Ashes of What Remains

Three Months Later

Funeral Grounds – Western Plains of Valeforth

The crows had stopped cawing.

Even they knew this wasn't a place for noise anymore.

Gray clouds rolled above like old bruises across the sky, heavy and unmoving. The wind tugged at her coat, but she didn't react. Alyss stood perfectly still—her hair pinned, her eyes dry, her back rigid like the tombstone in front of her.

Callyn Vire

"A light too bright for a world too cruel."

They didn't even spell her last name right.

Lorn Kaen stood beside her, stiff in his ceremonial uniform, hands tucked behind his back. He hadn't said a word since they arrived.

He didn't need to.

The silence spoke louder.

Alyss's eyes were dark hollows now. Her lips chapped. There were no tears left. Not since that night. Not since Noven stood there and said she wasn't strong enough to survive.

Her fingers twitched slightly, the only sign she was still human.

"She liked lilies," Lorn murmured, placing a white flower at the foot of the headstone.

Alyss didn't respond.

The wind answered in her place, tugging the petals loose until they blew apart in the air like fragile pieces of something long dead.

Lorn shifted closer. His voice was soft, careful.

"You haven't spoken to anyone in weeks. Not even your instructors. I just thought… maybe I could bring you something. A book, or—"

"Don't." Her voice was quiet.

Sharp.

Final.

He swallowed hard. "You can't keep training like this. You haven't slept. You haven't—"

"Leave it alone."

She turned to him then, and for the first time in months, Lorn wished she hadn't.

The girl he'd known—fierce, sarcastic, warm beneath the armor—was gone.

Her eyes were cold glass now. Her face expressionless. Her tone void of anything resembling care.

"You think I need cheering up?" she asked slowly, like it tasted foreign on her tongue. "That I'll just get over it if someone brings me books and sympathy?"

Lorn lowered his gaze. "That's not what I meant."

She stepped forward, voice low and venom-laced.

"I don't care what you meant."

Silence.

The weight between them grew unbearable.

He opened his mouth again, but no words came. Not ones that would reach her. Not anymore.

So instead, he just looked at her one last time—really looked.

The dark circles under her eyes were worse than rumors suggested. Her posture screamed exhaustion, but her body was tense like a weapon barely sheathed. She looked like she hadn't eaten in days. Like sleep was a luxury she no longer allowed herself.

The worst part?

She wasn't broken.

She had sharpened herself into something terrifying.

"I'm going to kill her," Alyss said finally.

Lorn blinked. "Who?"

Alyss turned her back to him again, eyes fixed on the gravestone. Her whisper came cold.

"The woman who killed Callyn. I don't care if it takes years. I'll bury her with my own hands."

Lorn's face dropped.

"Alyss…"

"You don't get it. None of you do. You're all still clinging to hope, to rules, to your pride and empty speeches. But me…?"

She looked up at the sky, pale light reflecting off her eyes like dying embers.

"I lost everything that made me soft."

Lorn stepped closer, almost reaching out to her—but stopped.

"You think this is what Callyn would've wanted?"

"She's dead. She doesn't want anything anymore."

Her words sliced through him. Cruel. True.

Lorn clenched his fists. "You're not the only one who lost her."

"I know."

"But you're acting like she didn't matter. Like all that's left is revenge."

"No," Alyss whispered. "All that's left is purpose."

A long silence.

Then:

"I wish it was me," she said flatly. "If it were me instead of her… maybe things would've made more sense."

Lorn's voice cracked. "Don't say that."

"But I do. Every day."

She started walking away from the grave, her long coat fluttering behind her like a funeral banner.

Lorn watched her go.

Her shoulders didn't shake. Her hands didn't tremble.

Not anymore.

Only her shadow wavered—just enough to prove she still had a soul.

And as she walked, Lorn whispered to the wind, "Please come back before you disappear for good…"

⸻

Valeforth Academy — South Training Courtyard

Two Hours Before Midnight

The sound of fists slamming into stone echoed in rhythmic violence.

Again. Again. Again.

Alyss stood in the rain-drenched courtyard—alone—her hands bloodied, fingers scraped, knuckles raw.

Her shirt was soaked. Her skin pale. But she didn't stop.

Crack.

Her foot broke another training dummy's jaw.

Thud.

A blast of aura ruptured the dummy's core.

Her breathing was shallow. But her movements precise. Clinical. Brutal.

Dark rings circled her eyes like war paint. Her expression didn't change, not even as blood dripped down her arm.

Lorn stood at the edge of the courtyard, watching quietly beneath the arch.

He hadn't spoken to her in weeks. Not since the funeral.

But he still came.

Every night.

Just to see if she was still alive.

She never acknowledged him.

Not once.

Tonight was no different.

Alyss finished her last strike and stood in silence, her chest rising and falling slowly.

Then she turned toward the shattered dummy and whispered:

"I wasn't strong enough."

Her fingers clenched into fists.

"But next time… I will be."

She didn't even flinch when Lorn finally spoke.

"You're destroying yourself."

She didn't answer.

He took a slow breath. "I heard they've been tracking the woman who killed Callyn. There's no lead yet, but if there's even a trace—"

"I'll find her first," Alyss cut in.

"And if you die?"

She turned toward him. Her voice was soft.

"I already did."

Lorn froze.

She turned back to the rain. And began again.

Fist. Crack. Blood. Wind.

He watched her until the sound became too painful.

Then, finally, he left.

But before disappearing into the shadows, he looked back one last time.

And all he saw was a ghost wearing her skin.

