73. Departure

The sun was still low in the sky, spilling pale gold across the Valkari settlement. A cool wind whispered through the mountain grasses, carrying the distant sounds of morning life—footsteps crunching against dirt paths, the clang of smithing tools, the murmured voices of early risers.

Lucien sat alone atop a grassy hill, his legs drawn up as he gazed down at two simple graves.

The stones marking them were weathered, yet strong. One had been there for many years, its carvings softened by time. The other was fresh, the dirt still packed tightly over it, as if refusing to settle.

His mother.

His father.

Lucien ran a hand through his long silver hair, his fingers clenching slightly.

He should have visited sooner. Before everything.

His throat was tight. "I don't even know what to say."

The wind stirred the grass, but there was no answer.

Lucien exhaled shakily. "I… I know I wasn't the son either of you deserved." He looked down, his voice thick. "I let my anger take control. I let myself be led like a blind fool." He swallowed, guilt burning through his chest. "I killed you, Father."

The words felt like rusted iron on his tongue.

Lucien clenched his fists, his head bowing. "I wanted to be like you. I wanted to make you proud. But when I looked at you, all I could see was the way you'd changed—the way you let go of everything you taught me. I thought you were weak." His voice cracked. "I thought I had to be stronger. To take control. To do things my way."

His hands shook.

"But all I did was repeat the same mistakes."

His vision blurred as his shoulders hunched. "I thought I was doing the right thing," he whispered. "I truly did."

The wind rustled softly.

Lucien wiped his eyes roughly, but the tears kept coming.

He turned his gaze to his mother's grave. "And you…" He let out a breathless, broken laugh. "You would've been ashamed of me too, wouldn't you?"

The woman he barely remembered. The mother who had died before Selka was even old enough to know her.

Lucien pressed a trembling hand to his face.

"I let Selka go," he whispered. "I know it was the right thing to do. I knew the moment she asked me that I couldn't say no." His voice wavered. "But gods, I already miss her."

The wind shifted again, curling around him.

Lucien closed his eyes tightly, pressing his forehead against his knees.

"I don't know how to do this without either of you."

He sat there, grief spilling through him like cracks in stone.

Then, a shadow fell over him.

Lucien stiffened—then felt warmth.

A strong pair of arms wrapped around him from behind, pulling him into an embrace.

Ferme.

She said nothing at first, simply holding him as his shoulders shook.

Then, in a soft, steady voice, she whispered:

"They would've been proud of you."

Lucien's breath hitched.

Ferme squeezed him a little tighter. "You let Selka choose her own path. You didn't let pride or anger hold you back." Her voice was firm, sure. "That is more strength than most ever find."

Lucien gritted his teeth. He wanted to believe her.

But all he could think of was the blood on his hands.

Ferme seemed to sense this. Her grip softened slightly.

"You are not your mistakes, Lucien." She rested her chin lightly against his shoulder. "But you are responsible for what comes next."

Lucien swallowed hard.

"…Then I have a lot to atone for."

Ferme exhaled. "We all do."

For a long moment, they simply sat there together—Lucien curled forward, Ferme holding him, the wind moving gently around them.

Finally, Lucien breathed out.

"…Thank you."

Ferme gave a small smile. "You'll be fine, Chief."

Lucien closed his eyes.

The title still felt heavy.

But this time, he would carry it right.

*

The pale glow of dawn spread over the mountain ridges, painting the jagged peaks in hues of gold and silver. The air was crisp, fresh, untouched—so different from the dense, oppressive atmosphere of the Valkari settlement behind them.

Char walked at the front of the group, Mira at his side. Her wound had healed somewhat, but she still moved gingerly, favoring her uninjured side. He glanced at her now and then, worry flickering behind his usually sharp eyes.

Behind them, Merrick strode with an easy gait, his hand clasped around Selka's.

The little girl, now their newest companion, walked with wide-eyed wonder, her gaze darting from the towering trees to the rolling cliffs to the way the sky stretched endlessly above them.

Char sighed through his nose, exhaling mist in the morning cold.

"So," he began, voice thoughtful, "we should talk about something kinda important."

Mira turned her head. "The ritual circle?"

Char gave a grim nod. "Yeah. It was a one-way trip." He ran a hand through his tousled hair. "We can't just use it to go back. That means we have to take the long way."

Merrick, who had been swinging Selka's arm back and forth, finally looked up. "How long?"

