Char sat on the floor of the shack, idly running his fingers along the worn wooden grain of a small table, his thoughts distant. Across from him, Merrick leaned back against the wall, arms crossed behind his head, his usual smirk playing at his lips.
"Alright," Merrick said, breaking the silence. "Let's talk about her."
Char blinked, glancing up. "What?"
Merrick snickered. "Come on. You know exactly what I mean." He jerked his chin toward Mira, who was across the room with Selka, laughing as the little Valkari girl tugged at her sleeve, trying to get her to play some kind of clapping game.
Char scoffed, looking away. "There's nothing to talk about."
"Right. Sure. Nothing at all." Merrick's smirk deepened. "Not even about the kiss?"
Char stiffened, heat rising to his face. "That was—" He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It was a moment."
"Oh, it was a moment, alright." Merrick waggled his eyebrows. "One hell of a moment."
Char groaned. "Why are we talking about this?"
"Because I like to see you squirm," Merrick admitted shamelessly. "And because it's fun watching you try to act all composed when anyone with half a brain can see you're absolutely lost on what to do next."
Char shot him a glare but didn't argue. Because, annoyingly, Merrick was right.
He was lost.
He had spent so much time focused on survival, on fighting, on pushing forward, that he hadn't really let himself think about anything else. But then Mira had kissed him. And suddenly, there was this… strange weight in his chest, this new thing to consider.
Not to mention Benjamin.
His name flashed through Char's mind, and for a moment, everything dimmed. The laughter of Mira and Selka, the warmth of the small shack—it all felt distant.
Merrick seemed to sense the shift, because his teasing expression faded. He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Still thinking about him, huh?"
Char nodded, staring at the table. "I don't know how to stop."
"You don't," Merrick said simply. "You just… learn to live with it." He hesitated, then added, "He wouldn't want you to drown in it, you know."
Char swallowed. "I know."
The sound of the shack door slamming open cut through the moment.
A Valkari man stood in the doorway, breathless, his expression tight. "Chief Rhun Wolfsbane is dead."
Merrick shot up from his place against the wall, his casual air vanishing in an instant. Char's stomach dropped.
"What?"
"It happened in the night," the Valkari continued, eyes flickering between them. "His body was discovered this morning. The funeral procession will be held later today."
Mira, who had turned at the sudden announcement, exchanged a glance with Char, her brow furrowed in concern.
Selka, clutching the hem of Mira's sleeve, looked up at the Valkari man, her small face scrunched in confusion. "But… Rhun is the strongest," she whispered.
The man hesitated, then gently placed a hand on her head. "Even the strongest can fall, little one."
Char stood slowly, his mind racing.
Rhun was dead.
And just like that, everything in the settlement had changed.
*
The settlement was alive with movement, yet an unnatural hush hung over the people. Even as Valkari darted between homes, setting up for the funeral, their voices were subdued, their footsteps careful. Death had settled over them like a thick fog.
Char stood amidst it all, his arms crossed, his mind a hurricane of thoughts.
Rhun Wolfsbane was dead.
It wasn't supposed to happen like this.
He could barely recall the details—so much of his original story had been built in fragments, ideas thrown together in rough outlines. But he knew Rhun wasn't meant to die now. His fate had been different, his end something distant, something meant for later.
And yet, here he was, staring at the aftermath of a story he had lost control over.
Char exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. Since the moment he woke up in this world, it had been one thing after another—Edmund, the bandits, Benjamin, the escape, the portal, the Valkari…
Everything had changed.
Lucien.
Char glanced across the settlement, his gaze searching. Somewhere in the throng of people, Rhun's son was moving through the motions of grief, of duty, of change. Char barely remembered what he had originally planned for him. Lucien had been a secondary character in his notes, someone written to be angry, to be bitter about the old ways but never quite willing to strike out on his own.
But now?
Now he was dangerous.
It was almost like the world itself was resisting his original plans. Like the story had decided it wouldn't follow his half-formed outlines.
Char didn't know whether to be frustrated or terrified.
Because if things were this different, then there was no telling what else could change
*
The funeral procession was somber, yet dignified. A sea of Valkari moved together in near silence, their glowing eyes reflecting the flickering torches that lined the cavern walls. Char watched as Rhun's body, wrapped in deep blue cloth embroidered with silver thread, was carried on a carved wooden platform by warriors in ceremonial armor. His once-strong frame was still now, his silver hair adorned with woven beads, his weathered face serene despite the violence of his end.
Mira stood beside Char, her hands clasped in front of her, her expression unreadable. Merrick was on his other side, fidgeting with the hem of his cloak, clearly uncomfortable in the heavy atmosphere. Even Selka, usually full of energy, stood still and solemn near the front, her small frame nearly swallowed by the towering warriors surrounding her.
Lucien led the procession.
He walked with his shoulders squared, his jaw set, his eyes forward. The firelight cast deep shadows on his face, making him look older than he was. He had the presence of a leader, but there was something off about him—something hollow.
Char knew that feeling.
Lucien wasn't mourning his father. Not truly.
He was mourning who he had been before this.
The ceremony continued with the Valkari rites of passing. Words were spoken in their ancient tongue, a song was sung—a deep, mournful chant that vibrated through the bones of every listener. Finally, the body was placed atop a stone altar at the highest point of the cavern, where the glowing crystals in the mountain ceiling reflected shimmering light down onto him like stars. The Valkari believed that the spirits of the dead ascended through these crystals, returning to the sky from which they came.
It was poetic.
It was final.
And then, as the last notes of the song faded, Lucien stepped forward.
The ritual crown was brought out—a simple but elegant circlet of dark metal, inlaid with small chips of glowing sapphire. It had rested on Rhun's head for years, passed down from leader to leader. Now, it was placed on Lucien's brow.
A new chief was crowned.
The Valkari let out a collective breath. Some murmured soft words of support. Some bowed their heads. Others simply stared, uncertain, waiting.
Lucien took the moment in stride, speaking the oaths of leadership with a firm voice. He declared his commitment to his people, to their survival, to their future. It was exactly what they wanted to hear.
But Char wasn't fooled.
The crown was heavy on Lucien's head, but not in the way it should have been. It wasn't the weight of responsibility, of duty—it was the weight of something unresolved, something dark curling in his chest.
*
The after-funeral gathering was subdued at first. The Valkari drank and ate, partaking in traditional funeral customs meant to honor the dead by celebrating life. But there was a tension beneath it, a sense that no one quite knew how to act now that Rhun was gone.
Lucien was the center of attention, as expected. Warriors and elders spoke with him, reaffirming their trust in his leadership. He accepted it all with a carefully controlled demeanor, shaking hands, exchanging solemn nods, offering quiet thanks.
But then, as the gathering started to shift into something looser—something that might have become a real celebration—Flint appeared.
Char saw it happen from a distance. His heart skipped a beat as he recognised the face of the the bearded and board shouldered man, wearing a hood and cloak to mask his human identity. Why the hell was he there?
He must've followed them through the portal of the ritual circle and somehow talked his way into the Valkari settlement too. If he was able to keep the people of Hallow's Rest in the dark about the teleportation circle for so long, Char assumed he had to have some charismatic way of speaking.
The man moved through the crowd like a shadow, his every step deliberate, his expression unreadable. He reached Lucien's side, leaned in, and whispered something in his ear.
Lucien stiffened.
Then, without a word to those around him, he turned and followed Flint away from the crowd, slipping through a side passage of the cavern.
Char's gut twisted.
He had a feeling that whatever was about to be discussed… it wouldn't be good.