"For something dark hangs over these islands, its presence boding the collapse of everything we hold dear."

- A journal written by Yorn Halvorson. Last eligible entry written on the Twelfth of Somme, Age 531. Excerpts recovered and pieced together by Eris Roriksdater.

Recovery Notes dated on the Third of Trigg, Age 571

Haggard lifted the smoldering beam of wood from the wreckage, his frown deepening as he looked within whatever was left of the longhouse. There were no recognizable bodies, only the charred remains of those who had fought and died. All of their bones and carbonized flesh were mixed together, forming an abominable combination that was rivaled only by creatures Haggard didn't dare recall.

He shifted the weight of the beam, setting it aside before he stepped into the mess of the wreckage. Ice cold rain pattered around him, their ambient scent of berries barely enough to overpower the stench of burnt flesh and acrid copper. Haggard eventually found what he was looking for as he stood at the explosion's center. The ground here was still hot, vapor rising as raindrops sizzled on impact. Haggard stepped forward cautiously, eyes on whatever remained at its blackened center. He reached down, his gloved hand gently picking out a malformed golden pin.

It was once shaped like a small raven, an emblem of the Raven Guard. It represented the rank of Captain. Haggard clenched the small pin, his head turning away from the remains of its owner. He instead looked back to the ruins of Yorktown, which did little to settle his stomach. Even as the magical rain snuffed out the flames that had consumed it, the town was nothing more than charred stone and burnt char.

'So much death,' Haggard thought. He looked at the silhouettes of the surviving Ravens, their heads bowed as they carried corpses wrapped in linen to the remnants of the tavern. For some reason, he felt as if he had failed them. Even if his involvement wouldn't have done much to change the outcome.

It was the morning after Yorktown's fall, a heavy mist already surrounding what remained of the fishing town and its inhabitants. Rain poured from the clouds despite it being Frost. That was an anomaly conjured by the Shaman herself, her ritualistic magic calling upon a calm rainfall to ease the flames that had been burning Yorktown.

Even with her abilities, the fires burned until the early dawn, leaving nothing but charred forest and the skeleton of a town, its bones ink-black with soot. All hope of rebuilding this place was gone now. The only thing they could do now was to count the dead and search for survivors, few as they were.

Haggard glanced at the longhouse's remnants, where he had found the Captain's pin. He wished he could have found more. Gods, he had prayed for at least a skeleton. Instead, Haggard was left with some vicious mockery of a mass grave mixed with both ally and monster.

"I'm sorry," Haggard whispered to the pin, his hand clenching around it. He stood there in the midst of those ruins, rain pelting him like a thousand icy daggers.

Dirk stared at the bloody card, which, despite the burnt edges and stained crimson, displayed the upside-down image of the Knight of Embers. He looked at Kate, who stood in front of him. Her eyes did not meet his, her head bowed as if she were the one responsible.

"Harris had that card on him when we found the body," she whispered. "I… I'm not sure why I thought it appropriate to give it to you since, even as friends, we all never really got along well."

Dirk was silent, his gaze shifting to the line of bodies that lay nearby. He tried to speak, failed, and tried again.

"Thank you," he muttered. "How did he…?"

"You don't want to know," Kate said.

Dirk just nodded, his gaze moving back to the card in his hand. Knight of Embers. Elaine, the Bard, had once told him under pressure that it represented Martyrdom. That the one who pulled it was meant to give themselves for the greater good. The thing was, Harris' card was upside down.

'What is the opposite of martyrdom?' Dirk wondered. Deep inside, he decided that he wouldn't ask Elaine about it.

He had more than enough to deal with.

Archibald shivered in the cold, his hands shaking as they tightened the ragged blanket that barely covered him. Rain poured upon the elf like the tears of a grieving goddess, the scent of berries almost overpowering the stench of soot and ash. Almost.

Delilah rattled in its sheath, the rapier resting on his lap as it spoke softly.

You shall serve your purpose one day, Son of Yevon. Do not forget your responsibility.

Archibald ignored it. He instead just sniveled and coughed, his eyes glancing to the rest of the harbor, where he and other survivors awaited transport. Lilith was there, sickly looking and covered in thick blankets. Helen was right next to her, dirty blond hair soaked from the rain. The veteran didn't look like she got a wink of sleep at all. Then again, neither did Archibald.

Seamus was absent. He was already en route to Vindis, having taken the first transport out of here. Archibald didn't blame him for wanting to leave so quickly. Watching one's home fall apart twice over was no easy thing to experience.

