The air was thick with the pungent smell of smoke and blood, the earth strewn with the shattered remnants of war. But gradually, the dazed knights stirred, their limbs shaking as the life came back to them. They gasped in turn, their eyes struggling open as they struggled to stand, clattering against their dented armor.
King Marcus, his face pale and breathing strained, lurched forward, resting heavily on his enormous sword. His eyes fell upon Ava, the Simbaku knight, her sword still wet with the black, steaming blood of the dead goblin.
"Thank you," he croaked, his voice a low, harsh echo off the cold stone walls. "You saved us."
Ava wiped perspiration from her forehead, gasping raggedly and in short breaths. She gazed over the fields where the wide-eyed villagers stood, their faces pale with fatigue and fright. She nodded, safely returning her sword to its sheath.
The king gestured for her to accompany him, taking her down the great hall, past the shaking knights and the silent, gathered throngs, to a small side room where a dancing flame flickered shadows on the rough stone walls. He presented her with a bowl of steaming, thick stew. The pungent aroma of meat and herbs filled the air, and Ava's stomach growled. She was hungry for days.
"Eat," Marcus told her, his tired eyes locking with hers. "You've earned it."
Ava hesitated, still reeling in her mind from the battle's chaos, but she took the bowl and sat on a wooden bench beside the fire. She spooned up the stew, the hot broth seeping into her from the inside out as she took her first bite.
A pair of beats of quiet before Ava lifted her gaze, the shadows of worry deepening her eyes. "I bear news, Your Majesty. Dark news."
The king stiffened, jaw clenching as he listened.
"The goblins," she started, sweeping the bowl aside, her tone low but steady. "They are attempting to take over the Creation World. They're spreading, becoming stronger. Simbaku is threatened. It may be the next victim. or Maranaqua."
Marcus's eyes went black, eyes constricting. His massive fists clamped the edge of the table. "And the Holy Land?"
Ava's voice was constricted in her throat. "Sally's gone back there. and she's slaughtered everyone. She used the core, murdering her own husband to make it more powerful. No one's left."
The king's breath came out in his teeth, his knuckles white against the rough surface of the table. "That woman. she will bring destruction upon us all."
Ava did not look away from the table, her fists clenched in her lap. "We have to prepare, Your Majesty. Before it is too late."
As the heavy silence fell over the room, Neah came down the castle stairs, her bony slippers sliding over the cold, blood-soaked stone. She hurried, white hair streaming down her shoulders like liquid silver as she knelt beside Gabriel and Carl, whose battered bodies leaned against the rotting wall.
"Are you all right?" she panted, her hand tracing the bruised cheek of Gabriel. His eyes flickered open, unfocused, his breathing in rough, harsh gasps.
"Neah." he replied, his eyes clearing as he looked up at her. He attempted to smile, but it was weak and crooked. "I'm still alive."
Carl groaned next to him, massaging the back of his head. "I'll live, too. though I've probably broken every bone in my body."
Neah exhaled a breath she'd not known she was holding, a glimmer of relief on her acute face. She rose from her crouch, her skirt rustling against the chill stone. "Rest now. You've defended well."
Anna, limping but alive, staggered back to her home, where she fell onto the floor, her hands shaking as she started to sew her own wounds. The villagers gradually came out of the castle, their faces gaunt and skeletal, back to the broken remnants of their homes. They spoke in hushed tones of ghosts, of shapes that lurked among the trees, of the unwholesome, deformed forms that capered at the edge of their vision as they set about rebuilding, even in the darkness of night. Their supplies were dwindling, the thick forests dwindling to splintered stumps and prostrate trunks as the villagers cut firewood under the spindly, flickering moonlight.
Gabriel staggered out into the rain, his boots sucked into the mud as the wind and rain clashed against his bleeding face. He looked out across the floodplain, his own eyes blurred, his mind fleeing back into memory of Margo. Her laugh, her touch, the sheen of sunlight on her eyes. His chest constricted, his breath halted in a gasp as thunder boomed above him, and the sky was a growling whisper of her voice.
The reply rained down, heavy and icy, sticking his hair in place. It sheeted down his cheeks in little rivers. He stood frozen, fists knotted in his hair as the storm ravaged around him, lightning coruscating against the churning, darkening clouds.
Ava cinched the strap on her leather armor, her sword clanking against her hip as she faced the black line of trees that stood between her and Simbaku. She stood for a moment at the edge of the village, looking back at the string of lights that softened the rough stone walls of Maranaqua. She saw Carl and Anna, their shadows stretched out thin and long against the firelit walls. They nodded to her, their faces bright with a grim light that fell in step beside hers.
"Live," Carl growled, his voice strained above the roll of the tempest. He waved once to Owen, who shook in the doorway of his tiny, war-torn cottage. Owen's shoulders rose as he watched them vanish into the night, his chest rising with muffled sobs.
Zoe suddenly sat up with him, tight arm around cracked ribs. Hand on his shoulder, twisting into a soft crooked smile. "Come on, you can't do that. Cry, I mean. You'll make the rain jealous."
Owen laughed coughed, his body shaking as he leaned against her, his tears mixing with the sheeting rain. She patted him clumsily on the back, her tears mixing with the storm.
Gabriel stood alone, head hung low, eyes staring out at the raging, swollen river. Margo's memories danced in his mind, stabbing and piercing, each one an ectoplasmic shadow of a lost world.