Kyrntar knew he was out of time. Vikra's life was slipping through his fingers, and only the divine power of the Draconic Warden could bring her back. He would not allow Vikra's fate to be sealed by his hand.
Kyrntar, filled with the divine energy of the Draconic Warden, channels every last bit of strength he has. His hands glow with radiant power as he rushes to Vikra, her form encased in the Black Frost, teetering on the edge of oblivion. The frost has almost entirely overtaken her, but Kyrntar refuses to let her fall.
With a roar of defiance, he places his hands on her frozen form, the radiant energy surging through him and into her. The Black Frost recoils, the necrotic energy retreating as the light pushes it back. Slowly, the ice begins to melt, the frost dissipating from her body.
Vikra gasps as her chest rises and falls, her breath visible in the cold air, but she is alive. The Black Frost has been reversed.
However, as the last of his strength leaves him, Kyrntar feels his vision blur. The power of the Draconic Warden fades, and his body, spent from the intense effort, collapses to the ground. He faints, the world around him going dark.
With a fierce roar, Druvon surged forward, his muscles coiled like a taut spring as he barreled toward Marra. His eyes burned with a focused intensity, the sight of Kyrntar saving Vikra fueling his every step. The weight of his massive weapon felt lighter in his hands, as if the righteous fury coursing through his veins empowered him beyond his normal strength. As Marra stood, her form flickering with dark energy, Druvon saw his moment. He swung with all his might, his weapon carving through the air with a deadly precision.
The hammer connected with a sickening crunch, striking Marra squarely in the chest. The impact reverberated through the chamber, and for a moment, the air itself seemed to shudder. Marra's body jerked violently as the force of the blow sent her stumbling backward, her defenses shattered. The once overwhelming aura of Black Frost around her began to crack and wane, the corruption that had gripped her now visibly unraveling.
Her face twisted in pain, and with a final desperate cry, she raised her mace, its frostbitten surface glowing with an eerie light. She swung it toward Druvon, her last attempt to fight back, but the corruption had weakened her too much. Her movements were sluggish, her limbs heavy with exhaustion. Druvon, eyes sharp and movements fluid, sidestepped her clumsy attack with ease, the mace missing him by mere inches.
With a dull thud, Marra's mace struck the ground, the frost dissipating into the air like ash caught in the wind. She staggered, her body quaking under the weight of the darkness that had consumed her for so long. Druvon stood tall before her, his breath heavy but steady. Druvon raised his hammer for the final strike, his breath coming in sharp gasps. He hesitated for a fraction of a second as Marra's eyes cleared, her lips parting in a silent plea, but then the dark energy flared again, twisting her features back into a snarl. There was no redemption here. With a final grunt, Druvon brought the hammer down, the force reverberating through the chamber as the darkness shattered around her.
Marra's body jerked violently, her breath hitching in shallow gasps as the dark energy that had consumed her began to unravel. For a fleeting moment, her eyes cleared, revealing a glimpse of the girl she once was—lost, terrified, before her form crumbled to the stone floor laying unmoving.
The oppressive atmosphere that had hung over the battle like a suffocating blanket slowly began to lift. The whispers that had plagued the party fell silent, their maddening echoes swallowed by the void. The frost in the air dissipated, leaving only a faint chill as a reminder of the battle they had fought.
Druvon stood over Marra's fallen form, his chest rising and falling with each breath, the adrenaline still pulsing through his veins. Kyrntar and Vikra, battered but alive, stood by his side, their eyes fixed on the amulet as its power flickered out. The threat was over. Marra's reign of terror had come to a close.
The chamber was eerily quiet now, save for the faint clatter of Druvon's hammer as he dropped it, the battle finally won. The darkness had been defeated, and Marra, once their greatest threat, now lay powerless before them.
Druvon stood over the battlefield, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. The weight of the battle still hung in the air, and his eyes flickered between his fallen comrades and the unconscious form of Marra, her once menacing presence now just a shadow of its former self. He knew he had no healing abilities, no magic to bring them back from the brink—he could only stand guard and wait.
Kyrntar lay still, his body spent from the immense power he had called upon to save Vikra. His breathing was shallow, but steady, a sign that he would recover with time. Vikra, though freed from the Black Frost, was still weak, her body slowly recovering from the necrotic energy that had nearly claimed her.
Druvon gripped his mace tightly, his gaze shifting to the dragon amulet beside Marra's collapsed form. The dark artifact no longer pulsed with power, but it still exuded a lingering malevolence, a reminder of the darkness that had brought them to this point. He couldn't take his eyes off it, knowing that whatever force had corrupted Marra could easily seek out another host.
The minutes stretched on, feeling like hours. The temple was silent now, save for the distant echo of dripping water and Druvon's heavy breathing. He remained vigilant, watching over his allies and his fallen foe, determined not to let any harm come to them while they were vulnerable.