The elf looked over at the other Ravens, some of whom conversed in whispers while others simply stared off into some unknown point on the horizon, their eyes glassy and unfocused. The elf would eventually find himself looking at a man not far from him, his mask bearing the grin of a mad god.

Miles kicked aside a couple of rocks as he walked alongside the edge of the harbor, his gaze on the clouded sky that swirled above the island. Archibald stared at him, unsure of what to make of the Follower's return.

He must've been staring for a while, as Miles soon turned to the elf. His amber eyes glinted with amusement underneath that mask of his. He stopped his walk and started over to Archibald, who could do nothing but watch him approach.

"It's been a while," Miles said once he got closer. The elf just sneezed and wiped his nose, eyes glaring at the mercenary.

"Are you here to watch the chaos?" Archibald asked, a bit of hostility seeping into his words. "Your kind gets off to it, no?"

"I came here to help," Miles said softly. "James brought me."

"Help?" Archibald blinked before he looked around at the smoking remains that surrounded them both. Even through the heavy downpour, he could hear the moans and cries of the injured. Of the dying. "What good did your help exactly bring?"

Miles said nothing. The elf didn't expect him to.

"Go and find someone else to prattle on about your sense of purpose and pity," Archibald muttered, his eyes closing as he held to Delilah's silver hilt. He never looked back to see if Miles had left, for he had more pressing matters. That was of course suppressing the screams and shouts that clawed at the forefront of his mind, his guilt and sorrows growing ever more prominent.

Archibald began to wish he had the courage to to end it all, if only so his mind would experience peace.

Seamus felt the boat rock as it crashed against yet another wave. He shifted in his spot on the longship, his stomach feeling as if it were ready to twist in itself.

"Try not to vomit," Liam said as he guided the sailors to shift sails against the winds. "There's already more than enough crap to scrub off before the end of the day."

"Sorry," Seamus apologized, his head raising to look at the Captain of Draugr's Haunt. Liam looked a bit worse for wear, his clothes ragged and stained with old splotches of blood. He didn't ask where they came from.

"Shite situation all around," Liam said. He circumvented the mast and grabbed at some ropes that were beginning to loosen. "They keep trying to say we won. That the orcs are all dead and that we finished the last of them. Yet Yorktown is ash, and our people are either dying or starving."

He let himself rest for a moment after he tied the rope's knots. He looked at Seamus. "You were there during the fall. Do you get the feeling that we won?"

Seamus swallowed, his head bowing as he thought of the previous night. Of what he could remember. His forehead ached with pain, the birthmark there feeling as if it was branded upon him rather than being with the young man since his conception.

"You're cursed," The Outlander, Naomi, had told him. "And we can't get rid of it. It doesn't seem to be harmful, but that could change. Do you know who could've placed it there?"

Seamus had told her no, yet he couldn't help but think of the day his clan had fallen. When both his father and his mother had died. Flashes of that night came back, images of memories he never knew he had.

He wanted nothing more than to return to his blissful ignorance. If only so he could live his days free of the burdens of his past. Seamus closed his eyes and willed himself to try and forget that day, prevalent as it was.

"We survived," he said simply, answering Liam's lingering question. "And we're still here. Alive and not slaves to some rival clan. We still have Aldren and the Keep in Vindis. I suppose that's something."

Liam just nodded, his eyes turning to the distant town, which was shrouded with a wispy mist. "Survival. In the end, it all comes down to who's alive and who's not. I suppose we're not too far off from the barbarians we all were once before."

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

"I suppose so," Seamus muttered. He stared at the distant island, which slowly faded as the longship made its way toward Vindis.

He would never return to Yorktown, for it was now nothing but ash.

The top of the mountain was still accessible even after Falrick's Explosion, even if the Wizard had completely obliterated the peak and the ritual room from which James was summoned. Still, the ley lines that converged at this' nexus point', as Dahlia had called it, were unaffected by the Wizard's suicide gambit. The Shaman had connected to them not long after Eilif's departure, her objective being to save the island from the flames that ravaged it.

Dahlia's ritual took a few hours to cast, her daily reserves all burning out in the process. In the end, it worked out fine. A magical tempest of rain was formed over the mountain, snuffing the raging fires and saving the island. Or at least what was left of it.

James looked down from the cliffside at the mountain's new peak, which was at a lower elevation than usual. The ritualistic cave from where he had been summoned was now just gone, only rubble and blackened rock remaining. Still, this cliffside that overlooked the eastern section of the island was still around. Only now, James could see the western coast.

"Nathan will be returning later today to collect the rest of our people," Dahlia said as she walked up the cliffside. Her cloak's hood was pulled over her head, blocking the rain that pelted the mountain. "As for Lukas, your Outlander friend contacted him. Apparently, they've managed to get Frostbite seaworthy again. It will be waiting at Turstead, should you wish to recover it."

