Chapter 119: The Price of Light
Fred laid Clara gently on the ground.
The cavern glowed softly around them, the crystals humming like a living heart.
Their light painted Clara's trembling form in shades of blue and violet.
Fred frantically inspected her.
The black veins were pulsing now, branching out from her heart like a spider's web.
He clenched his fists in helplessness.
He needed to do something.
Anything.
That's when he heard it—
A voice, not a whisper this time, but low, resonant, and commanding:
"You seek to save her."
Fred snapped his head up.
A figure was standing at the far end of the cavern.
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It wasn't like the stranger from before.
This figure was tall—clad in robes that shimmered like the crystals themselves, his face obscured by a silver mask.
From his very presence, Fred felt... old power.
Not the creeping malice of the shadows—something ancient, but not inherently evil.
Still, Fred was wary.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
The figure's voice was steady:
"A keeper of lost things. A witness to broken bargains. And perhaps..."
He paused.
"Your last hope."
Fred swallowed hard.
"Can you save her?"
The figure stepped closer, hands hidden within his sleeves.
"Yes."
--
Fred's heart leapt.
"Then help her!"
But the figure raised a hand.
"There is a price."
Of course. There always was.
Fred didn't hesitate.
"Anything. I'll pay it."
The figure tilted his masked head, as if studying Fred's soul through the fabric of his being.
"You say that now," he murmured. "But know this: the price is not gold, nor blood, nor even life."
Fred stiffened.
"Then what?"
The figure's voice was almost gentle.
"It is memory."
Fred frowned.
"Memory?"
"Yes. Your memories of her."
---
The cavern seemed to grow colder.
"To cleanse her," the figure continued, "I must sever the bond between you. You will save her life—but at the cost of forgetting her."
Fred stared at Clara.
The girl who had laughed with him under the stars.
The girl who had fought by his side, who had believed in him when no one else did.
Lose all of that?
Lose her?
He staggered back, his heart breaking all over again.
"There's no other way?" he whispered.
The figure's silence was answer enough.
Fred knelt beside Clara, brushing her hair back tenderly.
She was slipping away.
If he waited too long...
She would be lost forever.
---
Tears blurred Fred's vision.
He leaned close to her, whispering words he didn't know if he'd ever remember:
"I love you, Clara. No matter what happens..."
Clara stirred, her lips forming a broken word:
"Fred..."
Fred turned back to the figure.
His voice was hoarse but certain.
"Do it."
The figure moved swiftly.
He knelt, placing a hand on Clara's chest—and another on Fred's forehead.
Fred felt warmth flood through him.
The world shimmered.
Spun.
He gasped as images began to peel away inside his mind—
Laughter.
Tears.
Victory.
Loss.
All of them centered around a brown-haired girl with fierce eyes and a stubborn heart.
One by one, they crumbled into mist.
---
Fred collapsed forward.
The last thing he saw before blacking out was Clara—
Her color returning.
The black veins fading.
Her chest rising steadily once more.
Alive.
Saved.
And somewhere deep inside him, a hollow ache where once, there had been something precious.
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