The fire crackled, its warm light flickering against the cold night. Arlen sat near it, but the warmth of the flames felt distant, unwelcoming. His fingers, stiff from the long hours of study, traced over the pages of the ancient text, but his mind was far from the written words. The symbols danced before his eyes, shifting like ghosts in the dark. He could feel the weight of the book in his hands, heavier than ever, as though the answers it contained were a burden he wasn't sure he was ready to bear.
Behind him, Lira's voice cut through the silence. "You've been at that book for hours. Don't you ever sleep?"
Arlen didn't answer. The words she spoke were casual, but there was an edge to them. He could hear it—the unspoken worry, the frustration. She was right, of course. He hadn't slept in days. Not properly. Not since the ruins. Not since they'd uncovered that cursed artifact.
Lira and Eryk had noticed the change in him. The way he would stare into the fire, as if trying to see something in the flames that he couldn't quite grasp. The way his hands trembled ever so slightly when he held his books, as though they were a lifeline and a shackle all at once. They'd been patient, more patient than anyone had a right to be. But patience, Arlen knew, had limits.
"I'm fine," he said, his voice flat, as he always said. He wasn't fine. But the words had become automatic. A shield he put up to push them away, to hide the storm raging inside of him.
Lira didn't seem convinced. "You've said that a hundred times, Arlen. But I don't believe you anymore. Something's broken in you."
The words struck him harder than he expected. He turned slightly, but didn't meet her gaze. Instead, his eyes remained fixed on the fire. He could feel her stare, like a weight pressing against his chest, but he couldn't bring himself to answer.
He had never been good at explaining things, least of all himself. The past, the loss, the plague that had ripped his life apart—it was all tangled up in his thoughts, impossible to separate. The truth was too ugly, too raw. And so he kept it buried, locked deep inside, even as it clawed at him, demanding to be acknowledged.
"Arlen," Eryk's voice came, softer this time, almost tentative. "You don't have to carry this alone."
The words were simple, but they cut through the walls he had built around himself. Arlen squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force the emotions down, to keep the floodgates closed. But it was no use. They had already begun to crack, the dam inside him weakening with every passing day. The guilt, the fear, the weight of what he had failed to do—it all came rushing forward like a tide he couldn't control.
"I failed them," Arlen whispered, more to himself than to anyone else. The words were barely audible, but they felt like a confession.
Lira and Eryk fell silent, sensing the shift in his tone, the vulnerability in his voice. Arlen's chest tightened, the sharp pain of grief suddenly overwhelming. He could feel the sting of tears that threatened to rise, but he refused to let them fall. Not now. Not here.
The fire popped, the sound like a gunshot in the stillness. Arlen jumped slightly, his breath catching in his throat. He clenched his jaw, willing the feelings away, but they refused to be ignored.
"You didn't fail them," Lira said, her voice quieter now, less sharp. "The plague wasn't your fault. None of this is."
Arlen shook his head, his grip tightening around the book. "I was supposed to protect them. I was supposed to stop it. I had the knowledge, the power to—" His voice faltered, and he swallowed hard. "But I didn't. And so they died."
"Stop it," Lira said, her voice soft but firm. She leaned forward, her expression softer than he had ever seen it. "You did everything you could. But you can't carry the weight of the world on your shoulders."
Arlen turned his face away from her, blinking hard, trying to push the sting of her words away. "You don't understand," he murmured. "It's not just the plague. It's what came after. What's still coming. The magic—these artifacts... they're connected. And I've already seen the signs of something worse. Something I can't stop."
The weight of what he was saying hung between them. The others had seen it—the shadow that seemed to follow him. But they didn't know the depth of it, didn't understand the nightmares that came with every step he took toward the truth. The more he uncovered, the more he realized how much bigger this was than he had imagined. The ancient power, the curse—it wasn't just a force of destruction. It was a force that wanted to be wielded. And Arlen feared he was the one it would choose.
Eryk shifted, his eyes filled with concern but also something else—something like understanding. "Maybe you're right. Maybe something worse is coming. But you can't carry that weight alone. None of us can. We're in this together. We've been through hell and back. You think I don't know what it's like to lose everything?"
Arlen looked at him, finally meeting his gaze. Eryk's face was hard, but there was a softness in his eyes, a shared pain. Arlen could see it now—the cracks in his companion's armor, the things he, too, had lost. They were both broken, in their own ways, but they were still standing.
"You don't have to keep it all inside," Eryk continued, his voice gentle but insistent. "We're here. And we'll keep moving forward. Together."
Arlen let out a shaky breath. For the first time in a long while, he felt the weight of his guilt, his fear, lift just slightly. It wasn't gone. It would never be gone. But maybe... maybe it didn't have to be all-consuming. Maybe he didn't have to carry it alone.
For a long moment, there was only silence between them, broken only by the crackling fire. Arlen let the quiet settle over him, letting the warmth of their presence seep into the cracks of his heart. It wasn't much, but it was enough. For now.
"Thanks," he whispered, barely audible, his voice thick with emotions he wasn't ready to face just yet.
Lira didn't speak, but her eyes softened, and Eryk's hand rested briefly on his shoulder. The weight of their unspoken understanding was almost as heavy as the guilt he carried—but this time, it was a different kind of weight. A weight he might, just might, be able to bear.
And as the fire crackled on, Arlen felt the smallest flicker of hope ignite within him.