Vs. the True Deborn

There was not a single spark of life in their pale eyes. I would say they were staring at us, but it felt like the Deborn were seeing without seeing. Visibility was low, with the dark of night surrounding us, but I was certain I could make out wisps of smoke rising from the cracks in their faces. A pungent, burning smell masked the pleasant aroma of nature and Moog’s stew.

All at once, the Deborn’s empty eyes found Lina. The fingers of their raised hands curled, except for their index, all pointing at her.

Lina let out a terrified squeak. I held a protective arm in front of her as I tried to think of a strategy. These were true Deborn, not whatever Dietrich was.

These creatures resembled humans, but they were hollow and empty—only capable of thoughtless destruction for the Demon King. A single touch from them, and we would shrivel and burn like the poor griffin. To have any chance, I needed my sword, which I had left in the wagon.

Pulling Lina with me, I took a careful step back. None of the Deborn moved; they did not so much as twitch, so I risked another step. The wagon sat near the overhang only six feet away, yet it felt like a mile. If we could get to it, Lina could climb into the back. It was not the safest place, but at least the canvas cover gave her some protection.

The siblings were slowly moving. Moog was treading toward the pickaxe leaning against the other side of the overhang, while Nova's fingers were creeping into the pocket of her overalls. They watched the Deborn warily.

Both were undoubtedly thinking the same questions as I: How could there be Deborn when the Demon King was gone? The siblings did not know that an incarnation still lived and was a few from them.

Even so, the Deborn could not have known about Dietrich, could they? If not, what had brought them here to this secluded valley? There was no sign of a commander.

Deborn were mere soldiers who mindlessly followed the Demon King’s will, their souls long burned away. No one truly knew how intelligent these walking corpses were. Any movement could trigger their attack.

A movement from Dietrich drew our attention. He stepped in front of us, hands raised to chest level, from where he waved. “Wassup, guys? It’s been a while. Looking good!”

The Deborn tilted their heads, almost as if they were confused, though their eyes were as blank as ever.

His hands remaining at his chest, Dietrich pointed to himself. “It’s me! Your old boss! Still alive and kicking, just like you.”

For one wild moment, I feared that Dietrich had betrayed us and summoned them on purpose, but I shook those ludicrous thoughts from my mind. He had more than proven himself to be a loyal friend.

This was further confirmed when Dietrich said, “These guys here are my buddies. It’s all just a big misunderstanding. So, let’s chill and talk this out.” The Deborn said nothing, still pointing at Lina. Dietrich glanced behind. “Oh, her? She’s my buddy too; she’s off-limits.” He winked at me.

I had no clue what he meant by that. Though Dietrich’s demeanor was lax, it was an obvious front, for his eyes were tense.

With a nod, I took advantage of Dietrich’s distraction and managed another three steps toward the wagon—four feet to go. The siblings’ attention had shifted; they watched Dietrich in awe, though they also continued moving.

Dietrich lifted his palms and spread his arms, as if to embrace the Deborn. “So, whaddaya say, guys? We good?”

Silence. The centermost Deborn, a tall, wiry man with curly hair and sunken eyes, opened his mouth and let out a moan that sounded closer to creaking wood. The Deborn stepped toward us, treading upon the griffin’s body. My heart dropped, but Dietrich remained calm.

He shrugged. “Guess that’s a no.” Dietrich exploded forward. The only motion my eyes caught was his massive right fist smashing into the side of the tall Deborn’s face with a sickening crunch.

Dietrich’s punch was so strong that the Deborn spun through the air, launching into the two females on his left with enough force that all three were blasted into the darkness.

I did not have time to be impressed. However, I managed to glimpse Dietrich blowing the Deborn’s papery skin off his smoking knuckles. And I heard him say, “Well, that’s just too bad,” before I turned fully and sprinted as fast as I could to the wagon while still shielding Lina.

The siblings also sprang into action, but I could not spare them a glance. My priority was Lina, as always.

“Climb in! Get my sword!” I shouted, pushing her into the wagon. Lina clambered up the wood, almost diving into the canvas door.

