He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep—but his body felt lighter. Not healed, not whole, but... recovered. Just enough.
He sat up inside the dim tent, the glow from Saelari’s fading rune-lamps casting flickering light across Kaela’s sleeping form.
Her breathing was slow, steady.
Peaceful. Saelari lay beside her, still asleep, fingers loosely curled as if she’d fallen unconscious mid-prayer.
Dirga exhaled softly and stepped outside the tent.
The air outside was crisp. No sunlight—just the dusky hues of evening pressing in through the shattered castle windows.
Pale blue light spilled through the cracks in the ruined stone, painting the floor in uneven streaks.
Sitting alone on the cracked marble floor of the great hall, legs crossed beside a small, crackling fire she’d conjured on a patch of cleared stone.
The flame was low and steady, casting faint shadows that danced up her pale skin.
Smoke curled upward and drifted out through the broken window above, where the cool evening breeze flowed in.
Dirga approached quietly, his boots scuffing gently across the floor.
She didn’t turn her head. But she knew.
"So," Dirga said as he sat down beside her, letting the warmth of the fire hit his palms. "How is it?"
Theryn didn’t answer immediately. Her gaze stayed on the flame, and then—slowly—she lifted one hand.
A ribbon of blood flowed from her palm, floating unnaturally, twisting like a serpent in the firelight.
It pulsed once with faint red glow, then curled into a tight spiral before vanishing back into her skin.
"Not much," she finally said, voice quiet. "But I can control blood now. That’s... new."
Dirga said nothing for a moment.
The fire crackled between them. Shadows flickered across her face, and in her crimson eyes—Dracula’s mark still glowing faintly behind the veil of her soul.
He studied her posture, her movements. Still her. But there was something coiled beneath the surface.
"...Does it hurt?" he asked.
Theryn let out a dry chuckle. "Not yet."
The wind whispered through the broken hall. Somewhere in the distance, stone creaked.
The castle was quiet now. But far from safe.
Dirga watched the fire, then glanced toward her again.
"You sure you’re still you?"
Theryn finally turned her head and met his eyes.
"I’m still me, Dirga," she said. "But he’s inside. And he’s waiting."
Dirga nodded once, slowly.
"Then we’ll just have to make sure he stays waiting."
They sat there, side by side in silence, beneath the broken sky.
The first light crept in quietly.
A pale glow washed across the ruined hall, brushing over the shattered glass and jagged stone.
The warmth was faint but real. For the first time in what felt like eternity, a sliver of peace settled in.
Dirga leaned back against a cracked pillar, sharing idle conversation with Theryn, their voices low and calm.
They talked about little things. The color of the flame. The sound of the wind. Things that didn’t matter—yet somehow did.
Theryn mentioned a dream she couldn’t remember but still felt in her bones.
Dirga listened, nodding. He didn’t speak of his own dream—because it hadn’t been one. It had been memory.
A moment later, the tent flap stirred.
Saelari stumbled out, rubbing her eyes groggily, her soft blue skin catching the glow of early sunlight.
She looked like a child waking from a nightmare—wary, blinking, seeking familiar faces.
"You guys okay?" she mumbled, voice heavy with sleep.
Theryn looked up. "How’s Kaela?"
Saelari stretched her arms with a groan, then sighed. "Still out. She pushed way too hard.
I’m... I’m not sure when she’ll wake. But I stabilized her with some healing runes."
"She’ll live," Dirga said. "She’s strong."
Saelari joined them, kneeling beside the fire, soaking in its warmth.
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. Just tired. Heavy in a way only survivors understood.
After a quiet beat, Dirga stood up, brushing dust from his coat.
"I’ll check the view from the window."
The castle’s windows were narrow and jagged—high up, like broken teeth in the stone walls. Reaching them wasn’t easy.
Dirga summoned the Crimson Core, shifting it into its bandage mode.
The red wrappings coiled around his arms like living tendrils, lashing onto the skeletal frame of the window.
With a grunt, he launched himself upward, swinging his weight until he reached the ledge.
The horizon stretched endlessly before him.
It felt like standing atop a skyscraper, dozens of stories high. Below, the Dusk Forest carpeted the land like a sea of thorns.
A silver-blue river wound its way through the trees, glinting like a blade under sunlight.
In the far distance—barely visible—stood the silhouette of a city.
Tiny. Almost imaginary. But real.
The river flowed toward it.
"That’s our way," Dirga muttered.
He lingered for just a moment longer, letting the wind hit his face. The air up here didn’t stink of blood or decay.
It smelled like pine. Cold metal. A world that still moved.
He dropped back down, landing with a dull thud.
"It’s far," Dirga said. "Really far. If we go on foot... three weeks, maybe. That’s assuming no monsters, no storms, no more ’Butchers.’"
"Three weeks?" Saelari frowned.
"Maybe two," Dirga continued. "Time’s tricky down here. For all we know, those three days in the castle? Might’ve been three months outside."
"Could be," Saelari said, brow furrowed. "This place was drenched in Zarion magic. Time and space were distorted. That much is certain."
"Which brings me," Dirga said, eyes glinting, "to a very bad idea."
Theryn blinked. "Go on."
Dirga looked up at the jagged window above.
Both girls stared at him like he’d lost his mind.
"Jump?" Saelari echoed, horrified. "You want us to—what? Fall from a castle tower?"
Dirga nodded. "Yeah. Why not? It’s the shortest path."
Theryn opened her mouth. Closed it again.
Was he always this insane?
She glanced at Saelari. Saelari looked horrified.
And yet... after everything they’d survived, maybe a crazy plan was exactly what they needed.