As the two of them arrived at Morgana's house, Maria froze, her sharp eyes scanning the surroundings with an intensity that would have pierced steel. "This is bad, far worse than what I expected," she muttered under her breath, barely audible.
In an instant, her mind spiraled into an internal monologue, racing through possibilities faster than Alistair could process. Was this a trap? Her instincts screamed. No, the boy is honest. Unless… he himself was completely unaware somehow!
She ground her teeth. Damn him. He's too naïve, too dumb for his own good.
Without a second thought, Maria acted. She yanked Alistair back by the collar, pulling him away from the house. The urgency in her movement was a stark contrast to the calm, almost detached demeanor she'd worn earlier.
"Boy, have you lost your mind?!" she barked at him, her voice laced with an edge of panic. "Give up! There is no salvation for that thing!" The words came out sharp, each syllable cutting through the air with a weight Alistair could feel in his chest.
He blinked, confused, looking at her with a furrowed brow. "Huh? What are you talking about?"
Before he could get an answer, a voice pierced the air, soft yet laced with sorrow.
"Alistair."
Morgana's voice, faint and tinged with sadness, called to him. Her hand, pale and trembling, extended toward him, inviting him into her side
In that moment, something primal stirred within him. The world around him seemed to slow, the tension thickening like the air before a storm. As he moved to her side, his gaze flicked briefly to the shadows—a dark figure, unmistakable in its intent, was rushing toward Morgana.
Alistair's heart skipped a beat, and in that fraction of a second, instinct took over. He reacted without thought, his body moving before his mind could catch up. His sword was already drawn by the time he saw Maria's blade poised for a strike.
With a heavy grunt, Alistair intercepted the blow, his sword meeting Maria's in a clash of steel. The force of the strike vibrated through his bones, the sound of metal grinding on metal echoing in the still night air.
Maria's eyes widened, her expression a mixture of surprise and something darker—something she hadn't expected. Alistair's determination was unwavering, even in the face of the danger he didn't fully understand.
"Stay back, Maria!" he commanded, his voice hoarse but firm.
Maria's lips curled into a sneer, but she didn't move. The tension between them was thick, like the edge of a blade.
"You fool," she hissed. "I was trying to protect you, and you—"
Before she could finish, Morgana's voice called again, faint but full of desperation.
"Alistair… please."
Her plea struck him harder than any blow, and despite the weight of Maria's challenge, Alistair stepped forward, eyes locked on Morgana's face. He didn't understand what was going on, but his heart refused to ignore the one thing he knew for certain. He had to protect her.
Alistair's chest heaved with each labored breath as he locked eyes with Maria, refusing to back down. Her fury was palpable, each strike of her blade coming with the force of a storm, yet no matter how hard she hit him, no matter where she struck, he refused to collapse. He stumbled, knees buckling under the pressure, but always forced himself back onto his feet, like a man possessed by some unyielding force.
"Damned kid," Maria hissed through gritted teeth, her eyes flashing with frustration and disbelief. "You will be our demise... Don't force my blade!"
Her words hung in the air, heavy and threatening, but Alistair didn't flinch. His hands trembled with exhaustion, his limbs ached, but his resolve burned brighter than ever.
Maria's next strike came faster, a flurry of sharp, precise blows aimed to disable him. Each hit landed with force, and for a moment, it seemed like Alistair's will would be broken. His body screamed in protest, but his mind stayed firm, laser-focused on Morgana and the urgent need to protect her.
I can't stop. I can't let her fall into the darkness, he thought to himself, even as his vision blurred and his body screamed for rest.
The ground beneath him trembled as if to mirror his inner turmoil, but still, he rose.
Maria's breath quickened in disbelief. "By all means… he should be knocked out by now. How is he moving?!" Her voice broke with frustration, yet deep inside she already knew the answer after all she had witnessed something similiar beofre ,her strikes growing more wild and desperate. "At this rate I will have to kill him!"
She took a step back, eyes narrowing in confusion as Alistair—despite everything—stood before her, still defiant, still unwilling to fall.
Her gaze flicked to Morgana, standing there, watching the struggle unfold, and then back to Alistair. Something deeper flashed behind Maria's eyes—was it pity? Regret? The realization that the boy might not be so naïve after all?
But before she could act further, Alistair stood taller, his bloodied sword clenched tightly in his hand.
"I don't care what it costs," he said through gritted teeth, his voice raw but resolute.
Maria's hand trembled around the hilt of her blade as she met his gaze, the fire in his eyes. For a brief moment, the world seemed to pause. The tension between them was thick, a battle of wills far more intense than anything a sword could accomplish.
Maria exhaled slowly, her eyes softening for the briefest of moments, but her voice remained cold. "Then you're a fool.A fool beyond hope.Forgive me but I too have a duty and things I must protect"
The atmosphere around her changed , she was serious she was gonna kill him if need be Maria's eyes glinted with a cold, deadly focus The air around them grew thick with dread, as if the very earth beneath their feet quivered in anticipation of the coming storm. Maria's words, spoken with a finality that could not be undone, reverberated in Alistair's chest. He could feel the weight of her resolve pressing down on him, and in that fleeting moment, he wondered if he had been too naive, too caught up in the fleeting hope of a future that was already slipping away.
But Maria was right. There was no salvation here—not for her, not for them. Her voice, cold and unyielding, echoed in his mind. I will protect those I must protect.
