Ash still hung in the air.
The night was heavy with silence, not the peace of a battle ended, but the stillness that comes after something sacred is broken. Trees smoldered at the edges of the grove, their branches skeletal and glowing faintly, as though mocking the bones beneath Xerces's illusion.
He stood alone, just outside the edge of the hollowed clearing, where his magic had carved ruin into the world.
His hand still tingled—charred black from the spell he'd unleashed to drive back the Devourer's avatar. Around him, corpses of warped beasts lay twisted and half-melted, the mark of necrotic fire branded into their flesh.
They hadn't expected him to survive. Neither had he.
Beneath the veil of his glamour, the lich's skull was cracked along one cheekbone. His ribs had reknit themselves slowly during the night, but he could feel the hunger within him growing louder.
Magic came at a cost.
And the cost had always been time, memory, and the tether to what he once was.
He stared down at his hands, flexing the illusion of living flesh that barely held together. Bloodless. Empty.
But they had touched Mira. She had touched him. And for a fleeting second—when her hand reached for his beneath the canopy of flame—he had felt something.
A tremor of warmth. Human. Impossible.
"Xerces."
The voice came soft, close. Mira's.
He turned, slowly. She stood a few steps behind him, hair tousled by the wind, a bruise on her cheek where the beast had struck her. Her cloak was torn, eyes red from crying.
And still, she looked at him like he was real.
"I didn't know you could do that," she said, her voice wavering. "I mean, I knew you were… different. But what you did… that was…"
"Monstrous?" he offered, his voice low.
She flinched—but didn't look away.
"No. It was terrifying. But not monstrous. You saved me."
He wanted to speak. He wanted to reach out.
But how did one explain that a piece of his soul had peeled away when he burned through that much magic? That something inside him screamed for rest, for death, even as the power rose stronger than ever?
That saving her had made him feel again—and that feeling hurt more than all the centuries of rot and silence combined?
"I'm not what you think I am," he said.
"I know," she replied. "And I think… you're not sure what you are either."
That stopped him.
She stepped closer. Not fearful, not trembling. Just curious. As if seeing through the cracks.
Sael stood a few feet back, arms crossed, watching with narrowed eyes. He hadn't said a word since the battle ended. Just stood guard, as if weighing whether Xerces was still the same creature who had first stepped into the village a stranger.
"I need answers," Xerces said suddenly, looking away from them both. "And if I stay here, I'll only bring more danger. That thing… the Devourer… it didn't come for the town. It came for me. Or maybe for her."
His eyes met Mira's. She stiffened.
"You think… I'm the reason?" she whispered.
"I think it marked you. During the fight. I saw it—when its shadow passed over you, something clung to you."
Sael took a step forward now, finally speaking. "So what? We leave her behind? Use her as bait?"
"No." Xerces's voice came cold. Final. "We protect her. Both of you."
Sael studied him in silence for a long moment before giving a slow nod. Not trust. But respect.
Mira sat down on a charred rock and buried her face in her hands. "Then where do we go?"
Xerces looked east. Toward the mountains.
"There are old places," he said. "Ruins where the dead whisper secrets the living aren't meant to hear. I need to find one. There's knowledge buried in this world—magic forgotten even by the Nocturne. Magic that can help me hide what I am. Or use it fully."
He didn't say what else he suspected.
That the Nocturne Clan would not stay passive forever.
That he had once known their kind… and they him.
That the fire he carried was a shadow of something much darker. Something older.
"I'll go with you," Mira said suddenly.
He turned, surprised.
"I don't care what you are," she added. "You could be a demon in a mask and I'd still go. You saved me. And… I don't want to be afraid of what's inside me anymore."
Xerces looked at her—and saw something familiar.
Loneliness. Fire. A hunger for truth.
He gave a slow nod. "Then we leave at dawn."
As the last embers cooled, and the first light of false morning crept through the twisted trees, the three of them stood together—strangers bound by shadow, blood, and secrets.
Xerces looked down at his skeletal hands one last time before pulling the illusion tighter.
He didn't know if he would find what he needed.
But he would find the Nocturne again.
And next time… he wouldn't be the one kneeling.