Torrack knelt by Princess Rune, his hand glowing faintly with the golden light he had summoned. "Wake up," he whispered urgently, gently shaking her, but there was no response. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, but her eyes remained closed. The magic he'd used had healed her, yet she hadn't stirred. He carefully lifted her limp body over his shoulder, ensuring her head rested securely against him as he rose to his feet.
The battle was still raging in the distance, but it was quieter here. He could sense that the tide was turning. Kaelith, his companion, was already close by—Torrack had felt the connection between them growing stronger. Moments later, Kaelith emerged from the shadows of the woods, his eyes scanning the battlefield before settling on Torrack.
"Are you alright?" Kaelith asked, his tone both curious and relieved. "I could feel you were fighting someone powerful. I wanted to come sooner, but I had my hands full with a few soldiers on the way." He eyed the unconscious princess on Torrack's shoulder, then back to his friend. "I could also sense you didn't need my help, though."
Torrack gave a slight nod, his face calm but the tension in his shoulders betraying his exhaustion. "I'm alright," he replied, taking a deep breath. "I was testing my strength. It was... different." He shifted Rune slightly, her small frame light but awkward. "This is Princess Rune. She's unconscious, but I've healed her. She should wake up soon."
Kaelith's gaze softened as he studied the princess for a moment before nodding. "Let's keep moving. We still need to get to the mansion."
They began their walk toward the mansion, moving cautiously. The path was littered with debris from the battle, smoke rising in the distance as the sound of clashing steel echoed faintly through the air. The golden energy Torrack had used in battle still thrummed faintly within him, but he tried to contain it, unsure of what exactly he had tapped into.
A short while later, a group of soldiers spotted them from the outer edge of the mansion grounds. Torrack tensed, unsure if they were allies or enemies. His hand instinctively moved toward his sword, ready to fight if necessary. He exchanged a quick glance with Kaelith, who mirrored his wariness.
"Torrack?" a voice called out from the mansion. "Torrack, is that you?"
Torrack's head snapped upward toward the mansion. There, standing at a window on the second floor, was Cedric. He looked surprised, almost in disbelief. "I barely recognized you! You're taller, broader... even your face has changed." Cedric's gaze shifted to the unconscious figure on Torrack's shoulder, his eyes widening. "The princess? You have the princess with you?" A wave of relief seemed to wash over him. "Oh, Torrack... come up now. We have much to discuss."
Cedric gestured to one of the soldiers below. "Bring them to the hall, quickly."
Torrack and Kaelith followed the soldiers into the mansion, the sounds of battle growing more distant with every step. As they entered the grand hall, Torrack noticed the tension in the air. Soldiers stood at attention, while others knelt beside the wounded. The room was dimly lit, and a heavy silence weighed upon the space, broken only by hushed whispers.
"The princess is still unconscious," Torrack said as they reached the center of the hall. Cedric approached them, his face serious. He turned to a tall man in elaborate robes, Lord Simtrek, a close confidant of the King.
"Simtrek," Cedric said, "see to the princess. Do not leave her side. Right now, we cannot afford to take any risks—there may still be traitors among us."
Lord Simtrek nodded and carefully took Princess Rune from Torrack, his expression solemn as he carried her to a nearby cot. Torrack watched, his mind racing with questions. Something was wrong. He hadn't fully processed the aura that had surrounded the room. There was an overwhelming sadness here, a heaviness that clung to everyone. He turned his gaze to the men in the hall—many of them wore grim expressions, and Torrack didn't recognize most of them. But what he did recognize was the dark aura surrounding them, a sorrow that seemed to permeate their very souls.
"What happened?" Torrack asked, his voice low but demanding. He had seen death before, but never had he felt such collective grief in a place like this.
Cedric hesitated for a moment before stepping aside. The moment he moved, Torrack's breath caught in his throat. There, lying on the floor, was the King—King Magnus himself. His body was still, lifeless. Torrack's heart raced as he rushed forward, dropping to his knees beside the King.
