Chapter Fifty-Two: A Past Reborn
Lysa's return was as unexpected as it was unsettling. Tarn had watched her die, or so he thought. The memories of her death had haunted him for years, images of blood-soaked ground and the flickering, final breath of the woman he once loved. It was a moment carved deep into his soul, one that had driven him forward through every dark and desperate fight, the pain of her loss propelling him onward, keeping his mind focused on the distant goal of creating something better from the ashes. And yet here she was, alive, standing before him as though no time had passed, as though death had never reached her.
Her hair, once the vibrant auburn that had framed her face like firelight, was now streaked with silver, yet her eyes—the same pale gray that had once held such warmth—held only a shadow of familiarity, a ghost of the woman he remembered. Tarn's heart, still tied to the past, ached. But there was no room for tenderness now. Not with everything at stake. Not with the Serpent's shadow creeping ever closer.
"You were part of this all along," Tarn said, the accusation in his voice unmistakable. His fingers twitched near the hilt of his sword, the old instinct taking over. His mind screamed to end this encounter now, to strike first and let nothing stand between him and his goal.
Lysa shook her head slowly, her gaze steady. "No, Tarn. I was used, just as you were. They resurrected me to serve a greater purpose, one I could not refuse. But I've learned the truth, and now, I am free." She stood taller, her posture more resolute than he remembered, as if some invisible weight had been lifted from her.
The words she spoke were foreign, not the bitter lies of a traitor, but something else, something Tarn wasn't sure he wanted to understand. The truth? He had heard that word too many times, and each time, it had only led to more confusion, more betrayal.
"Free?" Tarn scoffed, his voice bitter, tainted with years of hurt. "And yet you appear here, standing with the very ones who will destroy everything I've worked for." He motioned toward the camp behind him, the tents that housed those loyal to the cause, the ones who fought for the freedom he had promised them, only to have it seem so fragile now in the face of her return. "You've sided with them. You've always been part of their game, haven't you? The Serpent, the Chainfather, whatever name they wear—it's all the same."
Lysa's eyes darkened, and her lips pressed into a thin line. "I didn't choose this, Tarn. I didn't choose to be part of their machinations, to be made into a pawn in their cruel game. But I am here now, and I am not the woman you once knew. I was forced into the fold, but I've seen their plans, learned of their true intentions. I've learned the things they did to me, the twisted lies they used to bind me to their cause."
Tarn's grip on his sword tightened, but he did not draw it. He could feel his anger threatening to overwhelm him, but there was a part of him, buried deep beneath the layers of resentment and loss, that hesitated. That part of him remembered the warmth of her smile, the gentleness of her touch before everything had shattered.
"You say you're free," he said, his voice low and tinged with disbelief. "But I don't believe that. Not while you stand with them. Not while you still walk their path. I saw you die. I buried you, Lysa. You were gone, and now… now you're just another piece in their puzzle." His words bit at him like the sharpest of blades. He didn't want to believe it, but the evidence stood before him, alive and breathing. She was here, and she was no longer the woman he had known.
Lysa's gaze softened, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause around them. The bitter wind died down, and the distant sound of the battlefield seemed muffled, as though even the earth itself was listening. "I know you can't understand," she whispered. "I know you want to hate me, to see me as the enemy, but I am not your enemy, Tarn. Not anymore. I am here to stop them, to stop the Serpent from finishing what he started. I've seen their plan, and it will destroy everything. All of it. The world you've been fighting for. The people you've sworn to protect."
Tarn's eyes narrowed. The words she spoke rang with a strange sort of sincerity, but they were still words. He had learned the hard way that words, no matter how earnest, could be hollow. But there was something in her voice, something that made his heart beat a little faster, as if a piece of the puzzle was slowly clicking into place.
"You've seen their plan?" he asked, the edge of suspicion still thick in his tone. "You're telling me that after everything—the years of manipulation, the lies, the resurrection, the betrayal—you've suddenly seen the light? And now you want me to trust you?"
Lysa closed her eyes for a moment, as though weighing the gravity of what she was about to say. "I wasn't given a choice in all of this," she said, her voice breaking slightly. "The Serpent, the Chainfather—they have control over everything, over all of us who were brought back. They're not just trying to reshape the world, Tarn. They want to erase it. All of it. The past, the present, everything. They want to create a new world—a world without memory, without history, without the things that have made us who we are. They want to strip us of everything we've ever known, and replace it with… nothing."
Tarn could feel his heart rate increase, a cold shiver running down his spine. He had always known the Serpent's plans were monstrous, but this… This was worse than he had imagined. To destroy memory itself? To erase history?
"They're using us as tools," Lysa continued, her voice rising with growing urgency. "But I'm done being their weapon. I've seen the truth of their intentions, and I won't let them succeed. I won't let them erase everything we've fought for."
Tarn could hardly believe what he was hearing. He wanted to reject it, to push it away and dismiss her as another puppet of the Serpent. But deep down, a part of him recognized something in her eyes—the same determination that had once drawn him to her. He could see it now, beneath the layers of pain and regret: the Lysa he had once known, the Lysa who had fought by his side, the Lysa who had believed in something better.
He let out a slow breath, exhaling the tension he had been holding in his chest. "And what do you expect me to do, Lysa?" he asked, the words coming out softer than he had intended. "You stand here, telling me the world is about to end, that the Serpent is going to erase everything we've fought for, and you want me to trust you? After all of this?"
Lysa met his gaze without flinching. "I don't expect you to trust me. Not right away. But I need your help, Tarn. The Serpent's plans are already in motion, and if we don't stop them now, it will be too late."
Tarn stood there, conflicted, torn between the man he had been and the man he had become. The world he had fought to build was on the line, and Lysa's return had shattered the certainty he had clung to for so long. But as he looked at her, standing there with a fire in her eyes, something deep within him stirred. The past may have been a shadow, but there was still a chance—a small, fragile hope—that the future could be different.
He nodded slowly, his voice steady but low. "Then let's end this, Lysa. Together."