“Which one?” she shouted back. “There are two in here!”

I looked back at the Deborn; two had leapt at Dietrich.

He was doing his best to fend them off, but they were fast—inhumanly fast— swiftly dodging his powerful punches while pressing forward to infiltrate his range. Meanwhile, Ulrich was on his hooves again and running toward us, with a Deborn chasing him.

The horse could not defend himself without his body coming into contact with the Deborn, which meant it was up to me.

“It doesn’t matter!” I said, “Just pick one!” Both blades were broken. One was more powerful, but the other didn’t whine when I tried to use it.

“Hey!” said Rudi. But I ignored her.

That was until Lina handed me the living sword through the flaps. “Here!”

“I don’t—” But I didn't have time to argue; Ulrich was about to reach us, and the Deborn was hot on his tail. I grabbed Rudi from Lina and pulled her from her sheath, or at least I tried to. The blade would not budge.

“Not going to happen!” said Rudi with a frustratingly petulant tone. I struggled for a moment more, but it was in vain. The sword was stuck!

But I could not chastise her; Ulrich was already blazing past me. “He’s all yers, Mr. Prince.”

I nodded, took the sheathed Rudi in both hands, and lowered her onto my hip. I stood in Plow Guard. My eyes no longer registered the approaching Deborn, but my mind had already calculated all I needed. With Rudi still sheathed, her weight was off, but not enough to affect my timing. Three…two…one…

The Deborn was nearly upon me when I thrust.

Fang.

I buried the scabbard tip square in the Deborn’s chest. He staggered back, off balance. I pulled my sword back to Plow Guard and released it twice more.

I struck his chest. On the third thrust, the Deborn fell flat on his back. I was panting as I lifted Rudi in a Vom Tang over my head. Although it had only been a few days since I last used a sword, it felt like a lifetime. The pain in my chest was sharp, but I had recovered enough that I could ignore it.

I was waiting for the Deborn to inevitably sit back up, so I could bludgeon him to death with several Pounces.

“Such insolence! Using me like a club!”

I wouldn’t have to if somebody would cooperate!

Rudi scoffed. “Why should I if you’re going to constantly insult me? In fact—”

The blade above my head felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. It forced my spine to arch back, the pain in my chest doubling. Now, it was I who stumbled. Rudi slipped from my grip, landing upright, blade down, behind me with a thud.

I seethed. You insolent brat! Illiana burn you! Strafing around the sword so that the Deborn never left my sight, I tried to lift Rudi once more. But she was now too heavy. In my thoughts, I heard her gasp.

“How dare you take Mother’s name in vain!”

We don’t have time for this! This is life or death! The Deborn was getting to his feet.

“Not until you apologize!”

I wanted to object, but this was not the time to be prideful, so I gritted my teeth and thought. Fine, I’m sorry! Again, I tried to lift the sword, but it wouldn't budge even an inch.

“For what?”

Rudi! I began to drag the sword away from the rising Deborn, buying myself a few precious seconds. It was like pulling a boulder, but I managed to shift her about a foot.

“Say it! Or I won’t believe that you mean it!”

I’m sorry for disrespecting the Holy Mother!

“And?”

My patience was past its limit. Throwing my hands from the cursed blade with a grunt of frustration, I called to Lina. “Give me my other sword!”

“Coward! You’re unworthy to wield me!”

Who would ever want to?! If this was the price for ultimate power, it was not worth it. The stress would kill me within the week! Lina appeared from the wagon and tossed me Silbermond, which I caught. Though its balance was also off, I faced my opponent. However, it was too late.

The Deborn was upon me. Its fingers were outstretched. Any counterattack at this range would require me to touch it. I tried to dodge, but a stitch in my chest caused me to flinch. Why now?

“Such a pity,” mocked Rudi. “If only you’d listened to me. Maybe my next master won’t be as stubborn.”

I had no words. Not any polite ones, at least.

Yet, before I could resign myself to my fate, I heard a voice ring out.

“Baldwin’s Stomp!”

