The night was still. The air smelled of blood and ashes. Marek's body lay motionless in the center of the ruined marketplace, his golden cloak stained crimson. Around him, the people of the slums stood in silence, eyes wide with a mixture of awe and fear.
Marek was dead.
Valen had won.
But there was no triumph in it.
He sheathed his sword, ignoring the pain in his side. His wounds were deep, but not fatal. Not yet. Serra was beside him in an instant, her gaze flickering from Marek's corpse to Valen's face.
"You're hurt," she said, reaching for him.
"I'll live."
She hesitated, then exhaled. "It's over."
Valen looked around. The people of the slums, the rebels, even the wounded Radiant knights who had been left behind—they were all watching. Waiting.
For what?
For him to give a speech? To declare victory?
Valen had no words.
So instead, he turned and walked away.
By morning, the news had spread.
The Grand Inquisitor was dead. The rebellion had struck a fatal blow to the Radiant Order. The cathedral still stood, its golden spires untouched, but the foundation beneath it had cracked.
And the city knew it.
The streets were uneasy. Some whispered that the rebellion would fall apart without an enemy to fight. Others feared the Order's retaliation.
But Valen?
Valen felt nothing.
He sat alone in the upper floor of an abandoned house, wrapping a fresh bandage around his side. The wound throbbed, but it was manageable. His body had suffered worse.
The door creaked open. Serra entered, arms crossed.
"We need to talk."
Valen didn't look up. "I figured."
She stepped forward, sitting across from him. "People are waiting for you to tell them what comes next."
Valen finished tying the bandage and exhaled. "I don't know what comes next."
Serra frowned. "You spent years fighting for this moment. Now that it's here, you're just going to walk away?"
Valen met her gaze. "Marek was my fight. Not theirs."
She studied him. "You really believe that?"
He was silent.
Serra sighed. "The Order isn't finished. They still control the city. The High Cleric is still alive."
"Then let someone else fight him."
Serra's eyes hardened. "And what about the people who followed you? Who died for this?"
Valen clenched his fists. "I never asked them to."
She shook her head. "You're not as cold as you pretend to be."
Valen looked away.
Serra stood. "We're leaving the city. We can't stay here. Not with the Order still watching."
He raised an eyebrow. "We?"
"You didn't think I'd let you wander off alone, did you?"
Valen smirked. "Figured you'd want to stay and lead the rebellion."
Serra snorted. "I'm no leader. And neither are you."
A pause.
Then Valen nodded. "Where?"
Serra's expression softened. "South. Beyond the reach of the Order."
Valen considered it. The city had been his battleground for years. But now, for the first time, he felt the weight of exhaustion settle in his bones.
Maybe it was time to leave.
Maybe it was time to find something else.
A New Path
They left before dawn.
The city was quiet as they moved through the hidden tunnels beneath the slums, their footsteps echoing in the darkness.
Davos met them at the last exit, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. "Didn't think you'd actually leave."
Valen smirked. "Didn't think you'd care."
Davos shrugged. "I don't. Just means I have to find someone else to keep me entertained."
Serra rolled her eyes. "Try not to die while we're gone."
Davos chuckled. "No promises."
Valen hesitated. "What will you do?"
Davos exhaled. "What we always do. Keep fighting."
Valen nodded.
Then, without another word, he and Serra stepped into the tunnel and didn't look back.
The Road Beyond Eldermire
By the time the city was far behind them, the weight on Valen's shoulders had begun to ease.
Valen was humming a song ....
"Are you going? Do you deserve it! This tattered cloak.
"Fight? Fight! With the humblest dream.
"To the whimpering and roaring in the dark night.
"Who said that only those who stand in the light are heroes..."
this song seems to tells the story of a warrior living in darkness, fighting against fate, being lonely and brave, fighting to the end, and pursuing life and freedom in troubled times.
"My love for you comes from the wilderness, and I will never borrow anyone's light in my life.
"You will build your city upon its ruins.
"Go? Go! With the humblest dream.
"Fight? Fight! With the most lofty dream.
"To the whimpering and roaring in the dark night.
"Who said that the only one who stands in the light is a hero!"
They rode south, past abandoned villages and empty roads. The land stretched before them, open and free. No more golden banners. No more towering cathedrals.
For the first time in years, Valen wasn't running toward a fight.
He was just moving.
Serra rode beside him, her expression unreadable. "Feels strange, doesn't it?"
Valen nodded. "Yeah."
A pause.
Then she smirked. "Don't worry. I'm sure we'll find trouble soon enough."
Valen chuckled. "I'd be disappointed if we didn't."
And for the first time in a long time—
He allowed himself to hope.