, it spoke again.

"A willing heart carries weight. But the choice has already been made."

Joren turned to Lyria, desperate, but she was already shaking her head.

"I chose this," she said, her voice steady despite the tears gathering in her eyes. "I couldn't let you be the one to stay."

Joren's breath shuddered from his chest. "Lyria—"

She stepped closer, though they both knew she could never reach him. "We always knew there would be a cost." Her lips trembled, but she forced another small, heartbreaking smile. "This is mine to pay."

His head shook wildly. "It's not fair."

Her gaze softened. "No, it isn't. But if I had to choose again, I would do the same."

The mist swirled again, tightening its grip around her. Her form flickered, her body losing its solidity. Joren clenched his jaw, refusing to let the despair overtake him. If these were his last moments with her, he would not spend them in denial.

Instead, he swallowed hard and whispered, "Promise me something."

Lyria tilted her head. "Anything."

"Promise me this isn't the end."

A tear slipped down her cheek. "It isn't," she vowed. "No matter how many years pass, no matter what worlds lie between us—I will find you again."

Joren sucked in a breath, memorizing the shape of her, the warmth in her gaze, the quiet strength she had always carried.

"I'll hold you to that."

Her lips quirked. "I'd expect nothing less."

The spirit raised its spectral hand, and the mist surged. Lyria gasped as the force of it swept around her, pulling her back. Her fingers lifted in a silent farewell, her form fading into the silver haze. And then—

She was gone.

Joren dropped to his knees, the world hollowing out around him. The river continued its endless journey beneath him, the last remnants of the bridge sinking into the depths. The war, the curses, the ancient grudges—none of it seemed to matter anymore.

Behind him, the remaining soldiers from both sides stood frozen, watching, waiting. The bridge was gone. Their path to one another had crumbled. What now?

Footsteps approached, and a heavy hand landed on Joren's shoulder. He didn't need to look to know it was Thalric.

"Come on," his friend murmured. "We can't stay here."

Joren didn't move. The weight of grief pinned him in place. Thalric sighed, kneeling beside him. He wasn't a man of comfort, wasn't one for words that soothed. But in that moment, he didn't need to be. He simply stayed.

On the other side of the river, Eira bowed her head, lips moving in silent prayer. Velmoran warriors lowered their weapons. The world was shifting, old wounds left raw and uncertain. But for now, the fighting had stopped.

Joren closed his eyes. The bridge had crumbled, but something new would rise from the ruins. Even if it took a lifetime, he would find her again.

One day.

Somewhere beyond the mist.