Vol. IV Chapter VII: What Cannot Be Undone

He pulled his cloak tighter and kept his head low as the snow lashed his face in the sharp wind.

Each step crunched dully, and somewhere beyond the path came a distant crash, as more snow masses plunged into the deep.

Lucius thought of the night before, when he had stormed out of the inn, without a plan, without gear, without supplies.

He had hesitated only for a moment after leaving the narrow side alley beside the inn, his footsteps echoing on the cobblestones while the lights of Caelorth glimmered above him.

Then he had marched straight toward the already closed arcana and general store.

I’m sorry, Tairaku. Meiruna. Glizzy… But this is my business, and I’m not dragging you into it…

The clink of the windowpane had seemed so loud in his ears, he was sure the whole city must hear it, as he pried open the narrow side window, but no one noticed.

He stuffed essences into his bag, then grabbed packets of dried meat, bandages, and other supplies.

His hands trembled, and twice he dropped something, each time loud enough to make his heart stop, for he had never stolen before, never even imagined doing it.

But whenever guilt began to rise, he saw her face in his mind’s eye, and the doubt scattered.

Pushing the thoughts aside, Lucius focused back on the path, for up here, in the solitude of the pass, there were no voices, no friends’ warnings.

Through the past night and the long day that followed he had marched without pause, and the pass was already sloping downward again by the time darkness returned.

He gripped the strap of his pack tighter as he descended between the high walls of snow.

Only a light orb spell lit the path ahead, bright and visible from afar, which meant Lucius had no idea he was being watched.

A scraping rose through the wind, followed by a low, guttural growl, and he froze mid-step.

Through the swirling flakes and the glow of his floating orb, shapes began to form.

Tall, broad-shouldered silhouettes draped in white fur, their eyes glowing red above rows of sharp teeth.

Snow Guardians.

He didn’t know these creatures, knew nothing about them, but the moment their growl rumbled through the wind and he saw the boulders clutched in their claws, ready to hurl, he understood they weren’t friendly.

Without hesitation, he uncorked an essence, summoned his familiar sword from the iron sphere, and let another essence run down its blade.

“Fulgor gairm torvalen…”

He whispered the incantation, just loud enough to awaken it, and green flames curled along the blade, reflecting in the red eyes of the startled Snow Wardens.

Almost without emotion, he lunged at the first, bringing the blade up in a single clean arc that severed its head, the green fire flaring bright as it devoured the fur at the cut.

The second leapt from an icy cliff above, but Lucius was faster, hurling a vial upward and detonating it midair with an incantation, engulfing the Snow Warden in the blast.

The mountain shuddered, a slab of rock shearing away and crashing into the depths beside him, yet Lucius didn’t so much as flinch.

He advanced on the remaining Snow Guardians at an unhurried pace, sword held before him, his gaze like ice.

They screamed at the sight of him, scrambling back, but he was on them in moments, the blade cutting through limbs, driving into spines, leaving no one alive.

When it was over, their white fur smoldered in the green shimmer of the fire, and Lucius sank down beside the bodies, lowering himself onto the icy ground with his back to the steep rock wall.

Exhaustion finally caught up with him, the price for a day without sleep and the relentless climb now coming due.

As the flames guttered out and darkness spread, the wind whispered over the motionless bodies, and Lucius sank into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

The sun was already high when he woke, half-buried in snow.

“Damn it, how long did I sleep?” he muttered, pushing himself up and setting off at once.

They can’t catch up to me… 

He already suspected his former party was on his trail, and every pause felt like an invitation for them to close the gap, so he kept them as brief as possible.

After hours of marching, he left the icy heights behind and came to the fork leading down into the dusty plains of Yashar.

The sign pointing that way, unlike the one to Vinfalas, was plastered with skulls, crude warning markers, and grim tokens of the dangers that lay ahead.

From there, the path sloped steadily downward, and with each step the land began to change.

The white of the snowfields fractured into ragged patches; ice melted into rivulets that trickled between the rocks, and the dusty wind carried with it the faint scent of dry grass.

Lucius kept his gaze fixed ahead, his fingers locked tight around the strap of his pack.

Almost at evening, with the mountains still looming not far behind, the outlines of small houses appeared in the distance.

Low, round shapes of clay, dome-like on the dusty ground, barely reaching his head.

Lucius stopped, eyes narrowing, then moved forward with caution, sword already summoned and essences ready.

Between the squat domes stretched a tangle of ropes and strips of cloth that fluttered in the wind, small colorful lanterns swaying among them and glimmering faintly in the fading light.

Scattered beneath were heaps of assorted junk: old armor, swords, and weapons piled high, their metal reflecting the sunlight; mounds of worn clothing, torn fabrics, and other textiles; and, largest of all, stacks of bones of every kind, their pale surfaces dry and brittle in the dust.

At first the place seemed deserted, the only sound the whisper of the wind, until something darted from between the round huts: small, fast, and rattling.

In an instant they were all around him, dozens of diminutive figures whispering among themselves yet keeping their distance, none of them taller than his hip.

