Yvain exhaled slowly as the glow faded from his eyes, the world settling back into focus. His irises returned to their usual inky black, and his hair darkened once more, though now streaked with more threads of white, like cracks in a dam barely holding.
His body felt hollowed out, trembling beneath the weight of what he had done.
Issthar descended in silence, its many wings folding in on themselves like a dying star. It hovered before him, tilting its birdlike head in silent reproach. The look it gave was not affectionate, nor angry. The kind of look that said: You owe me.
Yvain didn't argue. "I know," he muttered.
The creature lingered a second longer, then turned and folded itself back into the void, slipping between the cracks in reality as though it had never been.
Alone now, Yvain swayed on his feet. Sorcery always exacted a toll, and his was steep. It took all his strength not to collapse where he stood.
The manor grounds were a shattered ruin. The banquet was over, what remained of the living had long since fled. The only things that stirred were corpses, some still animate, their glowing eyes vacant without the lich's will to bind them.
They turned toward him once, sniffing the Breath that clung to him, and decided, in whatever residual awareness they had, that he was kin. A fellow necromancer. They left him alone, drifting like ghosts through the wreckage.
Through the shattered gates, a lone figure approached, barefoot and slow.
Brother Lome. Robed in his usual ascetic garb, calm as a monk and just as silent. It looked as though he had walked all the way from the tower on foot. Of course he had.
"You killed it," Lome said, not quite a question, not quite an accusation.
Yvain shrugged, too tired for modesty. "More or less."
The older man stared at him, and something in his expression shifted. Awe. Fear. The moment of seeing someone again, for the first time.
"To think I was harboring a mage of your caliber," Lome murmured. "And I was completely oblivious."
"It happens to the best of us," Yvain replied, eyes on the smoke curling into the sky. "I didn't have time to check on Minerva and Darien. They might—"
"They're safe," Lome interrupted gently. "Darien brought her back to the tower. I left shortly after. Thought I could stall the lich... buy the townspeople a little time to escape."
"You're a good man, I think," Yvain said quietly.
Lome gave a dry, bitter chuckle. "Even though I enchant grieving men into servitude?"
Yvain gave no answer, but his silence said enough.
"They came to me broken," Lome went on. "Begged me to take their pain. To give them... purpose. So I did. Maybe it was the wrong thing, for the right reasons."
"A lie with kind intentions," Yvain said. "Still a lie."
"Still kindness," Lome answered with a sigh. "We all have our ghosts. You and your cousin no less. I suppose I shouldn't ask who you really are."
"It wouldn't help you if you knew," Yvain said flatly.
At that moment, the sound of galloping hooves announced another arrival.
Celeste rode into the ruined courtyard atop a black mare, her gown torn nearly to ribbons, her hair wild in the wind. She swung down before the horse even stopped and rushed to them.
Her eyes flicked between Yvain and Brother Lome, sharp and searching. "Are you alright?" she asked, her voice softening when it settled on Yvain.
"Good enough," he said, though exhaustion made it sound like a lie. "And Ser Hardron?" He asked a question of his own.
"The very opposite."
Yvain pulled off his ruined coat and gently wrapped it around her shoulders, covering what little remained of her dress.
"We still need an explanation for all this," he said grimly, eyeing the destruction.
"You do," Brother Lome agreed, now staring toward the city beyond the gates. "Word of this will reach Fort Willow by nightfall. The capital by dawn. And the Inquisition… the Inquisition will want answers."
"You could take credit for killing the lich," Yvain offered.
Lome gave him a long look. "They'll never believe I could manage such a feat."
"Not alone," Celeste said, a spark in her eye. "You and Ser Hardron. He gave his life so you could strike the final blow. It's a bard's tale."
Lome fell silent. He didn't reject the idea outright. In fact, the temptation was clearly already sinking in.
It would raise his standing. Save his reputation. Turn a disaster into a legend.
"And it keeps us out of the spotlight," Yvain added, firm. "At least for now."
"And where will you go?" Brother Lome asked, his voice quiet, heavy with the weight of all that had happened.
Yvain glanced toward the horizon, where the ruins of the Baron's manor met the bleeding edge of dawn. "Away from here," he said simply.
Lome nodded, absorbing the answer. "I'll prepare a carriage for you."
"A cart would be better," Yvain corrected. "Covered. Something modest. We don't want attention."
"Understandable," the older man said.
Then, after a pause, Yvain spoke again, his voice softer. "My cousin… could mend your mind, if you wished. Knit it whole again. All ten pieces."
Lome blinked in surprise, but the astonishment passed quickly, as if he were remembering that these two were far more than they appeared. "Would I still remain me?"
It was Celeste who answered, stepping beside her cousin. "Yes," she said. "And no."
Lome gave a long, tired sigh. The wind carried the scent of smoke and iron. "Then best leave it as it is. I've grown used to their company, fractured though it may be."
She nodded without pressing him further.
"I'll speak to what's left of the Chevalier," Lome said, adjusting the tattered hem of his robes. "There are still revenants wandering the city. We'll need them to clean up the dead, before they start biting." He gave them a final look, one of faint reverence and unease, then turned and walked off barefoot, as he always did. A quiet silhouette heading into broken streets.
Yvain turned to Celeste, his expression unreadable. "We leave at dawn tomorrow," he said. "Say your goodbyes." He paused, just long enough for the weight of his next words to carry. "And free the girl. She's suffered enough."
Celeste's brows furrowed, her face clouded with something between defiance and reluctance. "I thought to bring her with us."
Yvain didn't stop walking as he replied. "And I'm of half a mind to leave you all behind."