Finally, as the tension began to settle in his bones, he heard a faint groan. Kyrntar, his eyes fluttering open, stirred. Druvon let out a sigh of relief, his grip on his mace loosening slightly as his friend began to wake.
As Kyrntar stirred awake, he felt an intense soreness within his body, each movement reminding him of the toll the battle had taken. He noticed the unconscious bodies of both Vikra and Marra, and turned to Druvon, his voice hoarse. "What… happened?"
Druvon, still standing guard over his fallen comrades, explained everything—the final moments of the battle, Vikra's near loss, and his own reluctance to touch the dragon amulet, fearing it would corrupt him as it had corrupted Marra.
Kyrntar sighed heavily. "You were right not to touch it," he said, his gaze drifting to the amulet still lying near Marra's body.
With what little strength he had left, he attempted to cast Protection from Evil and Good to shield himself from the amulet's dark influence. But his body, drained and weakened, faltered. The spell fizzled, and he could feel the pull of the amulet's dark magic the moment his hand hovered over it.
As soon as his fingers grazed the surface of the amulet, voices flooded his mind—whispers of power, of destruction, of failure. He fought back, trying to clear his thoughts, but the voices grew louder, twisting his perception, attacking his very soul. His mind screamed in resistance, but it wasn't enough.
He felt the weight of the amulet's power pressing down on him, and though he managed to pull his hand away before it fully took hold, the damage had been done. His body weakened further, the strain visible as his Constitution and Wisdom took a hit. He groaned, his vision swimming, but he remained in control—barely.
Druvon, seeing his comrade's struggle, rushed to his side. "You're alright, Kyrntar," he said, his deep voice filled with concern. "It didn't get you… not fully."
Kyrntar nodded, breathing heavily. The voices still echoed faintly in his mind, but for now, he had fought them off. The amulet remained a dangerous presence, but Kyrntar was still standing—if only just.
Kyrntar, exhausted and mentally drained, sighed a deep sigh as he finally summoned the last of his strength. With a deep breath, he unleashed his frost breath, freezing the amulet into a solid sphere of ice. The whispers in his mind still echoed, but now they were nothing more than background noise—a distant murmur he could ignore.
As the air grew colder around the frozen amulet, Kyrntar bent down and gently lifted the unconscious Marra into his arms. Her face, though twisted by the events, still held the faintest trace of the girl he had once known, and he couldn't bring himself to end her life.
"Did you kill her?" He knew it had to be dealt with, but the thought of handling it made his skin crawl. "I tried multiple times, but I lack the divine energy to kill an evil this strong that will be up to you," "Good," murmured Kyrntar as he lifted her up. Druvon, however, wasn't so sure. "Kyrntar," he rumbled, his voice thick with hesitation. "She's dangerous. Are you sure letting her live is wise?"
Kyrntar, holding Marra, turned to face his towering companion, his gaze steady. "I know you don't fully understand the Oath of the Dragon Warden, but this… this is what it means. She deserves a chance to be redeemed, not just destroyed. I will not let the darkness win completely. Not today."
Druvon hesitated, the weight of Kyrntar's words heavy between them. His expression softened, a deep rumble escaping his chest. "You're too righteous for your own good," he muttered, but there was no denying the disdain that lingered beneath his words.
Without further protest, Druvon bent down and gently lifted Vikra into his massive arms. At Kyrntar's request, he also picked up the lifeless body of Edric, draping it over his shoulder with care. "Let's go," Druvon said gruffly, though there was no anger in his voice. "We'll get out of this place."
Together, the party—worn, broken, but alive—began their slow exit from the cursed temple. Kyrntar, still carrying Marra, led the way, with Druvon following closely behind, burdened with both the weight of their fallen comrade and their surviving companion.
As the party made their way through the darkened corridors of the temple, the cold air of the chamber seemed to cling to their skin, a haunting reminder of what had just transpired. Kyrntar walked ahead, Marra's unconscious form in his arms, while Druvon followed behind, burdened with the weight of Vikra and Edric.
The flickering light from Kyrntar's torch cast long shadows on the stone walls, and for a while, the only sound was the echo of their footsteps and the distant drip of water from the temple's depths.
Finally, Druvon broke the silence. His voice, usually calm and composed, was now tinged with frustration. "I still don't agree with you, Kyrntar," he rumbled, his gaze focused on the path ahead. "You had her—Marra. You could've ended it right there. She's a danger to everyone, and leaving her alive… it's risky."
Kyrntar glanced down at Marra as he carefully adjusted his grip, her frail body seeming so different from the monster she had been moments before. "This is what it means to take the Oath," Kyrntar whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "To save, even when destruction is easier. To protect, even when the darkness calls for blood. I won't let her fall, not like this. I am not a judge or executioner, simply a warden seeking to protect. She may still be redeemed."
