The dawn broke as a bruise over Evergrave's sky, casting a pallid hue across the battlements. Smoke rose in skeletal fingers from broken spires, and the city beneath the palace stirred in pained silence. Franklin stood at the edge of the War Room's exit tunnel, eyes locked on the path that stretched into uncertainty. Behind him, Banji secured the last of the supplies: dried rations, water-skins, spell-bound bandages. Rebecca emerged last, swathed in a deep crimson cloak, her expression unreadable.
They departed through the chapel's hidden gate just as the city bells tolled for the third Blood Tithe, a grim echo of Banji's former tyranny. The wards around the chapel shimmered faintly, Brenda's hand still lingering in their design. Franklin paused only once to peer back at the spire. Wait for me, he thought. We will end this.
Their path took them through the lower quarter ruins, where shattered homes bled light from broken windows. Corpses of plague victims had been burned in great pyres, but the ash never truly settled. It drifted like snow, dulling sound and swallowing tracks. They moved in silence, blades drawn, magic pulsing faintly around Banji's gauntlets. The further they descended into the city's hushed bones, the more solemn their march became. Grief had rooted itself in every brick and breath.
By midday, they reached the River of Ash.
Once a thriving artery for trade, the river was now a churning sludge of blackened water and drifting remnants of the dead. The bridge that once spanned it had collapsed during the last great siege, replaced now by a narrow, perilous rope walkway that sagged between splintered pylons. The water below churned with unnatural rhythm, glinting faintly as though thousands of unseen eyes watched from beneath.
Franklin stepped forward, testing the first plank. It creaked ominously, but held.
"If the bridge gives, we die," Banji muttered. "The current is laced with necrotic residue. It strips flesh and feeds on bone."
"That's comforting," Rebecca said dryly, drawing her cloak tighter. She glanced at Franklin. "Shall we?"
Franklin nodded and led the way. Each step felt like a prayer. Wind howled across the river, clawing at their cloaks and pushing them toward the roiling depths. Halfway through, a scream cut through the air.
Shapes rose from the river.
Pale, waterlogged corpses with empty eyes and gaping mouths clawed their way onto the bridge, screeching with spectral rage. Rebecca swore and drew her daggers. Banji thrust out a hand, conjuring a barrier of searing light that sent several tumbling back.
"Keep moving!" Franklin shouted, cleaving through the first that lunged.
The battle was brutal. Rebecca moved with terrifying grace, severing limbs and ducking gnashing teeth. Banji's magic faltered under the assault, and Franklin took the lead, slicing a path through the risen dead. His sword sang with fire, each stroke echoing with ancient fury. One creature grabbed Rebecca's ankle, its touch burned with frost and decay, but she drove a dagger through its throat and sent it spiralling into the depths.
Banji's eyes glowed as he invoked a forbidden word, vaporising three attackers in a blast of radiant heat. The rope bridge groaned, sagging further beneath their weight and the writhing dead. Franklin reached the end first and turned, grabbing Rebecca's hand as she leapt the final stretch. Banji followed, staggering but alive.
The bridge snapped behind them, vanishing into the poisoned depths.
They collapsed against a mossy bank, gasping.
"They're growing stronger," Rebecca said between breaths. "Solorth's corruption spreads faster than we thought."
"The Marsh will be worse," Banji said grimly. "And the Fallen Fields stand between us and the final seal."
Franklin stood. "Then we move. We'll rest at the Shrine of Echoes, it lies just before the Fields."
Their journey resumed. The terrain changed, trees gave way to charred soil and rusted weapons half-buried in mud. Bones crunched beneath their boots. Whispers haunted the wind: the dying cries of those who'd perished in wars long past. Once, they passed a broken standard, a banner of the old guard, fluttering from a shattered spear. Banji paused, bowed his head, and walked on.
As dusk approached, the Shrine came into view. It was a crumbling ruin, overgrown with red ivy, its stone altar cracked by time and battle. They entered the sanctuary cautiously. The interior smelled of dust and incense, with faded runes glowing faintly on the walls. Statues of forgotten saints lined the perimeter, their faces worn smooth by rain and reverence.
Banji lit a small fire in the centre. Franklin drew a circle of salt and ash, a ward against unseen forces. Rebecca sat by the fire, silent.
"We lost people here," Banji said after a long moment. "Good men. Innocent ones. I remember their names. I remember their screams."
Franklin nodded, unsheathing his blade and laying it before him.
"Tomorrow," he said, "we enter the Fields. The Marsh lies beyond. Once we cross it, we reach the Temple."
Rebecca looked up. Her voice was steady now. "And once we reach it…?"
Franklin met her gaze. "We break the final seal. I offer myself. The curse ends."
Silence followed.
Banji leaned forward. "You're certain? There's no other way?"
"Solorth is bound to my soul. The seals anchor him, but they feed on my blood. If I die… if I surrender that bond willingly, it will shatter him."
Rebecca flinched. "You'll die."
Franklin nodded.
"Then why did we come this far?" she said. "Why not give up when Evergrave was falling?"
He reached out and touched her shoulder.
"Because I believe this kingdom deserves a second chance. And because… Brenda carries my child. If he's born in a world free of Solorth, it's worth everything."
Rebecca's eyes shimmered. "I'll see you to the end. No matter the cost."
Banji clasped Franklin's arm. "Then we stand together. One last march."
The fire flickered.
Outside, the wind carried the sound of drums from the Fields, the dead welcoming trespassers.
Franklin closed his eyes.
One more day.