A profound, funereal silence prevailed in the courtyards of Ocasia's grand square after that emerald purifying explosion that had rent the sky's canopy. The white ash, resulting from the burning of Merlock's green plague and the dissipation of the particles of corruption, began to fall slowly like tufts of snow from a forgotten paradise, covering the streets and squares with a soft shroud that brought a strange tranquility the city had not known for centuries. Amidst this still whiteness, Alaric fell, striking the ground, his head landing in Elianor's lap, while from the wound carved into his chest emanated a faint purple light that faded with each weak beat of his exhausted heart.
His body was no longer that unbreakable, cold metal; it had regained the texture of human skin with all its weaknesses, but it was deathly pale, as if the color of life had left him along with the fluid of the "Core of the Void" that had spilled onto the marble. Elianor placed her trembling hands over the wound, desperately trying to staunch the terrifying bleeding, and shouted in a hoarse, tear-ravaged voice:
"Azrael! Bring the enchanted bandages.. Alaric is bleeding his very soul after his blood! Do not stand there, the king is leaving us!"
Azrael and the remaining Forgotten Ones, who had just regained consciousness after the green cloud vanished, rushed towards their fallen king. Their eyes filled with awe mixed with tears; they had seen the leader of "Nothingness," whose power they once feared, sacrifice the last atom of humanity in his veins to grant them pure breaths and a new beginning. Azrael leaned down, opening his leather bag full of wild herbs and ancient scrolls, and began muttering rapid, incomprehensible words, trying to mend the deep gash left by the Dagger of Truth in the king's body.
At that moment, Alaric opened his eyes very slowly. They no longer held that absolute blackness that distinguished the Void, but a broken, tired human glimmer. He looked at Elianor, and a very faint smile traced his lips, stained with blood and purple, and he whispered with a rattle that pained the hearts of those present:
"The.. green melody is broken, Elianor.. I feel the cold.. For the first time since we left the mountains, I feel this beautiful, human cold."
Elianor tightened her grip on his hand, which was beginning to lose its warmth, and brought it to her face as she sobbed with anguish:
"You will live to warm yourself by the fires of victory you have ignited, Alaric. Do not dare leave now, for the capital and its minarets have yet to witness their true dawn, and we are not ready to bid you farewell in the middle of the road."
While Azrael struggled valiantly to stop the bleeding, something strange and troubling happened in the sky. The purple clouds created by the Crown's authority began to concentrate and thicken at a single point above the "Royal Palace," forming a great vortex that started to absorb the white ash and surrounding mist. Azrael realized with his keen insight that the "Core of the Void" was no longer stable within Alaric's wounded body; the great power was beginning to seek a more stable "vessel," or perhaps trying to return to its profound origin after leaving his exposed heart.
"We must move him inside the palace immediately," Azrael said with stern seriousness, wiping the sweat from his brow. "There, at the heart of the ancient throne, the intersection of the earth's energy lines might help stabilize his wandering soul. If he remains here in this open space, the power he carries will tear his insides apart and cause him to dissipate like smoke."
The Forgotten Ones soldiers carried Alaric's body with extreme care, as if bearing the last hope of humanity, and headed with him towards the "Royal Palace," half of which had been shattered by the siege's fires. The silent, cold corridors echoed with the sound of their steps, heavy with worries and fears. Elianor walked beside him without letting go of his hand, clutching her blue scarf, now stained with his blood, realizing deep down that Merlock had lost the apparent battle, but the real war had now entered its most dangerous phase: the phase of conflict between the king's soul and the Void that dwelt within him.
The group entered the great "Throne Room," where velvet curtains had collapsed and glass was scattered everywhere. They gently placed Alaric on the cold marble platform before the throne. Elianor began to wash his deep wound with water from the "Well of Secrets," which she had saved for dire straits, and with every touch, Alaric's body shook and trembled, as if the Crown upon his head was waging a fierce battle to erase his old memories and turn him into a silent entity forever.
The exhausted king lay in the silence of the majestic hall, while particles of white ash began to gather around him by magical force, forming a cocoon of physical and spiritual protection, announcing the beginning of a long and very difficult night, where survival would belong to the one with the strongest will, not the most powerful magic. Meanwhile, shadows in the corners of the palace began to move suspiciously, as if Merlock had not yet spoken his final word.