She removed her helmet.
Golden hair spilled over her shoulders, shimmering in the light of the blue torches. Her red eyes looked at Randel — tired, deep, filled with pain and love. There was no mask on her face. No armor. Only her.
“I’m so tired,” she said. Simply. Without any grand drama. “I’m so tired, my love.”
Randel stepped forward, wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her close. She buried her face in his shoulder, and he could feel her trembling. She wasn’t crying — she was too strong for tears — but she was shaking.
“I’m here,” he whispered. “I’m here. Everything will be alright now.”
“No, it won’t,” she shook her head. “But right now… right now you’re with me. And that’s enough.”
She rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. For one brief moment, she allowed herself to forget the Darkness, the rift that had turned out to be real, and her duty. Just to be a woman held by the man she loved.
Roxana stood to the side, watching. She tried to keep her face composed — the face of a princess, a lady, cold and calculating. But her lips were trembling.
“Go on,” Randel said without turning around. “She missed you too.”
Roxana didn’t need to be told twice. She stepped closer, wrapped her arms around Amanda, and pressed her cheek to the golden hair.
“You idiot,” she whispered. “What an idiot you are.”
“I know,” Amanda smiled.
“We thought you were dead. We thought you had abandoned us. We…”
Roxana fell silent. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she didn’t wipe them away. She couldn’t.
“I’m here,” Amanda said. “I’ve come back.”
“Don’t you dare leave again,” Roxana squeezed her shoulders. “Do you hear me? Don’t you dare. You’ve already become a sister to me, Amanda!”
“I won’t,” Amanda looked at her. “I promise.”
Roxana nodded, wiped away her tears, and stepped back. Once again she became the princess — cold, composed, untouchable. But her eyes still glistened.
The generals and nobles who had come with them had already dispersed throughout the palace on the Keeper’s orders. She had instructed them to study every book and record in the palace. Torglin led them to the library to show them the books, scrolls, and chronicles of the Keepers. Within a minute, muffled exclamations drifted from there:
“This is… this is a description of the First Darkness!”
“Here it talks about the sealing ritual!”
“Gods, how much knowledge we have lost…”
Cassius did not go with them. He remained standing by a column, watching.
He saw how Randel held the Keeper. How she rested her head on his shoulder. How Roxana had cried against her chest. How the three of them spoke — quietly, quickly, hungrily — trying to make up for a year of separation.
The emperor wanted to approach her. He wanted to say something clever, something beautiful, something worthy. But he understood — this was not his moment. Right now, she belonged to the others.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
He shifted his gaze to Leo.
The Warden stood in the corner with his arms crossed over his chest. His crimson cloak hung all the way to the floor, and his black armor swallowed the light. The red lenses stared fixedly at one point, and it seemed as though he saw and heard nothing around him — a statue, a monument, a thousand-year-old warrior who had seen everything and grown tired of it all.
Cassius approached him.
His footsteps were quiet, but in the empty hall they rang out like hammer strikes.
Leo did not move. He did not turn his head. Only the red lenses flickered faintly when the emperor stopped two steps away.
He’s coming here, Leo thought. Why is he coming here? What did I say to him? What did I tell him about emperors? That they were all the same? That he was the worst of them?
Cassius stopped. He looked down at the Warden — the emperor was taller. Much taller.
“You said you had seen emperors come and go,” he said. “How many were there?”
He remembers. He remembers everything. Why did I say that? Why did I open my mouth at all?
“Many,” Leo’s voice was calm. Distant. The same tone he had rehearsed in front of the mirror last night.
Torglin had told him: “Be confident. Mortals can sense uncertainty.” I am confident. I am very confident. I am confident that I am about to die.
“And they were all the same?” Cassius narrowed his eyes.
He’s narrowing his eyes. Why is he narrowing his eyes? He’s planning something. He’s an emperor. He’s killed people for less.
“All of them,” Leo slightly turned his head. The red lenses fixed on Cassius. “Proud. Arrogant. They thought the world revolved around them.”
“And what about me?” Cassius smirked. “Am I the same?”
He’s smirking. Is that good? Or bad? When emperors smirk, does it mean death?
“You’re worse,” the words slipped out on their own. “You’re smarter. And smart ones are more dangerous than fools.”
Why did I say that? Why?! Torglin is going to kill me. If this emperor doesn’t kill me first.
Cassius didn’t take offense. He simply narrowed his eyes even more.
“And what do you see in me?”
He wants to know what I see. I see death. My own death. Right now. Here. Underground. In this ridiculous palace we found by accident.
Leo remained silent. One second. Two. Three.
Say something. Anything smart. Something a thousand-year-old Warden would say. What did Torglin tell me? “I see your soul”? No, I already said that. “I see your fate”? Too pompous.
“I see a man who craves power,” he said. “Who wants the Keeper. Who wants to live forever.”
That sounded normal. Maybe he’ll believe it.
“And what’s wrong with that?”
He’s not arguing. He’s asking. Is that good? Or is it a trap?
“Nothing,” Leo shook his head. “What’s wrong is that you’re willing to kill for it. To betray. To destroy.”
Torglin, where are you? Why aren’t you here? Why am I standing here alone talking to an emperor who ordered the murder of a prince and nearly wiped out an entire duchy?
“You speak as if you know me,” Cassius narrowed his eyes.
“You’re interesting,” the emperor said. “Very interesting.”
Interesting. He said “interesting.” That’s good, right? Interesting people don’t get killed. Or do they?
“I know,” Leo crossed his arms again. “I’ve always been interesting.”
Torglin, if I survive today, I’ll buy you a whole barrel of the most expensive ale you want.
Cassius smirked. For the first time that evening, it looked genuine.
“Perhaps after we seal the Darkness,” he said, “you might consider serving me? I promise to make you a rich man and my right hand.”
“Maybe,” Leo nodded. “If you don’t die first.”
“I won’t die,” Cassius shook his head. “I am the emperor. Emperors don’t die.”
He said it. Emperors don’t die. That means I won’t die either. I hope.
“Everyone dies,” Leo looked at him. “Even emperors. Even Keepers. Even me, eventually.”
I said it. I said I would die. Why did I say that? Torglin is going to kill me. If I don’t die first.
“But not today,” Cassius said.
“Not today,” Leo agreed.
The emperor nodded and walked away, heading toward the library where his mages were already digging through ancient scrolls.
Leo remained standing in the corner.
He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. He didn’t think.
He left. He actually left!
Inside, everything was trembling. His knees felt weak. His hands were shaking so badly that the black gauntlets were visibly vibrating. Thank the gods the armor hid it all.
Torglin, Leo prayed silently. If you can hear me — please come here. I’m about to collapse.
The dwarf didn’t come. He was in the library with the generals and mages, enthusiastically explaining something ancient and important by the sound of his voice.
Leo stood there. Stood and stared at one single point. The red lenses burned steadily, calmly, impressively.
And inside his head, only one thought kept repeating:
I’m alive. I’m alive. I’m alive.
He exhaled. Slowly. Quietly. So no one would hear.
And once again he became a statue. A monument. A thousand-year-old Warden who had witnessed the birth and death of empires.
Because that was his job.