James didn't say anything. He just continued to stare at Yorktown below, its ashen ruins flooded by a mist that had rolled in after the rain. Smoke still billowed from the blackened town, a few magical fires weakly resisting the tempest that threatened their flames.

"James," Dahlia whispered. "If you need more time—"

"Naomi and Malik will go with the remnant of Lukas' men to Turstead to recover the ship," James said. "As for Nathan, see if he could talk to Markov in Vindis to accommodate the survivors that will arrive. Perhaps we could expand on the Raven Keep to keep them housed for the moment."

"James…"

"Falrick and I will oversee the island's evacuation, as well as the burning of the dead. Once everything is said and done, we can start rebuilding on Aldren—"

"James!" Dahlia shouted, voice firm. James went silent. He kept watching the town, rainwater running down his short hair and growing stubble. His hood didn't even work, its fabric reduced to ribbons during yesterday's events. He still wore the armor and clothes, even with their permanent stains, the muddy crimson tainting shirt and armor.

The Shaman didn't say anything at first, the pattering rain filling the ambience like white noise. Then, James felt her arms wrap around him from behind, her head resting against the back of his neck.

"What do we do?" she asked softly.

"We rebuild," James answered. "We prepare. Even with Lukas' help and the claim of Ivan's territory, we're more vulnerable than ever. The clans… once they hear of this–"

"I wasn't asking about that. I'm already familiar with the situation," Dahlia said. She shifted. "You knew exactly what I meant. What do we do?"

James didn't answer for a minute, his eyes closing as the faint words of some distant memory echoed within his thoughts.

There is no escaping nature and the inevitable fate it brings.

The memory of Dahlia getting stabbed in the throat flashed in his mind, reminding him of a terrible truth. Being as close as they were, Dahlia was going to suffer whatever fate had in store for him. So James had to make a choice. A difficult one.

'It is safer for her to be as far away from me as possible.'

James turned to Dahlia, who looked up at him in confusion. He hesitated for a split second, his heart sinking as he contemplated. This was for the best. Just as he was about to force himself to make that decision, Dahlia met his eyes. Her amber irises flashed with something akin to realization and fear, and James could tell that she knew what he was thinking.

"I thought you were dead," she blurted. James paused, the words caught in his throat. Dahlia continued.

"During the time when you were gone. Of course, I kept insisting that you were still around somewhere. Kept the people's faith alive. But on the inside, there was a part of me that expected the worst." Dahlia took in a shuddering breath. "I hate myself for this, but… for every day we were without you, that horrible voice in my head kept growing louder. Until finally, I had accepted that you'd died. Because it was either that or you had abandoned us. And I couldn't… I couldn't think that…"

Dahlia looked down, her hood hiding her eyes. Yet James could see the tears that streamed down her cheeks, her lips quivering as words failed her.

"I would never abandon you," James said. He felt his chest sink at the implication of those words. He had said that without thinking at all, all just to comfort her. Even as he contemplated leaving her.

'But that's what you really wanted to say, right?' he asked himself. 'You do care for her. You just…'

God, how the fuck could he put this delicately? She would die if they stayed close! James knew how relentless fate could be. He had seen it firsthand on that ship. Back when he watched his crew slaughtered like animals, all because they had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. How could he explain to her the dangers of this relationship?

'You don't,' Faust muttered from the back of his mind. 'She knows what she's getting into. Has been ever since you set foot upon this world. Dahlia is not blind. She knows the weights on your scales and the repercussions for those who stay close.'

'So what do I do then?' James thought bitterly. 'Let her risk her own life? For me?'

'It's not like that,' Faust said. 'It's about having faith, James. The foundation of your relationship with her is built on faith, for Caelus' sake. She has been there at your side since the beginning. How many times since then have you and her relied on each other with nothing more than simple trust?'

Memories flashed before James' eyes, pulled from the recesses of his mind by the Centurion himself.

He watched as Dahlia saved him from dying during his first day in Valenfrost, her dagger glowing a bright blue as she raised it above her head.

It shifted from that to show her sitting right next to him at the fire in the morning following the wolf attack. Her grin was contagious, and her laugh was musical.

Another shift and James watched as Dahlia charged through thick smoke toward the abomination, her dagger stabbing into its jaw. The smoke swirled around her before it, too, shifted into another memory, this time being the moment she killed Havor, her Ignition spell burning him to a char.

More memories played out in the span of a couple seconds. Each one showcased a time when either she or he saved the other. By the time James blinked the images away, he was met with Dahlia herself. She was looking at him now, her hood falling back a little.

