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It was the slap across the face that cause Oliver to sit up. He blinked, his head aching in a way he had never experienced before. He found Lilith and Fernwyn leaning over him.

“You did it, trophy,” she said quietly. “You actually did it.”

“I did what she asked,” he said at last, though it felt hollow. “But I don’t know if that means we won.”

Fernwyn straightened, her expression unreadable in the fading light. “The breach is sealed,” she said softly. “The Desolation’s pull is gone. That is victory enough.”

Lilith rose and walked toward him. She stopped close enough that he could smell the faint sweetness of her hair beneath the smoke. Her hand touched his arm, tentative at first, then firmer as if she was grounding herself in his reality.
Fernwyn approached then, her steps light but steady. She looked older than before, as if the battle had carved something new behind her calm. “The world shifts when gods die,” she said. “We should not linger here. The air grows strange.”

Oliver nodded, though his mind was still caught on Mali’s final words. He had promised to end her, and he had done it, but the act felt less like victory and more like betrayal. The seed pulsed faintly in his hands, a soft light flickering inside as if to remind him that some things never truly ended.

They gathered what little they had left. The group began making their way toward the edge of the city, where the roads broke into hills. As they climbed a ridge overlooking the ruins, Oliver paused to glance back. The cathedral’s remains shimmered faintly under the morning sun, the stone catching light like fractured glass.

They camped that night beside a stream. Fernwyn set a protective circle, her magic faint, while Lilith slept close to the fire. There was no more for them to do but return to Rot Gut and the Bone Lord to see if any of that survived. There had been roving armies, but he had lost track of all of that.

Lilith joined him after a while, her blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She didn’t speak at first. She just sat beside him, watching the firelight play across his face. Then, quietly, she said, “You okay?”

He nodded. “I think so. This was nothing like my first visit here.”

Lilith smiled, a soft curve of her lips that barely reached her eyes. “But I’m still glad we got you back. At least for now.”

When sleep finally came, Oliver dreamed of mirrors. In each one, he saw a different reflection—some whole, some broken—but in every surface, Mali’thra stood behind him, her gaze neither cruel nor kind. Only watchful. As if waiting.

The journey from Vexmore to Rot Gut felt longer than it should have. The roads were broken and littered with ruins, the land scarred by the chaos that had spread outward from the Cathedral of Reflection. Oliver walked beside Lilith and Fernwyn. Oliver actually felt relief as the tormented forest filled his vision. He was ready to get out of the open plains. When they approached the gates of the castle, the great doors swung open with a creak that sounded almost like a sigh. The Bone Lord waited in the inner courtyard, arms crossed, towering above his armored guards. His hollow eyes studied Oliver though the human wasn’t sure if it was anger, amusement or another emotion. It was a bare skull.

“You survived,” the Bone Lord said, voice low but carrying over the courtyard. “and you fixed the Nazarak Seal. This was wholly unexpected.”

So it was surprise.

“The Blight Sisters are gone too.”

Oliver glanced at Lilith, who rested her hand lightly on his shoulder, her smile small and quiet. Fernwyn’s expression remained stoic, but her shoulders had relaxed. He felt the weight of their journey pressing into him.

“It’s over.”

The Bone Lord nodded, slow and deliberate. “It was the correct choice to keep you as my emissary.” He gestured to the gates behind him. “You may return to your reality now. I will send you back.”

Oliver’s stomach tightened. He looked to Lilith. He knew Fernwyn was waiting outside.

“I… I can’t go back,” he said finally. “I have nothing there. Nothing waiting for me. What I care about… it’s here.”

Lilith squeezed his hand lightly.

The Bone Lord regarded him for a long moment, then he spoke dismissively. “Very well. Then stay.”

There was nothing else to say. The two left the castle and found Fernwyn waiting. As soon as they were on the road back to Rot Gut, Lilith let out the biggest squeal and then threw her arms around him.

“You’re staying!”

“You are?” Fernwyn said surprised.

“Is that a problem?” Oliver asked.

“No. I am just surprised you wished to stay as this is not your world.”

“Don’t ruin the moment, plant,” Lilith snapped back.

Rot Gut seemed almost alive now as they arrived. The small town’s orange lights glowing brightly, just like it had been when he first visited. The feeling of spooky Halloween on top of the strangeness of it all and that was okay.

***

Oliver pushed the old wooden door open and stepped inside. Dust hung in the air in thick motes that caught the brilliant moonlight streaming through the cracked, grimy windows. The floorboards groaned beneath his weight, protesting the years they had been left alone. The little house was wedged between two taller, crumbling buildings, its walls leaning slightly, but it felt… right.

