Redemption and Reunion

First Flicker of Consciousness

The world felt like a blur of sounds and sensations, each one distant and muffled as though he were submerged underwater.

Arlan's body was numb, and he could barely move. Every time his eyes opened, the world spun in a haze. His body felt heavy, weighed down by the exhaustion of battle and the cost of using his soul to defeat the Lich.

Through the blur, he could make out shapes—the faint silhouettes of his companions, struggling to carry him. He heard shouts in the distance, the crackling of fires from the city. The world was still in chaos, but he couldn't focus. His eyelids fluttered, then closed again, unable to stay open for long.

He heard Tomas's voice, hoarse and filled with determination, but it felt distant. "We need to move faster!"

Arlan wanted to say something—anything—but his voice refused to cooperate. The sensation of being dragged across the street was dizzying. His head lolled to the side as he caught a glimpse of the city in ruins, the streets littered with dead bodies, and civilians being pulled from the rubble.

Arlan's heart tightened at the sight. They had saved Veyleigh, but at what cost?

His vision blurred again, and he slipped into darkness.

Second Flicker of Consciousness

A harsh, cold wind hit his face, rousing him briefly from his stupor. This time, he could feel the ground shifting beneath him—movement. He was being lifted again, his body dragged across something rough. He tried to speak, but no words came out.

Through the haze, he could make out the silhouette of Beren, standing tall, swinging his massive axe with all his strength, knocking a paladin away from him. The paladin had been trying to get closer to Arlan—trying to capture him.

Beren roared in defiance, his voice filled with fury, "You'll have to go through me first!"

Arlan's breath came in ragged gasps. The paladins… they had found them. They were hunting him.

In that moment, his eyes flickered once more, and everything fell into blackness again.

Third Flicker of Consciousness

Arlan could feel hands on him, pulling him up, lifting him with urgency. Tomas's grip was tight on his arm, but Arlan was still too weak to help. They were hurrying now—rushing. His mind couldn't keep up, but he heard the sounds—the frantic cries of people in the distance and the footsteps of more paladins.

Paladins were chasing them. They were getting closer.

"Hurry up!" Mira's voice pierced through the fog in his mind, frantic and desperate. She sounded like she was fighting to keep calm. He wanted to reach out—to reassure her—but his body betrayed him, and his thoughts scattered.

Before he knew it, he was hauled onto a boat—his companions frantically working together to get him out of the city. He could feel the rocking of the boat beneath him, the cool wind stinging his skin as they sailed away. His eyes barely opened again, and through the haze, he saw the docks—a group of paladins running along the docks, shouting.

"Go, go, go!" Tomas urged, panic evident in his voice. The boat lurched forward, and Arlan's eyes slid shut once again, leaving the city and the chaos behind.

Final Flicker of Consciousness

The world felt warmer now. The air smelled faintly of salt and something cleaner—like fresh linens. He could hear voices—soft murmurs—but everything felt like it was moving in slow motion.

Arlan's eyes flickered open, but his vision was blurry. He felt the softness of a bed beneath him, and warmth from something beside him. Mira was sitting in a chair next to him, her body slumped over, resting against the edge of his bed.

He felt a strange lump in his throat. She was by his side, even after everything. Even after he had left them.

As his mind cleared, he could see Mira's chest rising and falling with her breath—her face relaxed in sleep, but her body was partially leaning against him. She had fallen asleep, exhausted from everything that had happened.

He moved, and the shift caused Mira to stir. Her eyes shot open, wide with shock, and she sat up straight in an instant.

Their eyes locked—a storm of emotions passed between them. Arlan opened his mouth to speak, but his throat was dry, and he could barely find the words.

"I… I'm sorry. For leaving you all. I—" he began, his voice hoarse from days of unconsciousness.

Before he could finish, Mira's hand shot out, and she punched him hard across the face. The force of it made his head snap to the side. "Ouch! What the hell—"

She punched him again, this time harder.

Arlan winced, his body still weak from everything, but he tried to defend himself. He raised his arms to block the third punch, but Mira stepped forward, pulling him into a tight embrace instead.

Her arms were shaking around him, her face buried in his shoulder. "Don't ever leave us again, Arlan." Her voice cracked, raw and full of pain. The words were heavy, full of everything she had carried for so long—worry, fear, love, anger, and relief.

Arlan's heart hammered in his chest. He could feel the heat from her tears on his skin. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the weight of it all.

"I didn't mean to hurt you, Mira. I—" Arlan tried to speak, but she held him tighter, her grip tightening.

"I know." Her voice was soft now, a whisper against his skin. "I know."

They stayed there for a long moment, both of them trying to make sense of what had happened—what they had lost and what they had found.