One second, the Deborn was about to press its fingers onto my face; in the next, it was gone, replaced by a fearsome Moog staring down at the ground. The earth trembled as if hit with an aftershock.

I had to steady myself until the tremors ceased and the ground settled. I followed his eyes to see the Deborn—half-buried in the ground—crushed beneath the flat end of the man’s pickaxe.

“Made it jest in time.” Like a divine figure, Moog was illuminated by light, but it turned out to be only Nova, who had an armful of the glowing rocks.

“Here,” she handed me a few. “Use these to light yer way. There’re still more of them things out there in the dark.” She glanced at the discarded Rudi and at Silbermond in my hand. “Y’all picked a bad time to be fighting.”

Taking the rocks with my left hand, I said, “You think?” Neither responded further. The awkwardness of our previous confrontation lingered.

I nodded my thanks to Moog for saving my life. His cheeks reddened with embarrassment, but he nodded back. They turned away, leaving the flattened Deborn to twitch out the last of his life. His body began to disintegrate, leaving only charred, shriveled grass and his empty clothes as proof of his existence.

Seeing what had once been a man slowly turn to ash before me was disturbing. Who had he been? Was someone out there searching for this poor, lost soul?

I could not dwell on such heavy thoughts. His previous self no longer existed.

From where I was positioned, I could only see a single Deborn, still grappling with Dietrich. Another pile of ash smoldered near him. Two down. Adding to the Deborn he had punched into oblivion, that left only three more lurking in the darkness.

The most logical places for us to go were the center of the campsite or under the overhang where the Deborn were forced to step into the light. But I doubted they would.

We may have numbers on our side, but darkness was a Deborn’s domain. In addition, they only needed a single touch to kill us normal humans. There was no cure, no hope. They had the advantage.

Nova had given me four light stones, which glowed gently in my hand. They were surprisingly cool to the touch.

The siblings were moving further and further away. Nova was tossing her stones one by one, expanding our field of vision. Though I wanted to do the same, I did not want to stray too far from Lina. There was no doubt that the Deborn were still targeting her.

Ulrich was on guard, standing on the opposite side of the wagon.

“Can you sense anything?” I asked.

His nostrils flared. “You think I’m a psychic or somethin’? I can’t tell squat. There’s jest too many things cloggin’ my senses.” He was gritting his teeth.

I did not blame him for his frustration. The stink of burning flesh was everywhere. Not only that, the wind had chosen an unfortunate time to start blowing, stirring all the smells and noises into chaos.

Lina’s face appeared from behind the wagon curtains, pale, almost sickly. “There are five more of them. Three of them are somewhere over there.” She pointed a shaking finger to our right.

I regarded her sharply. “Five? But how do—?”

“Those things are unnatural.” Her eyes saw beyond us, beyond even the darkness itself. “They don’t belong in this world.”

Her expression was so haunting that I did not hesitate to toss a stone where she pointed. Its glow intensified when it hit the ground, penetrating the deep shadow. It bounced several times before coming to a stop in the grass.

Just on the edge of its light, we could see the profiles of three dark figures, who instantly sank back into the shadows. I swallowed and backed away, not because I feared them, but so I could see Lina’s pointing finger in my peripheral vision.

Her hand shifted, tracking the Deborn’s movements. When her finger lingered long enough, I tossed another stone.

After throwing the last one, our vision field had expanded by several feet. It was a relief to be able to see further, but an uneasy feeling lingered. Why were they moving together? Could they not tell they were being tracked?

Lina raised a second hand to point in two different directions. “They’ve scattered. Now they’re circling.”

I returned my now stoneless hand to Silbermond’s grip. A glance toward the siblings revealed Nova was nearly out of stones herself.

Were they waiting for us to run out? No, it was more. Worse.

“How many did you say there were?” I asked, slowly, as I did a recount.

“Five,” she answered.

Dietrich had succeeded in throwing off his Deborn, which he sent flying with a monstrous blow, while the siblings were on the opposite side of our light bubble, ready for an attack that had not yet come.

“And you said there were three circling us right now?”

She nodded once.