Druvon scoffed, the sound low and bitter, though his eyes held no real malice. "Redemption?" His voice rumbled, a heavy weight of disbelief behind it. "What if she can't be saved, Kyrntar? What if that amulet has already hollowed her out, left her too broken to fix? You saw what it did to her. You saw what it did to *you*. She's not the girl you remember anymore, and deep down… you know it."
Kyrntar didn't respond right away. His gaze was fixed ahead, but his thoughts were trapped in the past—the echo of the amulet's whispers still lingering in the back of his mind, faint but unyielding. He could feel the weight of Druvon's words pressing down on him, as heavy as the battle had been. But he wasn't ready to surrender to that kind of thinking. Not yet.
"I won't pretend this was easy," Kyrntar finally said, his voice soft but raw, cracking under the weight of everything that had happened. "There were moments where I thought the darkness would take me, that it was stronger than I could ever hope to be. But we fought through it, Druvon. We didn't let it win, and if there's even a fragment of that girl left in Marra, I have to believe she can be brought back." He swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. "I can't just turn my back on her. Not after everything."
The silence that followed felt thick, heavy with everything that couldn't be said. The sound of their footsteps echoed faintly in the chamber, a hollow rhythm that did little to fill the void between them. Finally, Druvon broke it, his tone quiet, almost resigned.
"You're stubborn. I'll give you that." His voice carried a tiredness that hadn't been there before. "I've seen enough of this world to know that not everyone can be saved. Sometimes, the only way to protect the people you care about… is to destroy the ones who threaten them."
Kyrntar exhaled slowly, a quiet sigh slipping through his lips. He didn't turn to look at Druvon this time, his gaze locked on the path ahead. "I know. But that's where you and I are different." He spoke softly, each word deliberate. "I don't believe in giving up on people. I didn't give up on Vikra, and I won't give up on Marra. Even if the road is dangerous. Even if it kills me."
Druvon shook his head, a half-sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're too righteous for your own good, you know that?" His voice was light, but there was no humor in it. Just a weary understanding.
Neither of them spoke after that. The silence returned, lingering awkwardly between them as they walked, the weight of the conversation settling into their bones. The road ahead was long, uncertain, and now, somehow, they felt even more alone.
The temple's oppressive atmosphere seemed to lift the closer they got to the entrance. The cool breeze of the outside world finally reached them, a welcome contrast to the cold that had permeated the cursed structure.
As they stepped into the open air, Druvon took a deep breath, his broad chest rising and falling as he shifted Vikra and Edric in his arms. "We made it out," he said, almost to himself.
Kyrntar nodded. "We survived, but there's still a long way to go."
They stood there for a moment, gazing out over the horizon, the temple behind them a distant shadow of the ordeal they had just endured. The road ahead was uncertain, and the burden of what had transpired weighed heavily on both of them. But for now, they had survived—and that, for the moment, was enough.
As the open air of the outside world greeted them, Druvon turned toward Kyrntar, his expression solemn. The silence hung heavy between them before Druvon spoke.
"This is as far as I go," Druvon said, his voice deep and steady. "You saved Vikra, and for that, I'm grateful," Druvon said, his deep voice carrying both admiration and sadness. "But you and I… we walk different paths. I can't travel with someone who believes everyone can be saved. That kind of thinking gets more people killed than it saves. It's noble, Kyrntar, but dangerous."
Kyrntar opened his mouth to protest, but something in Druvon's eyes silenced him. The Loxodon's gaze was knowing, as if he had already guessed the deeper motivations behind Kyrntar's actions. Though Kyrntar had said nothing about his brother, it was clear that Druvon saw more than he let on.
"You've got good intentions, Kyrntar," Druvon continued. "But you're not ready to lead—not with this mindset. You'll learn eventually, but I can't be there when it happens. Take care of yourself and your"
Kyrntar felt a pang of regret as he tried to find the words to respond, but nothing seemed right. He understood Druvon's concerns, even if they stung. There was a part of him that agreed, that knew the weight of saving everyone was impossible—but still, he couldn't abandon that ideal.
As they parted ways, there was no animosity, but the warmth of friendship that had once sparked between them had dimmed. They were no longer companions on the same path, but acquaintances heading in different directions.
Kyrntar drew a ragged breath, his chest tight as he turned toward the distant village. The lifeless forms of Edric and Marra hung heavily from his shoulders, their weight not just physical, but a crushing reminder of all that had been lost. His steps, once sure-footed, now faltered beneath the weight of grief and exhaustion. The familiar terrain offered little solace, as even the smoothest path seemed insurmountable under the burden he carried. Each footfall felt like dragging stone, and though his resolve burned within, the journey ahead promised to be a long test of both body and soul.