They wore scale armor that clattered with every movement, and in their round helmets pale circles glowed instead of eyes.

One stepped forward at last, his helmet more ornate than the others, and addressed Lucius in a rasping tongue he could not understand.

“Refalesh…?” Lucius asked curtly, his voice cold.

“How do I get there?”

No answer came, only a low murmur, followed by a stifled sound that sounded like laughter.

His gaze swept over the small beings… and then he saw it.

Amid the piles of junk, the bones, the tattered scraps, something shimmered.

He moved without hesitation, shoving the creatures aside as their voices rose in alarm, small swords and axes flashing in their hands. 

But he didn’t care.

Kicking bones aside, he reached into the heap, fingers closing around a shape he already dreaded to recognize. 

When he pulled it free, his breath caught.

It was a horn.

Broken, rough at the fracture, dark with dried blood.

His fingers trembled as they traced the familiar grain, and a sob rose in his throat, for he knew this horn.

It had nudged him playfully, from the head of the one who had shared his bed, who had stood protectively before him.

And now it lay in his hands as the final proof.

She’s really...

His breath came faster, the roar in his ears swallowing the wind. 

Slowly, he turned back to the creatures, the horn still clutched in his grip.

When he spoke, his voice shook, yet it cut like a blade.

“Where did you get this? What did you do to her!?”

Their leader said something, gesturing first toward the mountains, then the plains, but to Lucius it sounded like mockery.

Without a word, he seized the creature by the collar and slammed him to the ground.

The others screamed, steel flashing as they closed in.

Then, something inside Lucius snapped.

He spun, essences flaring in his hands, and poured every shred of rage into the first spell.

“Ignar suain incendia!”

Fire erupted, engulfing the front ranks; before the inferno had even begun to fade, he had already downed the next vial.

“Slea oighear imber!”

Shards of ice speared outward his fingers, ripping through half the settlement and punching straight through the rattling armor of its inhabitants. 

Behind him, the rest vanished in a smoking sea of flame.

Red veins crawled through his eyes as he waded forward, his sword cutting down any who still moved.

Their leader and a handful of others had fled, huddling before the last unscathed corner of the village, planting themselves between Lucius and what remained.

Lucius already had the next essence in hand, ready to wipe out the rest of them.

“You took the only thing I ever cared about…”

His voice cracked, his face twisted in pain, tears streaking his cheeks.

“Why!? WHY DID YOU DO IT!?”

No answer came. 

Only those wide, glowing eyes staring at him, mute, unblinking, and heavy with fear.

Wordlessly, he uncorked the vial and drank, the sharp scent of its contents mixing with the smoke in the air. 

He raised his hands toward them.

“Be grateful for the quick end… you hardly deserve it.”

He drew in a deep, shuddering breath.

“Ignar suain in...”

Suddenly, footsteps echoed, many, closing fast.

He turned his head, but too late.

“Ventha!”

The force hit him hard, flinging him backward into one of the towering hoards in the village square. 

Bones and metal tumbled around him, clattering and ringing as he crashed down in a tangle of steel and splintered remains.

Dazed, ears ringing, he blinked his eyes open… and through the haze saw five figures.

Two of them were dousing the flames with ice spells or smothering them beneath shimmering barriers.

Tairaku and Meiruna.

A Dark Elf moved among the villagers, helping them to their feet, murmuring words of reassurance.

Findergwyn.

And a little Goblin stood only a few steps away, her small frame planted between him and two of the shaken creatures. 

Her large, round eyes met his, not angry, not scornful… but sad.

Glizzy.

For a heartbeat, Lucius froze. 

Something in her gaze pulled at him, sharp and deep.

Then a feline Selvarin stepped in front of him, tail twitching, arms crossed.

“Liviana…?” Lucius muttered in surprise.

Her eyes carried the same pain as Glizzy’s, only deeper.

“Oh, Lucius…” she began quietly. 

“What have you done?”

His initial shock curdled back into anger, his grip on the horn tightening.

“What… what I’ve done?” he growled, forcing himself to his knees, his voice rising.

“Ask what they’ve done! They killed her!” he roared, the sound breaking apart in his throat.

“They didn’t kill Melissa!” Liviana’s voice cracked through the wind like a whip.

Lucius flinched as if struck, his own voice dropping, trembling.

“W… what…?”

She stepped closer, firm and unyielding.

“They bear no blame for Melissa’s fate…”

He stared at her, searching for a lie, for anything to feed the fire still burning in him.

“But… her horn? They had it here…” he whispered at last.

“Maybe they found it. Maybe they traded for it. Maybe they stole it. But they did not kill Melissa, Lucius.” 

Liviana’s voice was soft, but it left no room for argument.

The words sank into him slowly, forcing their way through the roar in his ears. 

His gaze swept the village, the charred huts, the small bodies lying still. 

The survivors huddled together, staring at him with an expression he knew all too well: naked fear.

The cold that gripped him now had nothing to do with the wind.

Slowly, he let the horn slip from his grasp, landing on the ground with a dull, final thud.

And he asked himself:

What have I done?