Chapter 90 :Tides of Grief, Echoes of Resolve

The sun hung low over Arkwyn’s western edge, its dim orange glow bleeding across crooked rooftops and cracked stone roads. The noise of the city felt distant here, muffled, as if even the air understood it wasn’t welcome.
Narissa stopped when she turned the final corner.
Lio’s home sat small and worn — a wooden door, half-hinged shutters, the faint smell of herbs drifting from the windowsill. Normally, it was a place where laughter would spill into the street.
But now—
Only silence.
A woman sat on the front step, hands tangled in her apron, staring at the dirt in front of her without truly seeing it. Her expression was empty — drained in a way that looked worse than crying. Her eyes didn’t move. Her chest barely rose. The world seemed to happen around her, but none of it reached her.
Lio’s mother.
Narissa stood still. Something in her chest twisted — something she had locked away for years.
Ian approached first, shoulders tense, unsure if he should speak. “M-Ma’am… we—” he began softly.
But the woman didn’t react.
Not even a blink.
It was as if grief had hollowed her out and left a shell in its place.
Narissa exhaled slowly. That look — she had seen it before. The world dims. Breath becomes heavy. Hope feels like a stranger.
She took a careful step forward.
The woman’s hand trembled. Not from fear. Not from shock.
From having nothing left.
Narissa lowered her gaze, fingers curling against her cloak. This kind of grief… it eats you from the inside.
Then, without warning, memory surged.
---
A forest clearing.
Warm light filtering through leaves.
And in her arms — a creature small enough to fit against her chest.
Soft fur white as ash.
Eyes round and shimmering, endlessly curious.
Tiny claws that tickled when it climbed her shoulder.
Flarin.
A creature the scholars labeled Volatile-Type Beast, but she had raised it from a newborn stray. It had followed her everywhere, chirping happily, brushing its head against her cheek. Loyal. Gentle. Her one companion during the years when loneliness felt like a cloak she couldn’t remove.
It should have grown into a towering predator, dangerous and destructive.
But with her… it had stayed small.
Stayed safe.
Stayed hers.
Until the guards came.
Torches. Shouting. Accusations.
Fearful neighbors pointing fingers:
“Dangerous.”
“Illegal.”
“Monstrous.”
“Take it away before it grows.”
She had screamed. She had begged.
But they ripped Flarin from her arms anyway.
Its cries echoed in her ears for days.
For weeks.
Until they stopped.
Narissa blinked slowly, the memory striking her with the same quiet violence it always carried.
Loss.
Helplessness.
A vow carved from pain.
---
Back in the present, she inhaled deeply, grounding herself.
This mother… was going through the same thing. Not the fear of a lost creature — but of losing family, losing her anchor, losing the only person holding her household together.
Narissa’s eyes hardened.
For minutes, she had been uncertain.
Should she really intervene?
Should she pull herself into a problem that didn’t belong to her?
Did she even have the power to save twenty people… or was it foolish hope?
A rare flicker of doubt had gnawed at her — a quiet, unwelcome voice whispering:
What if you fail? What if you only make things worse?
But standing here… seeing this mother’s hollow grief…
All hesitation shattered.
She couldn’t bring Flarin back.
But she could stop this cycle from swallowing others.
“We’re saving them,” she whispered to herself. “All of them.”
Her voice was almost silent, but the promise in it was iron.
Ian looked up at her, confused but sensing the shift. “Narissa…?”
She didn’t answer immediately. She kept watching the mother — that empty stare, those trembling fingers.
Then a softer voice broke the silence.
“I’ll help too.”
Narissa turned.
Slyvie stood behind her, hands clasped together, eyes wide but steady. The girl who giggled at the smallest things, who hummed songs during interrogations, who cried when she thought no one noticed.
“No, It's dangerous. What can you do?” Narissa asked — not cold, just honest.
Slyvie touched her own hands, a gentle glow flickering beneath her palms. “I’m not strong like you,” she admitted, voice small but sincere. “But… I can heal a bit. Not big wounds. But enough to help someone walk. Or breathe easier.”
Narissa blinked.
“Really?” she murmured. “Our little Slyvie isn’t completely a child anymore.”
Slyvie puffed her cheeks faintly. “Hey… I grew up a little today.”
Narissa’s lips curved — just slightly — into something like a real smile.
“Good,” she said quietly. “We’ll need all the help we can get.”
The lbreeze carried warm across the three of them, wrapping them in a fragile moment of calm before nightfall would demand everything of them.
Narissa looked once more at the grieving mother.
Then she made a silent vow.
No more families will break apart tonight.
Not if she could still move, still fight, still breathe.
Slyvie came to stand beside her. Ian tightened his grip on the dagger.
The shadows stretched long behind them.
And Narissa whispered, as if to herself—
“We’ll make sure no one else feels this kind of grief again.”
Not while she was still here.
-------------
Night settled over the dockyard like a suffocating shroud.
A thick gray fog crawled across the river, coiling over the wooden planks and swallowing the dim lantern light. The air was damp, cold enough that breath rose like smoke. Chains clinked softly. Boots scuffed. And twenty villagers—men and women of varying ages—stood in a crooked line.
None talked above a whisper. Most didn’t talk at all.
At the far edge of the pier, Captain Sylas Marrow stepped forward.
He wore the polished armor of Arkwyn’s city watch, the gold trim glinting in the lantern flames. His face was weathered, his jaw sharp, his expression carved into a mask of controlled authority. His hands clasped behind his back as he walked before the villagers—slow, measured steps that echoed through the fog.
He cleared his throat.
“Citizens of Arkwyn.”
Some flinched at the address.
“You stand here tonight,” he continued, “not as victims, but as pillars of this city.”
His voice rolled across the dockyard, smooth and grand, meant to be comforting.
“You have been chosen,” Sylas said, “because your willingness to sacrifice will protect Arkwyn’s future. Your families will live under Lord Cedric’s protection. With adequate coin. With shelter. With guard oversight.”
A few of the men tightened their grips on their sleeves. A woman’s eyes filled with tears.
Sylas continued, unbothered.
“You carry honor,” he declared. “And your bravery ensures Arkwyn thrives. Do not fear death—”