“Where is…?” My words stuck in my throat. My eyes caught movement. However, it was only Dietrich backing in our direction; he took great care in stepping over the dead griffin’s tail before turning toward us.

“These guys are chumps! We so got this, boss!” he said with a grin. “You just leave everything to ol’ Dietrich.”

I could not help but smile. “It’s a good thing that you’re here. But how did you know that you were immune to their touch in the first place?”

In answer, he stared blankly. “Huh. Good point.”

“You mean, didn’t even think about it?!” I could not believe him sometimes.

He shrugged. “It worked out in the end. I mean, I look like a Deborn, though, so that’s got to mean something.”

His logic made sense in a nonsensical way.

Perhaps he was Deborn enough for Lina to sense him as one, but that felt incorrect.

As Dietrich turned to face us, I glanced at the ash piles that were once Deborn. And I understood, just as the griffin’s body began to rise.

Lina gasped.

“Dietrich, behind you!”

Despite her warning, Dietrich could not turn fast enough. The griffin pounced and slashed his back with its gray claws.

Dietrich cried with pain, clutching his shoulder. He dropped to a knee and pulled his fingers away, stained with dark liquid. “Well, I guess this body can bleed…after all.” His tone was casual, but his smile gave away his pain. Black blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth.

With a voiceless roar, the griffin reared up, claws ready to finish Dietrich off. I would not let that happen. I charged forward, but a movement from the corner of my eye forced me to face right. A pale hand was reaching for me.

I raised Silbermond horizontally across my chest so that the Deborn’s fingers closed around the scabbard. Shifting my weight, I pivoted away, pulling my broken sword from its sheath. I took Silbermond in both hands and looked upon a nightmare.

It was the first Deborn that Dietrich had punched, though he was barely recognizable. Much of the skin and hair on his right side was gone, shaven off by Dietrich’s attack, exposing the charred black muscle beneath. Strips of skin clung to his flesh, dancing in the wind like paper as he stared at me with a lidless right eye. From his destroyed cheek, his teeth were borne in a false grin. They parted, smoke spewing from the gap in its jaw with a hiss.

The Deborn tossed the scabbard away and began to walk forward, leaving behind a trail of withering grass with every footfall. I could hear the sounds of a struggle. Though I longed to glance behind me and check on my injured friend, I dared not chance it as the Deborn raised his fists.

His stance was impeccable. It was evident that this Deborn was an experienced fighter. Whether it was an instinctual remnant of his original self or an ability granted to him by the Demon King, I could not tell, nor did it matter.

He fired his left fist at my face, then his right. I dodged both and repositioned myself, trying to regain control of the space between us by countering with a stab from Silbermond. My stunted sword came nowhere near reaching him. Not that I expected it to, but the Deborn did not so much as flinch.

In our small sphere of light, the wagon was to my left. Far past it were the siblings facing the remaining three Deborn. And, at last, I could see Dietrich and the griffin.

To my relief, Dietrich was on his feet, holding the undead beast by its talons. His back was soaked with dark blood, and his knees were shaking. I could not spare another second. The Deborn threw out another barrage of punches, most of which I dodged, and the rest I blocked with Silbermond.

My parries were too close for comfort. I had to end this battle now; Dietrich’s strength was on the verge of failing. The fact that he could stand at all was a testament to his resolve as a fighter. I had to ensure that his resolve was not for nothing. But what more could I do?

Only about a foot of my cherished blade remained; it was too short to use safely, but it was my only means of defense. Unless…

I searched the grass and spotted Silbermond’s discarded scabbard. The Deborn’s toss had dislodged the other half of the blade, which stuck out of the ornate leather, glittering in the soft light.

If I could only retrieve it, I could at least attack from a distance. But the Deborn stood between us. I needed a way to reach it.

An idea sparked to life. “Ulrich!” The horse’s face appeared from behind the wagon. With a glance, I jerked my head to indicate my improvised plan, which he seemed to understand.

The Deborn came at me again. And again, I dodged and blocked, all the while, sidling to the left, toward the wagon. There was power in my opponent’s strikes. I could feel my hands beginning to numb.

