The chest clicked open.
Noah blinked down at it, half-expecting gold, a glowing potion, or maybe even a cursed dagger that whispered threats in ancient Latin. Something grand. Dramatic. A final treasure worthy of all they'd bled to get here.
Instead, there was a book.
Not ancient, not dusty—just worn in the way something cherished becomes. Navy-blue leather, supple and scuffed at the edges, was etched in silver threads curling like constellations—or no, threads. Interwoven strands winding around a single, central motif: a tarot card drawn in ink and shimmer.
Noah hesitated, then picked it up.
No flames. No curses. Just a hum.
The title shimmered faintly:
"Weft and Weave: A Primer on Fatecrafting"
And—miracle of miracles—it was written in his own damn language.
"...Finally," Noah muttered. "Something that doesn't read like cursed IKEA instructions or the diary of a hallucinating ghost."
He flipped it open with cautious fingers.
The first pages were basic. Almost boring. Theories of fate magic, warnings about cost, vague philosophical ramblings about threads, decisions, and the consequences that followed. Then came diagrams—simple at first, then progressively more elaborate. Technique pages, annotations written in a precise but emotionless hand. And then:
Skill Pattern: Threads of Binding (Rope-Weave Variant)
He blinked. No system ping. No message from the gods or the UI. No 'you have acquired X skill.'
"So it's like a real textbook," he muttered. "I have to actually learn it."
Abel leaned over his shoulder, brow furrowed. "More magic?"
"Sort of. It's fate magic. Not part of the system. No auto-learn. No stat injection. Just me, my brain, and probably a hundred hours of painful trial and error."
Abel snorted. "And you're excited by this?"
"I'm traumatized. This is what counts as comfort now."
Noah tucked the book reverently into his bag, a strange sense of satisfaction thrumming under his ribs.
Two items remained inside the chest.
First, a dagger. Slender, curved, and beautiful in a deadly kind of way. The metal was dark silver, almost black, etched with violet script that shimmered faintly as he touched it. When Noah lifted it, the weapon hummed in his hand like it knew him.
You have acquired: Dagger of the Veilbitten
Weapon forged in shadow, kissed by fate.
Passive: +10 Agility, +10 Critical Strike
Unique Passive: 15% chance to "Unravel" enemy defenses for 5 seconds.
Noah whistled low. "Definitely not vendor trash."
Abel picked up the last item: a silver amulet with a pale blue gem set in the center, hanging from a chain thin as spider silk. As soon as he touched it:
Abel has acquired: Amulet of the Guarded Lineage
Defense +15 / Magic Resistance +20
Passive: Regenerates health outside combat.
Unique: Resistance against cursed or necrotic magic.
Abel stared down at it. "It's my family's crest… or what's left of it."
Noah nodded, softer now. "Fitting, then."
Abel didn't speak. He just held the amulet a moment longer, his grip tightening around it as though it might vanish if he blinked.
"…You okay?" Noah asked.
A long beat.
"I don't want to kill him," Abel said, voice raw.
"I know."
"I want to end it. Free him. Not destroy what's left. He was good once. Kind. They turned him into this. Turned us into this."
Noah put a hand on his shoulder. "We'll fix it. Or die trying. That's kind of our thing now."
Abel huffed something that might've been a laugh. Brief. Bitter. Real.
They stood close in the half-light.
"I don't know what you are," Abel murmured. "But I trust you."
Noah opened his mouth. Closed it. For once, sarcasm failed him.
So he just smiled.
"Then let's go save your dad."
They moved through the halls in silence.
Not haunted silence. Not cursed.
Just peace.
For the first time since entering the ruins of this castle, Noah felt no dread crawling along his spine. No chill in the air. No phantom pain in his bones.
He glanced around, suspicious. Half-expecting a ghost to leap out and yell 'boo.'
Nothing.
Just warm golden light spilling through broken windows, painting the stone in long amber streaks.
"…It's weird," he muttered.
Abel glanced sideways. "Hm?"
"I mean, I'm not missing the murder ghosts," Noah said, "but it feels like someone forgot to cue the horror soundtrack. Where's the whispering? The black ichor? The existential dread?"
Abel allowed himself a small smirk. "It is strange."
They passed shattered glass and ivy creeping through the gaps. Sunlight danced on polished fragments. The floor no longer pulsed. The air no longer tasted like rot.
When they reached the banquet hall, Noah slowed.
"No ghosts," he murmured.
"They're gone," Abel said. "The ones not bound by force… probably free."
Noah frowned. "Lucky bastards."
Abel's lips twitched. "You'll find new horrors."
They reached the garden doors.
Last time: rot, frost, and dread.
Now: warmth. Birdsong. Roses blooming along the trellises. Ivy curled up old stone pillars. Not perfect—but real. No haunted statues. No cursed roots clawing at their ankles.
"…Huh," Noah breathed.
"What?"
"I think this is the first time I've seen this place and didn't immediately want to die."
"Small victories," Abel said.
They walked deeper into the garden.
Noah could feel it—the shift.
The curse was lifting. The castle was remembering itself. Not as a crypt.
As a home.
But Abel walked heavier.
So Noah asked.
"What are you gonna do after?"
Abel stopped mid-step.
"After your dad. After the curse. What then?"
Abel looked ahead. The sun lit his face in golden relief, casting long shadows behind him.
"I don't know. Everything I've done… it's been for this. Saving him. Saving the memory of what we were. Without it… I don't know who I am. What I'm supposed to be."
Noah's voice dropped. "Yeah. I get that."
There was a pause.
Then Abel asked, "What about you?"
Noah barked a short laugh. "Plan? I got summoned by a dying god. Told to become one myself. Don't know the rules. Don't know the map. I'm winging divinity on vibes and spite."
Abel tilted his head. "So you do have a plan."
Noah grinned. "Vibes are a plan."
Abel chuckled.
They laughed together, light spilling through leaves above them. The sound echoed between stone and garden.
And when the laughter faded, the quiet remained.
Alive. Still.
The garden no longer felt like a prelude to death.
It felt like a place someone might come back to.
Noah exhaled, long and steady.
"Let's go end this," he said.
Abel nodded.
Together, they turned.
Back through the now-still halls.
Toward the garden.
Toward the death knight.
Toward the last thread.