"Benjamin said it was a ten-day journey on foot."

There was a pause. Even Selka stopped staring at the scenery long enough to blink in surprise.

Merrick let out a low groan. "Oh, fantastic. Ten days of walking." He rubbed the back of his neck. "My feet already hurt just thinking about it."

Mira, however, was smiling faintly. "Then I suppose we better get used to it now."

Char glanced at her, studying the way the soft light caught her expression. She looked calm, steady—like she truly wasn't worried.

Her confidence did something to him.

"Yeah," he murmured, rubbing the back of his head. He felt heat creep up his neck. "I mean… yeah. You're right."

Mira arched an amused brow. "Of course I am."

Char scowled slightly, though his ears burned.

Merrick, watching from behind, grinned.

And so, the four of them continued down the path together, the rising sun at their backs.

*

The night settled over the hills like a heavy, dark blanket, the sky freckled with stars. Their chosen campsite was nestled between a grove of trees atop a tall hill, the grass soft beneath them and the air filled with the distant hum of night insects. A small fire crackled at the center of their group, its flickering light casting long shadows across their faces.

Merrick was sitting cross-legged, Selka curled up in his lap.

Despite the long journey, Merrick was in high spirits, chatting animatedly as he told her a wildly exaggerated story about some ridiculous prank he pulled as a kid.

"And then," he whispered dramatically, eyes wide with mock horror, "just when I thought I was home free, the old man turns around and—bam! Right into a bucket of fish guts."

Selka, despite her drooping eyelids, giggled sleepily. "You're lying."

"I would never," Merrick said, offended. "I am a paragon of truth."

Selka mumbled something incoherent before nuzzling into his chest. Her breathing evened out soon after, and Merrick blinked down at her in surprise before sighing dramatically.

"Guess I'm stuck," he muttered, adjusting her gently so she wouldn't wake.

Char, meanwhile, sat a little apart from the fire, staring into the darkened hills beyond. His thoughts drifted, a tangled storm of everything that had happened since he left Oryn-Vel with Benjamin.

It didn't feel like just days ago.

It felt like another lifetime.

Mira approached quietly and sat beside him, her presence a soft warmth against the cool night. "Thinking about everything?"

Char nodded, exhaling deeply. "Yeah." He glanced at her. "It doesn't feel real, does it?"

Mira shook her head. "No. It really doesn't."

They sat in companionable silence for a moment before Mira spoke again. "Benjamin was right about a lot, wasn't he?"

Char's expression darkened slightly. "Yeah. About the circle. About Flint. About… all of this." He ran a hand through his hair. "I just wish I'd listened more."

Mira nudged his shoulder, her tone softer. "You did what you thought was best. And besides…" She looked toward the fire, where Merrick sat protectively with Selka asleep in his arms. "If you hadn't come, what would have happened to her?"

Char followed her gaze, his chest tightening.

Selka, the little girl who had almost lost everything—who had been thrown into this chaos without understanding why.

"She's Lucien's sister," Char murmured, more to himself.

Mira nodded. "And yet, she still chose to come with us."

There was another pause before she continued, this time more carefully, "What about… the Ascension Stone?"

Char exhaled, staring down at his hands.

"I don't know how to describe it," he admitted. "It's like… my body wasn't made for it, but at the same time, it was. Like it's something I shouldn't be able to do, but I can." He flexed his fingers, remembering the burning blue book that manifested before him in battle. "The power… it's strange. It doesn't feel like it belongs to me. It's like it's borrowingpower. Copying it."

Mira was silent for a moment, then asked, "Does it hurt?"

Char hesitated before answering. "Not… exactly. But when I use it, I feel like I'm on borrowed time."

Mira frowned slightly. "Be careful with it, Char."

He looked at her, taken aback by the concern in her voice.

"I mean it," she continued. "You have a habit of throwing yourself headfirst into things, and you're already reckless without something this powerful."

Char smirked slightly. "I'm not that reckless."

Mira raised an eyebrow.

"…Okay, maybe a little."

She sighed, but there was fondness in her voice. "Just don't burn yourself out, alright?"

Char held her gaze for a moment before nodding. "Alright."

They sat there, staring out at the night-shrouded hills, the sound of the crackling fire and Merrick's occasional muttered complaint about being trapped under a sleeping child filling the air.

Despite the uncertainty of the road ahead, Char felt something… steadier than before.

Maybe, just maybe, they'd make it through.