Nearly there.

The more I deflected with my blade, the more ragged my breathing. The stitch in my chest was growing. I was reaching my limit. The Deborn was becoming more aggressive, not caring that each block cut into his skin.

By the time I reached my destination, his hands were in tatters, the bones and tendons of his knuckles exposed. I circled, the Deborn mirrored my movement. My opponent gave no indication of pain, but I was not deterred. He was exactly where I wanted him.

I inhaled, prepared to shout, but my breath caught. My eyes had found a set of beads around the Deborn’s neck, adorned with the curling icon of an Iliana faithful, all carved from simple wood. A rosary. This man was a missioner. Or he had been.

The weight of what I was about to do threatened to crush me. But I had no choice. Not if we were to survive this. So, I inhaled once more and signaled for Ulrich.

The moment I shouted, Lina leapt out of the wagon as Ulrich shoved his body into the vehicle’s frame. The wagon tipped, the Deborn barely registering what was happening before the entire thing fell atop him with a crash of splintering wood.

The collapsed canvas cover completely engulfed the Deborn. However, the cloth began to move; the Deborn struggled beneath. I was glad for Ulrich’s understanding of my plan, even warning Lina as I’d hoped.

Though we had successfully pinned the Deborn, I refused to take a breath.

I ran to my scabbard, snatched it by the blade, and let the sheath fall. My fingers held tight to the steel. So long as my grip was firm, I would not be cut. That did not mean it wouldn’t be excruciating for my fingers. But that was not why they shook.

Tightening my resolve, I readied both halves to finish off my foe, but I was stopped by Ulrich, who came around the wagon to stand over the struggling Deborn. “You jest leave this one to me, Mr. Prince.”

I hesitated. “It’s my duty as a prince to—”

“It’s yer duty to keep an eye on that one.”

The sheriff indicated Lina, who stood, staring in horror as Dietrich kept the griffin at bay.

“Let me do this fer you.” Ulrich’s voice was gruff, but gentle.

I swallowed and nodded.

“I’m grateful.” With that, I turned my back on Ulrich and the Deborn and tried not to imagine what was about to happen. I focused on Lina, who was pleading with the griffin.

“Emberly… Don’t you recognize me? Please, stop this…” Her voice quivered and tears stained her face. But the griffin’s eyes were as empty as any other Deborn.

At her pleas, Dietrich half-turned his head. “Lady Lina! Run! It’s not Emberly anymore!” He grunted as his knees buckled. “Argh! I’ve got nothing left!”

The griffin succeeded in freeing itself and raised a claw toward Lina. I was nowhere near close enough to save her.

However, a small and bright object struck the griffin’s face. It shook its head, disoriented before turning its head to focus empty eyes on Nova.

“That’s right, big fella,” she called, pelting it with another light stone. The griffin faced her, clicking its beak mechanically. “Look at me! All tiny and helpless! Got yerself a gen-u-ine princess, right here. Don’t you want me?” To Dietrich, who had fallen to his hands and knees, she added, “You did good, Big Gray. You gave Moog jest enough time to deal with the strays.”

Another pair of smoldering ash piles surrounded Moog. His attention was on the final Deborn—the last male, face scarred with battle damage. How strong was he to be able to take on three Deborn at once? Well, I would have my answer so long as I did not look away or even blink.

That proved difficult, for griffin began to approach Nova. She matched its pace in reverse, not an ounce of fear on her ruddy face. “Jest about ready, Moog?”

“In a sec.” Moog’s body was tense, holding his pickaxe, prepared to thrust into his foe with the head. His thick forearm trembled with stored power. The man radiated an aura, like bronze flames— that caused even the Deborn to falter, but he charged nonetheless.

“Baldwin’s Kick.” Moog thrust his pickaxe, his aura crashing into the Deborn’s chest with a force that shook the air itself. My eyes could not detect the speed at which the Deborn flew. It was gone faster than a blink, and I heard a distant splash somewhere in the darkness.

