Chapter 35: The Long Night

The cheers of victory had faded, replaced by the somber silence of mourning. The Wildwood village, once a haven of peace, was now a scene of devastation.

Smoke curled from the ruins of homes, and the air was thick with the smell of burnt wood and blood.

The villagers moved like ghosts, their faces etched with grief as they tended to the wounded and buried their dead.

Anya and Gareth surveyed the damage, their faces grim.

The victory had come at a terrible cost. Too many lives had been lost, and the village was weakened, vulnerable.

"We need to be ready," Gareth said, his voice hoarse. "The Harbinger won't let this go unpunished."

As if to confirm his words, a dark cloud gathered on the horizon.

A chilling wind swept through the village, carrying with it the whispers of dark magic. Anya felt a shiver run down her spine.

The Harbinger was coming.

And he came with a vengeance. A torrent of dark energy rained down upon the village, shattering what remained of its defenses. Fiery blasts tore through the homes, and icy shards pierced the air, freezing everything they touched. Void creatures, larger and more monstrous than before, swarmed the village, their eyes burning with malevolent intent.

The villagers, still reeling from the previous battle, were no match for this renewed assault.

They scattered, fleeing into the forest, their cries of terror echoing through the trees.

Anya and Gareth fought valiantly, trying to protect the fleeing villagers, but they were overwhelmed.

The Harbinger's forces were relentless, their attacks precise and devastating.

Amidst the chaos, Valkyrie found Lyra tending to the wounded, her face etched with despair. Many of the villagers, and even some of the Ironclad warriors, were gravely injured, their lives hanging by a thread.

The fallen healer lay nearby, a stark reminder of their loss.

Valkyrie approached Lyra, her expression determined. "Lyra," she said, her voice clear. "I can bring back the healer."

Lyra looked at her, her eyes filled with a mixture of hope and doubt. "But… why her?"

"Because she's our best chance," Valkyrie explained. "She was a master healer, capable of mending wounds that would otherwise be fatal. We need her skills, her knowledge, to save the others. She's the only one who can."

Lyra hesitated, her gaze sweeping over the fallen.

She remembered the healer's kindness, her gentle touch, her unwavering dedication to her craft.

She also remembered the stories of Void-corrupted revenants, the dangers of tampering with death.

"And… the others?"

"I… I don't know," Valkyrie admitted, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. "My connection… it's still unstable. I can try… but I don't know if I have the strength." And I don't know if I have the control, she thought, remembering the chilling power that surged through her when she transformed.

"Do it," Lyra said finally, her voice firm. "But… make sure she's at peace. I won't have her soul tormented."

Valkyrie nodded, understanding the unspoken request.

She knelt beside the fallen healer, focusing her energy, drawing upon the power of the shard fragments. She could feel the healer's life force flickering, a faint ember about to be extinguished. Three attempts, she thought, remembering the legends, the whispers of power and consequence.

Three attempts, and then… nothing.

First Attempt: Valkyrie reached out with her Void Conduit abilities, trying to grasp the fading spark of life. But the connection faltered, the energy dissipated. The healer remained still. Valkyrie gasped, her body trembling. One chance gone.

Second Attempt: Desperation clawed at her. She focused again, pushing harder, drawing deeper on the Void's power. This time, she felt a flicker, a brief spark of recognition in the healer's eyes. But it was fleeting, extinguished in an instant. Valkyrie slumped back, her breath ragged. Two chances gone.

Final Attempt: Lyra placed a hand on Valkyrie's shoulder, her eyes filled with a mixture of hope and fear. "One last time," she whispered.

Valkyrie nodded, her resolve hardening. She closed her eyes, focusing all her remaining energy, all her will, on the fallen healer. She pictured the healer's kindness, her skill, the lives she had saved. She channeled the power of the Void, but this time, with control, with precision.

She felt the connection solidify, the life force returning, stronger now, anchored by her will.

"Arise," she whispered, her voice resonating with the power of the Void, "from the embrace of the Void."

She opened her eyes, her gaze fixed on the healer. "Arise," she commanded, her voice gaining strength, "your people need you."

The healer gasped, her eyes fluttering open. She looked around, her expression confused, then understanding dawned in her eyes.

She immediately began tending to the wounded, her touch gentle and sure.

As the healer worked tirelessly, tending to the injured, Shade emerged from the shadows.

He had watched the battle from afar, his face grim.

He approached Anya and Gareth, his expression somber. "I… I apologize," he said, his voice low. "I could have helped, but… my rage… it is a dangerous weapon. I feared I would hurt those I was trying to protect." He explained that he had been observing the Harbinger's tactics, searching for a weakness, a way to strike back.

Anya and Gareth, though still wary of him, understood his position.

They knew his power was a double-edged sword, capable of great good, but also great destruction.

But even with the healer's aid, the situation was dire.

The Harbinger's forces were relentless, and the villagers were scattered, hunted, their morale shattered. They were losing, and they knew it.

The long night had fallen, and the dawn seemed far away.