The road home wound like a dark ribbon through the sleeping forest, even though it was already mid day, the forest was quiet and restful.
The carriage rolled steadily, its wheels murmuring over packed earth, each creak swallowed by the stillness of the trees.
Inside, Orielle rested against the cushions, her body curved protectively around the life she carried. One hand lay over her stomach, the other clasped in Tirian's.
His thumb traced slow, absent circles against her skin.
He watched her breathing.
In.
Out.
She's calm now… at least. His gaze lingered on her and fragile peace she held.
Then. Two coffins. The thought slipped in. Uninvited as it did e try choice it could. His jaw tightened. No. He pushed it away immediately, forcing his mind elsewhere.
But it returned. Two coffins. He dragged in a breath, forcing it out slowly. It's not real yet.. I will stop it from happening.
The bandages around his leg itched beneath his clothes, the dull ache pulsing—but it was nothing compared to the fear coiling in his chest as another uninvited thought entered. If I fall… who protects them? He shut the thought down just as quickly.
He leaned back slightly, his gaze drifting to the seams of the carriage roof. "Do you believe in fate, Orielle?" he asked quietly, his voice nearly lost beneath the rhythm of the wheels. "That a path will go one way because the gods set it out that way..."
She stirred, blinking as light filtered through the curtains. "Fate?" she echoed, turning slightly toward him.
He nodded, though his eyes remained distant. "I read, even if we think we're changing the fate of a prophecy it was already seen by the gods." The Holy Circle… their prophecy… Was any of it ever truly ours?
Orielle's lips curved faintly, though her gaze dropped to her lap. "No," she said softly. "Before the basin... maybe, but I can't say I thought too much about it."
Her fingers brushed lightly over her stomach. "All they show us what could happen. Not what must. That.. fate... how things unfolded... not how gods demanded it to be."
Tirian looked at her. And despite everything, a small smile found him. She still believes there's a way forward. "What if you can't change it?" he asked, quieter now.
Her smile softened, touched with something bittersweet. "I'll still try," she said. "Because we have control over something no god does... choices, the ones we make, that is solely ours."
His chest tightened at that. Yes... We still have the right to choose. I should... tell her about her father... She should know what i've decided to do. But the words stayed locked behind his ribs. Instead, he shifted his hand, covering hers more firmly. "You're shaking," he murmured.
"I'm fine," she whispered, though her voice betrayed her. "I just… want to get home."
He squeezed her hand gently. "A few more hours," he said. "Then we'll be back at the castle."
She nodded.
Tirian watched her for a moment longer and swallowed hard. "Orielle… there's something I need to tell you."
She looked up immediately, her expression tightening at the weight in his voice. "You're planning for us to run, aren't you?" she asked.
The question caught him off guard. "…Yes," he admitted. "But that's not—" He hesitated. "This is about your father."
Her brow furrowed deeper. "My… father?"
Tirian turned fully toward her now, his grip tightening around her hands. "He isn't who you think he is—"
Something shifted.
A subtle faint prickle crawled along his skin. Tirian's expression changed instantly. He leaned slightly toward the window, his senses sharpening.
The air felt heavy and far too still. The kind of silence soldiers learned to fear. Something's wrong.
"Orielle," he started—
"Tirian?" she pressed, confused. "What do you mean about my father—"
"Beararn," Tirian called sharply through the hatch. "How far to the next guard post?" "Half a league, my king," Beararn replied. "But—"
A sharp crack split the air. An arrow tore through the carriage wall, embedding itself beside the window with a violent thunk.
Orielle gasped.
"Down!" Tirian roared, dragging her against him as another arrow punched through the opposite side.
The horses screamed. The carriage lurched violently, one wheel striking something hard as it veered.
Outside, instantly turned into chaos. A low, guttural whisper seemed to crawl across the ground itself, the air shimmering like heat over sand.
They came without warning. Black shapes burst from the treeline, cloaked figures moving with intention, their palms glowing with burning sigils.
Tirian's eyes narrowed instantly. Varakor's mages. Fury surged. He kicked the carriage door open, ignoring the flare of pain in his leg.
"Stay inside!" he barked, already drawing his sword. I knew it… I knew they'd follow.
Three elite guards moved immediately, forming a tight barrier around the carriage, steel flashing as the first wave collided with them.
Dark magic streaked through the air—
Black arcs of energy tore into armor as if it were cloth. And Arrows imbued with something sinister came flying into the field.
A knight fell with a strangled cry, an arrow ripping clean through his chest.
Tirian surged forward. His blade cut through a mage— But the body dissolved into shadow, reforming behind him. His jaw tightened. Still using that filth…
"Beararn!" someone shouted. "They're from Varakor! It's the last mages!" he knights rallied, pushing forward. But more figures poured from the sudden mist. Dozens. Then more.