Moog whirled around, pickaxe coming to rest on his shoulder. “Now, I’m ready.”

I marveled. This was not the timid man I’d come to know. He stood tall. His eyes had a ferocity that bordered on bestial. I could almost see the animal shaped in his russet aura, noble and hooved—the spirit of Baldwin. I allowed both halves of Silbermond to fall from my grip; they were no longer needed. Here before me stood the prince of Alten, who radiated Royal Light.

The griffin sprang at Nova, who was now close enough to her brother that he snatched her by the collar and sent her tumbling behind him, where she came to a stop, sitting upright, laughing and hollering.

“Get ‘em, Moog!” she cheered with a slap of her knees.

But Moog was already in motion. Taking his pickaxe in both hands, he smashed the flat side into the charging griffin’s face. The impact pealed like metal thunder. The griffin staggered and shook itself. However, before it could recover, a second greater force sent the griffin careening into the ground. It was as if it were struck by an unseen fist, but Moog had not moved an inch.

The griffin managed to recover. It sprang up, and slashed at Moog, which he deflected with another swing of his weapon. After a delay, the talon Moog had knocked away exploded into dust, hit by yet another invisible attack.

Moog rested his pickaxe on his shoulder, he walked forward, his aura growing with each step. The griffin backed away, swiping at him in defense. He did not so much as blink. Like his sister, there was no hint of fear. His shoulders were squared and his eyes were hard like stone.

The griffin was much in the opposite state. Its body quivered, and it flapped its wings as if to fly. But it only succeeded in sending ash into the air; its feathers crumbling with each movement.

To see Deborn show anything resembling fear, even if it was likely due to the integrity of its body failing, belied their infamy. That, or Moog was terrifying enough to have triggered its most basic animal instinct. I did not know which was more impressive.

In desperation, the beast lunged, its remaining talon outstretched, only to be met with an uppercut from Moog’s pickaxe. The first blow stopped the griffin in its tracks; the second lifted the griffin into the air, forcing its spine back into an excruciating arc. Feathers and chips of beak went flying and disintegrated into ash midair, before the griffin collapsed in a heap.

With a gasp, Lina raised her hands to her mouth at the sight of its mangled body.

I reached out to her and touched her shoulder, longing to comfort her, to have her turn to me and bury her in my shoulder so she wouldn’t have to witness such brutality.

Though this was an act of mercy, it did not make it less disturbing. I wished that Nova would stop her cheering. While awe inspiring, this was nothing worth celebrating.

However, Lina ignored my touch. Her eyes were fixed upon Moog. Through her grief, her eyes burned. The hands in front of her face were clenched into fists.

The griffin pulled its battered body up. Cornered and outmatched, the griffin limped toward the haven of darkness; Moog continued his pursuit, very much the predator. That was until the beast gained a surge of energy and leapt backward. It vanished into the night.

Moog did not give chase and instead planted himself, body tense, surrounded by his inferno of an aura.

I was also wary. My hold on Lina’s shoulder became protective for I doubted the griffin had retreated for good. I readied myself to shove her behind me as Moog had done for Nova. Dietrich was trying to rise in vain. Everyone else was still.

The wind ceased to blow, as if the world was holding breath in anticipation.

The griffin appeared to the right, mid-pounce, its remaining talon stretching toward Lina, who was frozen in terror. I seized Lina’s shoulder and made to move in front of her. Yet before I could even lift a foot, Moog was between us and the griffin, his pickaxe in both hands held over his head.

He twisted his weapon in his fingers, flipping the head so the spiked end faced the heavens.

Time slowed, typical whenever I’ve engaged in combat, but to experience this sensation because of another was entirely new.

The power built from Moog’s legs, up his back, and into his hands, which tightened; countless veins bulged in his arms as their muscles expanded to twice their width.

His aura blazing, Moog brought the pickaxe down with a commanding cry.

“Baldwin’s Burial!” The iron spike pierced through the griffin’s skull with a resounding crunch. Its head smashed into the ground first, followed by the rest of its body.

