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Mulgath’s remains don’t so much as twitch, not even his finger bones. He lies lifelessly on the onyx floor, his torso split in half by Natharius’s obsidian blade. The shadowy orbs inside his eye sockets flicker out, confirming that Mulgath is now well and truly dead.
Taken aback by Mulgath’s defeat, the remaining undead offer less resistance than before. Or maybe it’s the fact we’re now stronger. Determination pounds through my veins, somehow conjuring more strength when I thought I was spent. And with Mulgath defeated, Natharius is able to help us destroy the remaining undead. His enormous sword carves through their ranks, and soon the entire fortress is devoid of all undead.
Only when the hall is empty does Natharius shed his demonic form, shrinking back to the guise of a moon elf.
I draw out a shaky breath and lean back against the dark pillar behind me. Now that adrenaline is wearing off, exhaustion claims me. The hall spins. Within moments, my back is sliding down the pillar, and I feel the onyx floor beneath my legs. The polished surface is cool to the touch. Zephyr joins me, curling up beside me.
I rest Father’s staff in front of me, staring down at its glistening crystalline surface. Aether hums within from the many spells I conjured tonight. I would safely return it to my satchel, but even the thought of weaving a minor spell likecoligosis overwhelming.
Though the priestess used up much strength in fighting the undead, she doesn’t rest like me. Instead, she strides over to Caya and nods at her satchel. Somehow, Caya knows what Taria means without the priestess uttering a single word. She flips open her satchel and rummages inside until she retrieves the obsidian box the goblin wraith offered us.
Taria is silent as she takes it from Caya and starts over to Juron. He peers at the obsidian box and then at Taria in confusion.
“Sit,” she says, gesturing to the few steps leading to the throne.
His confusion doesn’t fade, but he does as she says. “Why?”
“Remove the cloth,” Taria replies, pointing to the dark fabric running across his right eye.
Understanding dawns on his face. “You already used much of your power to save me tonight,” Juron insists. “You should rest or else you’ll be hurt if you push yourself too far past your limits.”
Taria shakes her head. Her fingers tighten around the obsidian box. “This can’t wait. If we don’t act quickly, I’ll be unable to restore your sight. Already I cannot be certain I’ll succeed.”
“Then leave it be. I have one good eye. That’s more than enough.”
Taria’s jaw tightens. “I can’t leave this be. I am a Priestess of Selynis. Healing others is my duty.” She reaches for the dark cloth around Juron’s eye. He catches her wrist before she can.
“Taria,” he says softly, “I won’t see you hurt because of me. You’ve already done enough tonight. You all have.”
Taria’s delicate features harden with determination. Juron doesn’t release her wrist.
“Are you sure about this?” Caya asks Taria, stepping toward them.
Taria gives a single nod. “Of course I’m sure. I know my limits.”
Caya watches her for a moment longer before turning to her brother. “Juron,” she says, “let Taria heal you before it’s too late. She’s the First Disciple of Grand Priestess Elunar, chosen by the Goddess Herself. It’s wrong of you to underestimate her.”
“You’re right.” Juron lowers his head and releases Taria’s wrist. “Forgive me. I was wrong to doubt you.”
“There’s nothing to forgive.” Taria tugs the dark cloth from his face.
I avert my gaze, staring down at my crystalline staff. I can’t bear to look at the empty socket of Juron’s eye, especially not when I’ve seen the contents of that box. Though with all the death and destruction I’ve witnessed, perhaps I should be able to.
From the corner of my eye, I catch the flash of golden light as Taria begins her spell. The holy magic reflects off the dark walls, banishing all shadows. I dare to raise my head and look over at Natharius. He’s turned away from the blinding light, his eyes squeezed shut as if in pain.
“Onirya!”
Taria’s holy magic intensifies. All I can see is golden light. Beneath the radiance, I can’t make out the outline of my hand. Even when I close my eyes, I can’t escape the blinding light.
Juron’s screams soon follow. It sounds more like Taria is torturing him than healing him. Though considering how uncomfortable this holy magic is for me, I doubt it can be pleasant for the one it’s directed at.
Eventually, his cries of pain fade. As does the golden light. Once more, we’re cast in darkness and the shadows return to dance around us.
Now that Taria’s spell is complete, I turn to look at them. Juron’s right eye is entirely healed, as if it was never gouged out and placed inside the obsidian box. He stares up at Taria, both gratitude and admiration shining in his dark eyes. The priestess sways to either side, as if she’s a leaf in the wind.
“Thank you,” Juron breathes, his words barely audible. If we weren’t otherwise in silence, I doubt I would have heard his words.
A slight smile flickers on Taria’s lips. In the next moment, her golden eyes are falling shut, and I’m certain they don’t shine as brightly as they did before healing Juron. It’s clear the spell cost her a great deal of strength.