Whispers filled the air, low and unnatural, their language twisting through the battlefield. Nearly a hundred.
Too many. Beararn scowled.
Inside the carriage, Orielle pressed a hand over her mouth, her heart pounding violently in her chest.
Through the shattered opening—
She saw it.
A knight she knew well, Yida struck down mid-stride. Her body hit the ground hard, unmoving, blood spilling from her lips, her eyes left open and empty.
A broken sound escaped Orielle's throat. "N-ooo..."
Outside—
Tirian fought like something unchained. His sword moved in brutal arcs, cutting through anything that came close, but for every one that fell, more took its place. I can't hold them all, how do I get her to safety? where? where is an opening?
Pain flared through his leg, sharp and punishing. He turned sharply toward the carriage.
"Orielle!" he shouted— Just as he saw it. A mage, hands raised, power gathering—aimed directly at the carriage.
"No!"
The world exploded. Light and sound seemed to mix all in one in that moment and he could do absolutely nothing, he started running but he already knew. I'm too far!
Beararn moved before anyone else. He stepped into the path of the spell without hesitation. The dark energy struck him full on.
A violent impact—
He staggered, coughing blood, but still forced himself forward, cutting the mage down in a single, final strike—
Before collapsing. "My Ki—" The rest never came. Tirian caught him, but it was already too late.
Beararn's body went slack in his arms. For a fraction of a second— Everything stopped. Beararn… And only rage followed. He gently placed Sir Beararn back down picking up his sword. Tirian rose slowly, his gaze locking onto the nearest mage.
The man faltered, fear kept him stuck and unable to move, or run. Tirian cut him down. Then another. And another.
Five more fell in quick succession, his movements no longer controlled—but relentless. Pain vanished beneath fury, his body pushing past its limits.
He carved a path through them, not fighting but Destroying anyone in his path. But even then it wasn't enough. More shadows closed in.
This isn't a battle we win. The realization hit hard. Immediately he turned.
The carriage- Orielle- That was all that mattered.
Tirian broke through the remaining line, cutting down anything in his path until he reached her.
She was shaking, covering her ears an in tears, looking down, mumbling something incoherent.
He didn't hesitate. He pulled her into his arms. "Hold on," he said, his voice rough, urgent and he ran.
Straight through the thinning edge of the chaos. Out the other side. The forest swallowed them whole off the normal trail.
Branches clawed at Tirian's shoulders as he pushed through, boots slipping against damp moss, each step sending a brutal jolt up his injured leg. The wound burned, then throbbed, then burned again, each movement threatening to give way beneath him.
But he didn't stop. He couldn't. Keep moving. Almost there.
The air was starting to smell crisp again the further they got from the battle, but the magic lingered unnaturally, clinging to the trees like a living thing that refused to fade.
Orielle clung to him, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, her face pressed into his shoulder. She could feel it, every tremor, every uneven breath, the way his strength was being forced forward by sheer will alone.
"Tirian, stop—" her voice shook, breaking against the motion, "you're hurt—"
He pulled her closer instinctively, tightening his hold as if letting go, even for a moment—would cost him everything. "I can't," he muttered, his voice rough, strained beneath his breath. "We're almost there, don't worry, everything will be fine."
Blood streaked across his chest, some of it his wound reopening, but most of the blood was not his. It had dried in places, smeared in others, the metallic scent following them through the trees.
Behind them, the sounds started to fade too. But that silence didn't bring relief.
At last, he slowed. Not by choice. But because his body demanded it. A shallow ditch came into view, half-hidden beneath roots and low-hanging branches, the earth uneven and shadowed. It was just enough. Just hidden enough.
Tirian staggered toward it, lowering himself carefully, his leg nearly giving out beneath him as he guided Orielle down.
He set her gently against the base of an old oak, its thick trunk shielding her from view.
For a moment, his world was spinning, and his ears were ringing. "Stay here," he said at last, his voice low, unsteady despite the control he tried to hold onto. "Count to a thousand."
His hand lingered at her arm, fingers tightening just slightly. "Then run east. My men will find you."
He looked at her tear streaked face, but looked away again, "I'll… lead them away," he added, the words catching slightly. "I'll be back soon after."
Orielle's breath hitched. Her eyes searched his face, desperately looking to find what he was thinking. She looked at the blood. The way he wouldn't quite meet her gaze for more than a second at a time.
Something in her chest twisted. "No." The word came out small. But firm.
She shook her head, her grip tightening on him as panic rose fast and sharp. "No…" her voice cracked, breaking under the weight of it. "You're lying."
Her fingers curled into his clothes, holding him there. "You're not coming back, are you?"