"I love you," she said in a shaky voice, more tears brimming around her eyes, threatening to spill.

James sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes widening as he processed what had been said. He opened his mouth to say something yet found himself at a loss. He couldn't even form the proper thoughts.

Eventually, before his better judgment could stop him, he responded.

"I love you too," he whispered, heart pounding in his ears as his own heart ached. He had to force the words out of his lips. "...but so what? What will that mean when you do die one of these days? When I can do nothing but watch on as fate itself takes you from me? What then?"

Dahlia recoiled at that, uncertainty in her soft eyes. "I don't know," she admitted. "I really don't. I can't promise you anything. I can't even promise myself anything. But I do know this. I know that I can't live without you. No matter what, I can't fathom the idea of losing you. So the only thing we can do really is…"

Dahlia blinked, a river of tears running down to her chin. She stood frozen with that expression of hers, the one that told James that an idea crossed her mind. After a second, her lips formed a weak smile, and James could see how her eyes glinted with a bit of life.

"We can make a pact with each other," she said finally. "Form terms. Like an agreement. Make it so we both don't risk too much without the other's consent. We can also use it to make sure the other is alive, no matter how far away we are."

He paused, the words failing him as his thoughts processed her words. This wasn't really a solution. More or less the equivalent of sticking used gum on a leaking dam. Still…

"Are you…" James hesitated. "Are you asking me to marry you?"

"I suppose you can see it that way," Dahlia said, her tears now mixed with the raindrops that speckled against her flushed skin. "Would you accept it?"

James thought about it for as long as he allowed to ponder on such a thing. He thought back to what Faust had shown him, what he had said. Faith. The one thing that they always had for each other. Through life and through death. They'd gotten this far, hadn't they?

'Dahlia will share your fate,' that little voice in the back of his head whispered. James wasn't sure where those words had come from. He could faintly recall hearing them from someone he had met long ago in some infirmary room.

"Are you sure about this?" James asked. "There is no turning back. Your life…"

"Is mine to lead," Dahlia said. Her smile fell for a bit, her eyes turning serious. "No one else can choose for me. Not you. Not the gods. Not even fate itself."

"Then I accept your proposal," James said. He watched as the Shaman's smile returned, her eyes glinting with renewed life. Without saying a word, she gave him a gentle kiss, her lips hot against his. James froze, and before he knew it, he kissed back. Both of them stayed like that for a few seconds, icy rain and frigid winds whipping against them. When they separated, Dahlia let out a breath.

"It might even be for the better," she whispered, her head gesturing toward the town below. "The people already see me as your equal. I had to be their Frue while you were gone. Consistency would be good. That is if you don't plan on taking up a harem of women."

"Of course not," James sighed. "You are the only one for me."

"Good," Dahlia muttered, her hand reaching up to grab at his face. "We can plan for the ceremony in Bloom."

"Then it's settled," James said. "I can get Malik to set up the—"

"No," Dahlia interrupted. "No Malik. There's a ritual we can do, one that my own parents used back before they had me. Shaman Dres' tome has the notes for it. I'd rather we try that first, even if I might not be able to do it."

"You're more than capable," James said, his hands grabbing hers. And he believed it, truly. He saw how Dahlia's eyes lit up at his words, her head nodding slowly.

"Then we shall be wed," she whispered, her head resting against his shoulder as her hands squeezed his. James basked in that moment of warmth, his eyes closing as he tried to enjoy it as much as he could. If only so he could forget the pain and the loss.

It only lasted for a few minutes in the end. Still, those few minutes were bliss for the Outlander, for he at last managed to relax for the first time in months. Even as the rain poured over the two, its cold grasp did not even affect James in the slightest.

"I was going to bring this up earlier," James whispered as the moment slowly faded. "But I will have to do something stupid soon."

"Already burdening me with your ideas?" Dahlia mumbled, her voice barely reaching him. "How stupid?"

"Enough to make the entirety of Valenfrost pissed at me, not counting the Lumen Kingdom.," James admitted. "I'm pretty sure they're already mad at me, but… this will cement the fact."

Dahlia shifted and looked up at him. Worry flashed over her expression, but it quickly faded. "I trust you, James," she said. "Do what you need to do."

"Are you sure?"

"We've already hit our lowest point," Dahlia said. "You and I have technically died already. Unless your plan involves pouring strong liquor over ourselves and lighting it aflame, I will stand by your side. Until the very end."

James slowly nodded, his hand guiding the Shaman's chin upward. Both of them kissed one last time upon that cliffside, the same one where they had first fallen in love.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.