The Party Splinters

For a week, he was left in this opulent isolation. He spent the time in a state of quiet, bitter resignation, staring at the walls, feeling the ghosts of Varic, Isolde, and Draem for company. They, too, had been heroes before the world had broken them. He was beginning to understand their fall all too well.

Then, one evening, there was a soft knock on the door. It opened to admit four familiar figures. Ronan, Nira, Cyras, and Catherine. They entered his room together, but they stood apart, a miserable constellation of people who no longer knew how to be in the same space, their once-unbreakable unity shattered into a thousand pieces of doubt and fear.

Ronan, as always, broke the heavy, suffocating silence. He couldn't meet Kael’s eyes. He stared at a tapestry on the far wall depicting a heroic, ancient battle, his jaw tight with a tension that seemed to vibrate through his entire massive frame.

“We’re leaving, Kael,” he said, his voice a low rumble, stripped of all its usual bravado. “The King has offered us a full pardon for our… association with you. Titles, gold… everything we were promised. On the condition that we formally disband the party and leave the capital.” He finally forced himself to look at Kael, his eyes filled with a raw, agonizing pain that was worse than any anger. “We’re taking the deal.”

Kael felt a cold, familiar emptiness settle in his gut, but his face remained a mask of calm. He had expected this. He had seen it in their eyes in the council chamber. He asked the question, not because he didn't know the answer, but because they needed to say it. “Why?”

“Because I’m a coward,” Ronan admitted, the words tearing out of him, rough and brutally honest. He finally met Kael's gaze. “Because if they’re right… if this whole damned prophecy comes true and you… you turn… and someone has to stand on a battlefield and try to strike you down…” He choked on the words, shaking his head, a look of self-loathing on his face. “It can’t be me, Kael. I’ve stood behind my shield my whole life. It's meant to protect my friends. But what do I do when the world tells me my friend is the monster? My arm wouldn't lift. I know it. I’d hesitate. And that hesitation would get everyone killed. I can't… I won't… do that.”

Nira stepped forward, her expression a careful, stoic mask that did little to hide the slight tremor in her hands. “My reasoning is the same, though the logic is different,” she said, her voice as brittle as ice. “An operative cannot be emotionally compromised. My duty would be to neutralize a threat to the realm. But I cannot view you as a target. To me, you are still my commander.” Her voice cracked on the last word, a single, devastating fissure in her iron control. “That makes me an ineffective weapon. My feelings for you… as our leader… have compromised my function. It is the greatest failure of my career, and the only logical course of action is to remove myself from the board.”

Cyras looked at Kael with a profound, academic sorrow. “Fear has superseded reason in this city. They are no longer interested in understanding your power; they only wish to contain it. My knowledge is useless against ignorance of this magnitude. I cannot join them in it, but I confess… I do not have the strength to stand with you against the entire world. My path is to retreat, to search the archives for some precedent, some answer that we have all missed.”

Finally, Catherine, her face streaked with tears she no longer tried to hide, took a trembling step forward. “The Goddess told me to follow you,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “She told me to heal the cracks in your soul. But the world is trying to shatter you completely, and my faith… my light… it’s not enough.” She looked away, ashamed. “They’re starting to call me ‘the Demon’s Saintess’ in the temple. The other clerics… they look at me with pity and fear. They say my light has been corrupted by your shadow. I pray every night, but I feel so lost. I am so sorry, Kael. I am so, so sorry. I am not strong enough.”

They had come to say goodbye, not out of hatred or betrayal, but out of a tragic, fearful love. They were leaving him because they cared for him too much to imagine a day when they might have to kill him.

Kael looked at the four people who had become his entire world. The brash shield-brother, the sharp-eyed archer, the quiet scholar, the gentle heart. He had saved them, and they had saved him. He understood their reasoning perfectly, and that only made the pain sharper. He gave them a small, sad, and genuine smile.

“I understand,” he said, his voice steady and impossibly calm. “Ronan, your shield never failed. Nira, your eyes were always true. Cyras, your knowledge saved us more than once. And Catherine… your faith was the only light in some very dark places. This isn't your failure. It's the world's.” He looked at them one last time. “Go. Be free of this. Live your lives, find some peace. That’s a better reward than any king could ever give you.”

There was nothing else to say. Ronan gave a single, jerky nod and turned, his broad shoulders slumped in defeat. Nira followed, her face a mask of iron control. Cyras gave a small, formal bow, a gesture of respect that felt like a final goodbye. Catherine lingered for a moment, sobbing quietly, before she too turned and fled the room.

The heavy oak door closed with a soft click, a sound that, to Kael, was as final as a world ending. He was completely, utterly alone. The hero of the realm. The prophesied doom. The man who had everyone and no one.