To the souls that linger.
They cling to the ruins, to broken bodies and burned homes, heavy with fear and unfinished ends. I draw them to me one by one, feeling the weight of each as they pass through my grasp. Their lives. Their choices. Their final moments.
Some rise easily, lightened by love, sacrifice, or quiet fortitude. Others sink below, burdened by cruelty, wickedness, and sins that stole more from them than they can even imagine.
Each is accounted for. Their weight registers on the scale, which shifts once again.
When at last my duty is done, I stand alone among the dead and pray no more lords walk free of the Hell they belong in.
Chapter Twenty-Four
God Giveth and Taketh Away
Orán
Eridessa’s shyness reveals itself in stages after we part. It’s subtle at first. A kiss cut short. A detachment to her gaze. Then, when I stand and offer her my hand, she lifts an arm to cover her breasts, as if only now remembering herself.
The instinct strikes me as endearing.
“Come now,” I say gently. “None of that. There’s no shame in how you were made, nor in enjoying one another. What we shared is as natural as birth and death.”
Her arm lowers, though the reluctance lingers in her posture.
She glances toward the lake. “Should we… clean up?”
I follow her gaze, then nod. Instead of releasing her, I curl my fingers around hers and pull her toward me. She stumbles, surprised, and collides softly with my chest. Her breath leaves her in a quiet gasp. I feel it. The way her body reacts before her mind catches up. The faint increase in her heart rate.
I smile to myself and lead her backward toward the water, keeping the distance between us minimal.
We wash in silence, but the quiet is heavy with awareness. The water laps against my back, cool and steady. I watch her as much as I wash myself, noting the way she moves, the grace of her limbs, and the way she keeps stealing glances at me when she thinks I won’t notice.
I notice, and I like her gaze on me more than I should.
When she dips beneath the surface, I follow, eyes open despite the sting, studying her through the wavering blue. Her hair fans around her head, pale and drifting every which way like silk in the wind. Her skin glows faintly, almost luminous, as if the water cannot quite dull her.
But it’s her eyes that undo me when they open beneath the surface. Bright. Curious. Uncertain of the man before her. And her mouth, tilting faintly to one side as she catches me staring. Peering at me in a way that feels unguarded.
We rise together.
Water streams down her lashes, gathers at her lips, and traces slow paths over her breasts. Droplets cling, then fall. The sight tightens something low in my chest, an urge to pull her closer and remind myself she is indeed real.
I note something peculiar. The water is quite cool, but she doesn’t seem bothered by it. “Does the temperature of the water not trouble you?”
She looks down at the marking on her collarbone, above a small star-like birthmark, and touches it absently. “It used to. Not so much anymore. It feels good, actually.”
“These markings,” I say, reaching forward and caressing my thumb over a few on her bicep. “They carry meaning… like my own?”
She looks up sharply, as if taken aback by my ability to understand what it is she’s not saying. “Yes. Most do. Some are only decorative. Botched attempts, from before I understood how to give them purpose.”
Some are precise, laid with confidence, and fine lines that hold their shape. Others rise unevenly, the edges blurred, the pigment blended as if the ink didn’t hold. Silver dominates, but traces of other hues are evident. They shimmer where the light touches them.
Lifting my arm, I point at a small rune under my ribs. “It’s the same with this one here. My uncle gave it to me, and still to this day, I’m not sure if he meant to curse me with clumsiness or just failed to give me stability.”
My smile fades as I stare at it and remember a time long ago when life was much simpler than it is now. Stone halls warmed by firelight. The sound of boots and laughter echoes through the keep. Long tables crowded with family, townspeople, warriors, and servants—no separation between blood and loyalty. We ate together. Trained together. Grew up believing the land itself had claimed us, and that we had done so in return.
Back when my father’s voice carried easily through those halls, and my mother’s laughter even more so. Strength and gentleness existed side by side. A household that knew its place in the world and held it with pride.
Until unrest sowed its oats from within.
