Chapter 19 Forsaken by Fire

The clearing was silent.

Only the crackling of dying embers filled the space where a battle had almost begun. Arren's heart still pounded, his fingers clenched so tightly around his sword that his knuckles had turned white. The messenger was gone—vanished like a whisper in the wind, leaving behind only his words.

"When your allies abandon you, when your fire turns to ash, you will crawl back to them. And they will not listen."

The weight of those words sank into Arren's chest like a blade.

The first to break the silence was Brynn.

"You're insane." Her voice was shaking, but it wasn't with fear. It was with rage. She stepped forward, pointing an accusatory finger at Arren, her expression twisted with fury. "You think you can fight the gods? Do you even understand what you've done?"

Arren turned to her, his eyes burning, but he didn't answer.

Because deep down, a small part of him wondered if she was right.

"That wasn't just some soldier, Arren," Brynn continued, her voice rising. "That was a divine messenger. We were standing in front of a being who speaks for the gods, and you—" She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "You attacked him. Like an idiot swinging a sword at a storm, thinking you can cut through thunder!"

Arren gritted his teeth. "I won't be their pawn."

"Pawn?" Brynn hissed. "You think this is about you? Do you think your pride is more important than all of us? Than the entire world?"

A long, painful silence stretched between them.

Then, Brynn took a step back.

"I'm done," she said, voice hollow. "I'm not dying for your reckless pride."

She turned away.

"Mira," she called, her voice softer now. "Come on. We're leaving."

Mira's face was pale, her hands trembling at her sides. She hadn't spoken a word since the disciple left. Her wide, fearful eyes flickered between Brynn and Arren, her lip trembling.

"Mira," Arren said quietly. "You don't have to go."

She swallowed hard. "Arren, I… I want to believe you. I do. But the gods have guided us our entire lives. What if this is all… a test?" Her voice cracked, filled with the desperation of someone begging to believe in something.

Arren saw it then—she wasn't leaving because she hated him. She was leaving because she needed to believe that the gods weren't cruel. That there was still order in the world.

If she stayed with him, she would have to face the truth. And Mira wasn't ready for that.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

And then she turned, walking toward Brynn.

Arren stood frozen, watching them disappear into the darkness.

Noor didn't move.

For a long moment, he simply stared at the ground, hands clenched into fists at his sides. He was always the rational one. The one who thought before speaking, who measured his words like a blacksmith weighing metal before the forge.

Finally, he exhaled. "Arren."

Arren's head snapped up.

Noor's face was unreadable. His dark eyes—usually filled with intelligence—were cold, distant.

"You've put us all in danger." His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it—something close to disappointment.

"You don't believe me," Arren said bitterly.

Noor's jaw tightened. "I believe you think you're right. I believe you're convinced that you're fighting some righteous battle. But belief doesn't change reality. And the reality is, the gods don't care about what's right or wrong."

Arren flinched.

Noor took a slow step forward. "They want you to suffer, Arren. They don't have to kill you. They just have to make sure no one follows you."

A hollow feeling twisted in Arren's stomach.

"Brynn and Mira are gone," Noor continued. "Torren hasn't spoken a word. And me?" He exhaled. "I'll stay. For now. But only to see where this goes."

He held Arren's gaze.

"If you prove me wrong, if you find a way to survive this… I'll fight with you."

He paused.

"But if you lead us to death? If you turn into something worse than the gods?" Noor's expression darkened. "Then I'll be the first to put a blade through your heart."

Arren said nothing.

Noor turned away. "Get some rest."

Arren didn't sleep that night.

The fire crackled, small and weak, barely holding against the night wind. Noor lay on his back, eyes closed but breathing evenly. Fri curled beside Arren's leg, his small body warm but oddly quiet.

And Torren…

Arren looked across the camp.

Torren's bedroll was empty.

Arren's breath hitched.

He stood slowly, stepping toward the warrior's spot. The blanket lay untouched, as if Torren had never even tried to rest.

He was gone.

No goodbye. No words.

Just… gone.

Arren clenched his fists, staring at the empty space where his last friend had been.

It was happening.

The gods weren't killing him.

They were making sure he had nothing left.

Arren sat by the fire, staring into the flames. His vision blurred, exhaustion clawing at his bones.

Brynn and Mira were gone.

Torren had left in the dead of night.

Noor would leave soon enough.

He was being erased. Slowly. Painfully.

Fri whined softly, pressing his small body against Arren's side. It was the first time in hours that the wolf had even acknowledged him.

Arren let out a shaky breath. "They won't stop, Fri." The pup didn't answer.

Arren closed his eyes. For the first time since he had drawn his blade against the disciple, he felt it.

Not rage. Not determination. Just… tiredness.

He was alone.

Completely, utterly alone.

And he wasn't sure how much longer he could fight.