Without thinking, Torrack placed his hands over the King's chest, desperately trying to summon the golden energy once more, to heal him. But no matter how much he tried, nothing happened. The King's body remained cold and still, and Torrack knew in his heart that it was too late. You can't heal what's already dead.
Cedric watched with a heavy heart as Torrack's expression shifted from determination to devastation. "He's gone," Cedric said quietly, his voice filled with sorrow. "There was nothing we could do."
Torrack looked up at Cedric, his jaw clenched, his hands trembling slightly as they rested on the King's chest. "Who did this?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with barely-contained rage.
Before Cedric could answer, Torrack became aware of the other figures in the room. The Dukes of the various districts had gathered, their faces shadowed with concern, grief, and in some cases, quiet calculation. Torrack could feel their eyes on him, sizing him up. He knew they were wondering who he was—this strange boy who seemed to have appeared from nowhere, now kneeling beside their fallen king.
Whispers passed between them, but none dared to speak openly. Some of them mourned the King's death deeply, old friends of Magnus who had fought alongside him for decades. Others, however, saw opportunity in his death—opportunity to realign their loyalties in a kingdom now thrown into disarray.
The sounds of battle outside had begun to die down. The clashing of blades and the roar of magic had faded, replaced by an eerie silence that crept through the mansion. The battle was over.
A soldier burst into the hall, his armor splattered with blood. "It's finished, Cedric," the soldier said, saluting. "We've won. The enemy forces are defeated, and we've captured a few prisoners. Everyone else is dead."
Cedric's shoulders sagged in relief, but there was no joy in his expression. "How many did we lose?" he asked, his voice heavy.
"We're still counting, but I'll have a report for you by the end of the night."
Cedric nodded, dismissing the soldier. As he turned back to the gathered Dukes, he noticed some of them already preparing to leave.
"We need to ensure our districts are secure," one of the Dukes said, his voice polite but strained. "There may be more attacks."
It was an excuse, of course. Torrack could see through the facade. They were not merely leaving to secure their homes—they were leaving to reconsider their alliances. The death of the King had thrown the kingdom into chaos, and now, with no clear successor, some of the Dukes saw an opportunity to join the growing revolution that threatened the stability of Arenthia.
One by one, more Dukes followed suit, offering excuses to depart. Cedric stood silently, his eyes scanning the room, no doubt aware of the political undercurrents swirling around them. He sighed as the last of the Dukes bowed slightly and took their leave.
Not all were heartless. A few Dukes approached Torrack, curious about him. One, a tall man dressed in shimmering white and silver, introduced himself as Duke Ulric Frostveil of Everwinter. His icy gaze studied Torrack for a moment, intrigued by the strange young man before him.
"Who are you, boy?" Duke Frostveil asked, his voice cold but not unkind. "You carry yourself with the poise of someone important. Are you one of the King's personal guards?"
Torrack shook his head, still kneeling by the King's body. "No," he said quietly. "I'm just... a healer."
The Duke raised an eyebrow, surprised. "A healer?" he repeated, as if considering the weight of that word. "And yet you brought back the princess and defeated enemies on the battlefield? You are no ordinary healer."
Torrack met the Duke's icy blue eyes, his own gaze unwavering. "I did what I had to do," he replied, his voice firm but without arrogance.
Duke Frostveil studied him for another moment, then gave a nod of approval. "A healer for the fallen King," he said, almost as if to himself. He turned slightly, offering a small but respectful bow. "You have done a great service today. Should you ever find yourself in need, Everwinter will remember your deeds."
Torrack inclined his head in return, watching as the Duke turned and left the hall. There was something about him—his cool, calculating nature—that left Torrack uneasy, but at the same time, he sensed no ill intent.
As Duke Frostveil departed, the room grew quieter. More and more Dukes were leaving now, their excuses growing thinner as they sought to return to their districts, to recalibrate their positions in this new world without a King.
Finally, only Cedric, Kaelith, and a few soldiers remained in the hall. Torrack's gaze returned to the fallen King, a hollow feeling settling deep within his chest. The weight of responsibility felt crushing. He had come to this place seeking answers about his own past, his own power, but now everything had changed.
He wasn't just fighting for himself anymore.