The Bone Lord had sent word that one of the empty houses at the edge of Rot Gut would be his new home. A reward for his help against the Blight Sisters.

The air smelled faintly of ash, old wood, and something lingering and earthy that reminded him of Rot Gut itself. Despite the decay, the house had a sense of stubborn endurance. It had survived a hundred years of neglect and war. Lilith trailed behind him, her fingers brushing against the walls, sending small clouds of dust into the air.

“I think we can fix this,” she said. “It won’t be easy, but a little scrubbing, some repairs, maybe a bit of magic, and it could be comfortable.”

Oliver glanced around. Broken furniture lay in piles, cobwebs filled every corner, and the ceiling sagged in some places. He kicked gently at a loose floorboard. It shifted but held. “Comfortable, maybe. But cozy? I’m not sure we’re there yet.”

Lilith grinned and tugged at his sleeve. “That’s what makes it fun. We get to make it ours.”

“Ours?” Was Lilith planning to move in? He never got an answer as she pranced off deeper into the house.

Fernwyn bent down to inspect the hearth. She ran her fingers along the blackened stones. “This fireplace is good,” she said. “Big enough to warm the whole house when the Cold Moon descends. Plenty of heat for long nights.”

Oliver imagined the flames leaping across the stones, warm light reflecting off the walls, the faint hiss of wood turning to ash, and he felt a small warmth inside himself. “That would be… nice,” he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else.

Lilith spun in a small circle, arms spread as she surveyed the space. “You could hang a few things on the walls, maybe a rug or two. Make it feel lived in.” She leaned closer to him, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “And if you’re really nice and patient, you might even convince the resident shadow ghost to help with chores.”

Oliver froze. “The what?”

“The ghost,” Lilith said, shrugging. “They love hanging around these deep, dark places but it gets bored, and enjoys tidying up when someone deserves it. I hear it’s very particular about the furniture polish.”

Oliver’s jaw dropped slightly. “So I just… ask politely?”

He looked around but saw no one in the corner. He prayed there was no ghost here.

Fernwyn smirked faintly. “Politeness is key with spirits. Even the small ones. If you anger them, they’ll make sure your bed collapses at inconvenient times.”

Oliver shook his head and laughed, the sound warm and unexpected after so many weeks of battle and despair. The tension that had been pressing against his chest eased slightly, and the thought of this strange little household filled him with a sense of possibility he hadn’t dared to feel in a long time.

He wandered toward the fireplace and traced the stones with his own fingers. Cold, rough, cracked in places, but solid. He imagined stacking wood, letting the fire roar to life, the flames dancing and casting moving shadows across the walls. Lilith leaned against his shoulder, watching him, her small smile quiet but full of warmth.

“See?” she said. “Even you can make this place feel like home. You’ve survived worse than a little dust and old wood.”

Oliver nodded slowly, letting the weight of the past weeks fall away. The battles, the chaos, the endless nights of fear, they all felt distant here. He felt the beginnings of something he hadn’t felt in a long time: safety. Somehow, he felt safer in the strange and dangerous land.

He moved to the windows, squinting at the broken glass. Moonlight pooled on the floor in long strips, illuminating the dust and debris.

He looked around the small rooms again, imagining rugs across the floor, shelves for books and supplies, maybe a small table in the corner. Did this place have books? Should he make a trip back to his own world for his things? Each small thought, each small plan, made the house feel slightly more alive, slightly more theirs. The walls were worn, the floors uneven, the windows cracked, but there was a strange comfort in the imperfections.

They spent the afternoon exploring every corner of the house, making mental notes. Lilith pointed out where rugs could go, where curtains might hang, where a small kitchen could be set up. Fernwyn checked beams and walls for weaknesses, marking the ones that would need reinforcement.

Every sound, every movement, filled the house with life. The air seemed lighter, less oppressive. Oliver could almost hear the echoes of laughter that might come, the small conversations, the quiet evenings by the fire. The thought made his chest ache with a simple, pure joy.

When the moon began to dim signaling the evening, Oliver stepped back and took one last look at the small house. Broken, dusty, abandoned for a hundred years, yet stubbornly standing.

A faint draft whispered through the room. He shivered slightly, but the chill was not unpleasant. Perhaps the shadow ghost had taken notice, curious about the newcomers, interested in what was being rebuilt. Oliver tilted his head, imagining a faint silhouette in the corner, polishing a ledge that he hadn’t even touched yet.

He was home.

And for the first time, he truly felt it.

Oliver and the rest will return in "My Darling Nightmare"