Chapter 18 — Ashes of What Remains

Three Months Later

Funeral Grounds – Western Plains of Valeforth

The crows had stopped cawing.

Even they knew this wasn't a place for noise anymore.

Gray clouds rolled above like old bruises across the sky, heavy and unmoving. The wind tugged at her coat, but she didn't react. Alyss stood perfectly still—her hair pinned, her eyes dry, her back rigid like the tombstone in front of her.

Callyn Vire

"A light too bright for a world too cruel."

They didn't even spell her last name right.

Lorn Kaen stood beside her, stiff in his ceremonial uniform, hands tucked behind his back. He hadn't said a word since they arrived.

He didn't need to.

The silence spoke louder.

Alyss's eyes were dark hollows now. Her lips chapped. There were no tears left. Not since that night. Not since Noven stood there and said she wasn't strong enough to survive.

Her fingers twitched slightly, the only sign she was still human.

"She liked lilies," Lorn murmured, placing a white flower at the foot of the headstone.

Alyss didn't respond.

The wind answered in her place, tugging the petals loose until they blew apart in the air like fragile pieces of something long dead.

Lorn shifted closer. His voice was soft, careful.

"You haven't spoken to anyone in weeks. Not even your instructors. I just thought… maybe I could bring you something. A book, or—"

"Don't." Her voice was quiet.

Sharp.

Final.

He swallowed hard. "You can't keep training like this. You haven't slept. You haven't—"

"Leave it alone."

She turned to him then, and for the first time in months, Lorn wished she hadn't.

The girl he'd known—fierce, sarcastic, warm beneath the armor—was gone.

Her eyes were cold glass now. Her face expressionless. Her tone void of anything resembling care.

"You think I need cheering up?" she asked slowly, like it tasted foreign on her tongue. "That I'll just get over it if someone brings me books and sympathy?"

Lorn lowered his gaze. "That's not what I meant."

She stepped forward, voice low and venom-laced.

"I don't care what you meant."

Silence.

The weight between them grew unbearable.

He opened his mouth again, but no words came. Not ones that would reach her. Not anymore.

So instead, he just looked at her one last time—really looked.

The dark circles under her eyes were worse than rumors suggested. Her posture screamed exhaustion, but her body was tense like a weapon barely sheathed. She looked like she hadn't eaten in days. Like sleep was a luxury she no longer allowed herself.

The worst part?

She wasn't broken.

She had sharpened herself into something terrifying.

"I'm going to kill her," Alyss said finally.

Lorn blinked. "Who?"

Alyss turned her back to him again, eyes fixed on the gravestone. Her whisper came cold.

"The woman who killed Callyn. I don't care if it takes years. I'll bury her with my own hands."

Lorn's face dropped.

"Alyss…"

"You don't get it. None of you do. You're all still clinging to hope, to rules, to your pride and empty speeches. But me…?"

She looked up at the sky, pale light reflecting off her eyes like dying embers.

"I lost everything that made me soft."

Lorn stepped closer, almost reaching out to her—but stopped.

"You think this is what Callyn would've wanted?"

"She's dead. She doesn't want anything anymore."

Her words sliced through him. Cruel. True.

Lorn clenched his fists. "You're not the only one who lost her."

"I know."

"But you're acting like she didn't matter. Like all that's left is revenge."

"No," Alyss whispered. "All that's left is purpose."

A long silence.

Then:

"I wish it was me," she said flatly. "If it were me instead of her… maybe things would've made more sense."

Lorn's voice cracked. "Don't say that."

"But I do. Every day."

She started walking away from the grave, her long coat fluttering behind her like a funeral banner.

Lorn watched her go.

Her shoulders didn't shake. Her hands didn't tremble.

Not anymore.

Only her shadow wavered—just enough to prove she still had a soul.

And as she walked, Lorn whispered to the wind, "Please come back before you disappear for good…"

⸻

Valeforth Academy — South Training Courtyard

Two Hours Before Midnight

The sound of fists slamming into stone echoed in rhythmic violence.

Again. Again. Again.

Alyss stood in the rain-drenched courtyard—alone—her hands bloodied, fingers scraped, knuckles raw.

Her shirt was soaked. Her skin pale. But she didn't stop.

Crack.

Her foot broke another training dummy's jaw.

Thud.

A blast of aura ruptured the dummy's core.

Her breathing was shallow. But her movements precise. Clinical. Brutal.

Dark rings circled her eyes like war paint. Her expression didn't change, not even as blood dripped down her arm.

Lorn stood at the edge of the courtyard, watching quietly beneath the arch.

He hadn't spoken to her in weeks. Not since the funeral.

But he still came.

Every night.

Just to see if she was still alive.

She never acknowledged him.

Not once.

Tonight was no different.

Alyss finished her last strike and stood in silence, her chest rising and falling slowly.

Then she turned toward the shattered dummy and whispered:

"I wasn't strong enough."

Her fingers clenched into fists.

"But next time… I will be."

She didn't even flinch when Lorn finally spoke.

"You're destroying yourself."

She didn't answer.

He took a slow breath. "I heard they've been tracking the woman who killed Callyn. There's no lead yet, but if there's even a trace—"

"I'll find her first," Alyss cut in.

"And if you die?"

She turned toward him. Her voice was soft.

"I already did."

Lorn froze.

She turned back to the rain. And began again.

Fist. Crack. Blood. Wind.

He watched her until the sound became too painful.

Then, finally, he left.

But before disappearing into the shadows, he looked back one last time.

And all he saw was a ghost wearing her skin.