The burnished aura Moog had built rained upon the earth. The ground around the griffin quaked and began to give beneath thunderous pounding, like the stampeding of a thousand invisible hooves. Beneath such a force, its body was being pummeled into an unrecognizable state. The earth cracked and churned into waves. All the while, the broken griffin was pushed deeper and deeper into the earth until it was entirely consumed.

The hooves continued to beat the ground long after the griffin was swallowed, kicking clouds of earth and ash into the air, and still they beat and built into a cacophonous crescendo. I could feel every impact in my bones; my essence was rattled. The noise was so loud that I had to cover my ears, praying that Moog’s attack would end.

It was over. There was only silence. Except for the ringing in my ear.

The air was still as I lowered my hands.

I stared at Moog, bent over, gripping the handle of his pickaxe. His eyes remained fierce as he watched the griffin’s newly created grave. The wind returned and swept over us, and the dirt clouds, which hung in the air, were carried away into the darkness.

Moog’s eyes softened and released his hold on his weapon. The pickaxe remained planted in the ground as Alten’s prince let one knee touch the ground. He lowered his head and closed his eyes, bringing his hands together in prayer.

“May your stolen soul find its way to the Mother,” he murmured.

I released Lina to bring my hands together in solidarity. However, they appeared to have been the only things that kept Lina standing. For when I let go, she collapsed into sobs, burying her face in her hands. I lowered myself and wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders.

Dietrich appeared, having managed to stand, though he clutched his side.

I smiled at him. “It’s good to see you on your feet, my friend.”

He grinned back. “You kidding? A little scratch like this would never keep me down for long. I’ll be healed before you know it.” His smile faded when he looked at the destroyed earth. “Poor Emberly.”

Yes, it was indeed a tragedy. Deborn were tragic by nature. To have their evil spread to innocent souls by a mere touch was the height of cruelty. My focus turned to the man kneeling over the newly dug grave. But Moog… his power was incredible. I finally understood what Nova meant when she called him the strongest man in Alten.

She was no longer laughing. Nova, too, was on one knee, hands together in prayer. After a moment of peace, she stood. Producing her shovel, Nova walked to the grave's edge, stuck the blade into the ground, and silently began to turn the earth.

Ulrich was also somber as he cantered his way to us, a dark object in his teeth. He indicated with his eyes for me to take it. I raised my palm into which he dropped the rosary.

He did not say a word, but he grieved. And so did I.

Moog lifted his head and took hold of his pickaxe once more. Only this time, he began to till the earth, making it easier for his sister to turn.

All the while, we watched on in silent mourning. Not just for the griffin, but all the Deborn. My fingers closed around the polished wood, feeling the bead against my skin.

I wished to assist, but the siblings made quick work of the grave and moved on to bury the other five piles. They moved to the wrecked wagon to take care of the final Deborn.

Time passed, though I did not know by how much. We remained as we were, watching Nova and Moog kneel before each grave and whisper a quiet prayer. At some point, Lina had stopped crying and watched the siblings with us.

When they had finished praying at the final grave, Lina pushed free of my arm and walked forward. The siblings looked at her, Nova opened her mouth to speak. Lina ignored them and knelt at the griffin’s grave.

Instead of bringing her hands together, Lina pressed them into the newly created mound. Her back was to me, and I could not see what she did, but her hair shimmered gold momentarily.

There was momentary surge of warmth through the ground. I dared not speak for fear of disturbing something sacred.

Lina stood and pressed her dirty hands to her chest. “Be free,” she whispered. She turned, eyes closed, to face us. When she opened them, I expected them to glow, but they were red—redder than usual. She looked upon the siblings, who watched her in wonder. “Thank you.”

They only nodded, still in awe.

Lina turned away again, staring into the darkness at the hidden lake.

She was silent for a long time. No one else spoke. I chose to be the first.

“Lina?” I wanted to ask if she was doing all right, but I knew the answer.

Lina breathed a deep sigh and spoke:

“Friends who seek to enter here,

—Who possesses Royal Light—

From the depths, your path is clear.

When the Sun Shines at Midnight.”