The sun dipped beneath the horizon, casting long shadows across the mountains as we emerged from the Citadel. The world outside had carried on, blissfully unaware of the battle that had raged in its defense—unaware of Mira's sacrifice. It was as if nothing had changed, but everything inside me had been altered. The oppressive silence that lingered among us was deafening.
Leon walked ahead of us, still cradling Mira's body in his arms. His movements were slow, mechanical, as if each step were powered by some dwindling reserve of strength. He hadn't spoken since we left the Heart of the Abyss, and I doubted he would for a long time. His grief was a black hole, pulling everything into its depths, and I feared that he might never emerge from it.
I glanced at Karis, who kept pace beside me. Her face was expressionless, but her silence was heavy with thought. I wondered what she was feeling—guilt? Anger? Despair? Karis was a fortress, but I knew the events of the day had chipped away at her armor. Mira's death had touched us all, even her.
As for me, I couldn't shake the feeling that we had only delayed the inevitable. Yes, we had sealed the entity once again, but the Abyss was still out there, lurking beneath the surface, waiting for another crack to appear in its prison. And when it did, would we be ready? Would we have the strength to face it again?
A distant cry of a hawk echoed through the twilight, reminding me that the world outside was still teeming with life. Yet here we were, broken and exhausted, haunted by the ghosts of our choices.
We descended the mountains in silence, following the winding path that had led us to the Citadel in the first place. Every step felt heavier than the last, as if the weight of what we had done was pulling us deeper into the earth. The wind whispered through the trees, and the shadows of the forest crept around us, but there was no sense of danger—only the overwhelming stillness of grief.
It wasn't until we reached the edge of the valley, where the river cut through the land like a silver thread, that Leon finally spoke.
"I'll bury her here."
His voice was raw, hoarse from the hours of silence. He looked down at Mira's body, his face pale and drawn. "She deserves to rest… somewhere beautiful."
I nodded, though the lump in my throat made it hard to speak. The valley was peaceful, its soft grasses rippling in the breeze, and the river's gentle song filled the air. It was as good a place as any—better, even.
Karis began to gather rocks to mark the grave, her movements deliberate, as though focusing on the task would keep the grief at bay. Leon knelt by the riverbank, laying Mira's body gently on the ground. His hands lingered on her, as if he couldn't bear to let go. I watched him, feeling utterly helpless. There was nothing I could say or do that would ease his pain.
I joined Karis, helping her arrange the stones into a small cairn. The process was slow, methodical, giving us time to think—time to process everything that had happened. Each rock we placed felt like a piece of ourselves being left behind, a small part of our souls going into the earth with Mira.
When the cairn was complete, Leon knelt before it, his fingers tracing the rough surface of the stones. He didn't speak, but his grief was palpable, filling the air like a heavy fog. We stood in silence, giving him his moment to say goodbye.
Finally, he rose to his feet, his eyes red and hollow. "She saved us," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "She saved the world. And no one will ever know."
I swallowed hard, my heart aching at the truth of his words. Mira had sacrificed everything, and the world would continue on, oblivious to the cost of its salvation. It seemed cruel, unjust.
"We'll remember her," I said quietly. "We'll make sure she isn't forgotten."
Leon didn't respond. He simply stared at the cairn, his expression unreadable. After a long moment, he turned away and began walking toward the trees, his movements slow and weary. Karis and I exchanged a glance, but neither of us knew what to say. We let him go, giving him the space he needed.
---
We made camp that night by the river, the stars above us a cold and distant comfort. The fire crackled softly, but it did little to chase away the chill in the air—or in our hearts. Leon sat apart from us, his back to the fire, staring out into the darkness. Karis sharpened her dagger, the rhythmic scrape of stone against metal the only sound that filled the silence between us.
I couldn't sleep. My mind was a storm of thoughts, memories of the Citadel swirling with questions about the future. Had we truly sealed the entity for good? Or was it only a matter of time before the Abyss broke free again? And what would we do then? What could we do without Mira?
"Do you think it's over?" I asked Karis, my voice low.
She paused in her work, her eyes flicking toward me. "No," she said simply. "It's never over."
I nodded, feeling the weight of her words settle over me. Deep down, I had known the answer even before I asked the question. The Abyss was ancient, powerful. We had only delayed it, not defeated it. The thought filled me with a sense of helplessness that I couldn't shake.
Karis sheathed her dagger and looked up at the stars. "You did what you had to do," she said after a long pause. "Mira made her choice. Don't carry that guilt with you."
"I know," I said, though the words felt hollow. "But it doesn't make it any easier."
She nodded, her expression softening slightly. "No. It doesn't."
The fire crackled between us, its light flickering in the dark. We sat in silence for a while, the weight of our losses hanging heavy in the air. Finally, Karis stood, stretching her arms. "I'll take first watch," she said, glancing toward Leon. "He needs time."
I watched her walk away, her figure a shadow against the firelight. As she disappeared into the trees, I found myself staring at the flames, lost in thought. The Citadel, the Abyss, Mira's sacrifice—it all felt like a dream, something distant and unreal. But the ache in my chest reminded me that it had been all too real.
---
Hours passed, and at some point, I must have drifted into a restless sleep. My dreams were haunted by the Citadel, by the shadowy figure of the entity we had fought, and by Mira's voice, calling to me from the depths of the Abyss. I woke with a start, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like cobwebs.
The fire had burned low, its embers glowing faintly in the predawn light. Leon was still sitting by the river, his silhouette barely visible in the growing darkness. I rose quietly, careful not to disturb Karis, who had taken up a watchful position nearby.
I walked over to where Leon sat, the grass damp beneath my feet. He didn't acknowledge my presence as I approached, but I knew he was aware of me. The air around him felt thick with the weight of his grief, a palpable thing that hung between us like a wall.
"I thought you might want some company," I said softly, sitting down beside him.
For a long moment, he didn't respond. He stared out at the water, his expression distant, lost in a place I couldn't reach. Then, finally, he spoke.
"I don't know how to move on from this," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know how to keep going."
I didn't know what to say. I wanted to offer him some kind of comfort, but I didn't have the words. I didn't know how to keep going either. Mira's death had left a hole in our lives, one that couldn't be filled.
"We don't have to know right now," I said quietly. "We just… take it one step at a time."
He shook his head, his eyes closing as if the pain of even those simple words was too much to bear. "One step at a time," he repeated, his voice hollow. "But what's the point? What's the point if she's not here?"
"She gave her life to save the world," I said, though the words felt inadequate. "She believed in what we were doing. She believed in us."
"And now she's gone," he whispered, his voice breaking.
I swallowed hard, my throat tight with emotion. "She's gone," I agreed. "But we're still here. And we have to keep going. For her."
Leon didn't respond. He just sat there, staring out at the river, lost in his grief. I didn't press him. There was nothing more I could say. Nothing that would make this easier.
We sat in silence as the sky began to lighten, the first rays of dawn breaking over the horizon. The world was waking up around us, the birds beginning to sing, the river flowing steadily past. Life was continuing, even in the face of everything we had lost.
And somehow, we had to find a way to continue with it.
---
As the days passed, we made our way back to the nearest village, traveling in silence for most of the journey. There was a somberness