Then, with a sudden motion too swift to follow, Maria lunged at him, her blade aimed for his heart. He couldn't stop it in time. For a heartbeat, they were enemies again, their fates sealed by the choices they had made. But before her blade could reach its mark, the ground trembled.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it—a twisted, skeletal figure, an abomination wrought from the very depths of hell. A grotesque thing that bore the unmistakable mark of a demon, clawed hands reaching for Maria, dragging her back into the world of death.
A low growl rumbled from the creature's throat, and before Alistair could even process what was happening, the creature was upon them, its claws tearing into Maria's side. Blood splattered across the ground as Maria's breath came in sharp gasps.
"Huh?!" Alistair's voice trembled in disbelief, his body moving before his mind could catch up. He charged, cutting through the foul creature with all his strength, but it was like hacking at mist. Each swing passed through it with no resistance.
He could feel it then—the cold, unsettling truth. Morgana had done this. She had summoned this creature to stop them, to protect him from the bitter truth .
"It's fine, Morgana," Alistair muttered under his breath, though it felt hollow, a lie he was trying to convince himself of. "We're fine. We can just leave. There's no need for more bloodshed."
But Morgana's hand, trembling, was already outstretched to him. She called to him, her voice softer now, full of sorrow, a shadow of the fury she had once held. "Alistair… please."
His heart twisted in his chest. He knew she was right. He had failed her once before, but not this time !
"No Alistair," Maria's voice cut through his turmoil, her eyes filled with cold fire. "You can't leave her be. She'll be the end of time, that's her fate."
Alistair's lips twisted bitterly. "I know that," he replied, the words bitter as they left his tongue. "But I… I am no hero.It seems you overestimated me Maria."
The words lingered, but Maria only chuckled darkly. Her smile was cruel, her voice dripping with disdain. "How naïve."
Before either could act, the earth shook beneath them, the very ground seeming to split as the undead beast lunged forward, its form shifting and writhing like a nightmare made flesh. Its claws lashed out again, slashing at Maria's defenses. The sound of the blow resonated like the clang of a hammer upon iron.
"In the silence of the grave," Maria intoned, her voice low, grim. "The dead are reborn in fire's embrace, their sins undone in the cleansing light. With each strike, the hollow souls are shattered, leaving only ash and the echoes of forgotten lives."
The creature shrieked in agony as it burned, its body turning to ash with every strike Maria made. Its roars of pain echoed like the howling of a dying world.
But even as she fought, Alistair saw the weariness in her eyes. Her strength was slipping away, her power running dry. The desperate moves she made were fueled only by pure will now, not by the boundless energy that once defined her.
"I… I am exhausted," Maria confessed through gritted teeth. "I won't last much longer."
She knew what she had to do. What had to be done, though her heart fought against it. She wasn't just battling Morgana's monsters or her own regrets; she was fighting time itself.
"I will bet on you, boy," she whispered with a flicker of something fragile in her voice. "Don't betray me."
Then, with a fluid leap, Maria closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around Alistair. He stiffened, instinctively preparing to push her away, but before he could react, she invoked one last miracle, her voice full of desperation and resolve.
"Through shadows we wander, guided by hope's faint flame, to a place where silence sings of safety and rest. In its embrace, the weary find shelter, and the heart whispers, 'This is home.'"
A blinding light erupted, wrapping around them like the arms of the gods themselves, radiant and pure. Alistair closed his eyes against its intensity, feeling the magic swell around him.
But before the miracle could fully manifest, before they could escape the horrors chasing them, a roar tore through the air, dark and twisted. A cold, gnashing force surged from behind them. Something incomprehensible and terrible. Alistair turned, but he could only feel its presence—a beast of nightmares, vast and terrible.
Maria's grip tightened around him, and for a moment, it felt as if the very world was collapsing. An overwhelming force, something far greater than either of them, bore down on them. Yet just as the jaws of death threatened to claim them both, the light around them surged. With a deafening sound, the light enveloped them completely, sending the darkness retreating.
The golden light flickered, its warmth still lingering like a dying ember, but it was fleeting. The world around them shifted, the radiance fading into the darkness of the unknown. The river rushed beneath them, its icy waters pulling them in, guiding them toward a place they could not yet comprehend.
Maria's grip loosened, her body limp in Alistair's arms. The strain of the miracle had taken its toll—too much, too soon. Her breath was shallow, each exhale like a fading echo of her will. Alistair, struggling against the tide, held her tightly, his heart racing with fear.
He glanced around, eyes blurry from the fading light, the sounds of the river growing louder as they were swept deeper into its current. The familiar world was now a distant memory, lost in the rush of water and the swirling shadows. All that remained was the cold, the darkness, and the fragile warmth of a miracle that had nearly escaped them.
"Stay with me, Maria…" Alistair whispered, though he knew she could not hear him. His voice trembled, caught between hope and despair. He was no hero, no savior—just a man caught in a tide of fate, drifting with a power he could neither control nor understand.
The river's current pulled them further away, the once-clear path now a blur of shadows. With each passing second, the reality of what had just happened began to settle in. The weight of the choices, the cost of survival, pressed upon him like a crushing stone.
And still, they drifted, carried by forces beyond their comprehension, toward an unknown destination. Whatever awaited them—whether it was salvation or doom—Alistair couldn't say. But one thing was certain: they were no longer the same. What had been a struggle for survival had now become a journey into the heart of the unknown
"Damned wretched woman. How dare she! "Morgana's voice seethed in her mind, her eyes narrowing as she clenched her fists. The bitter anger coursed through her veins, a fire that burned as fiercely as it did wildly.
But then, as quickly as it came, the anger ebbed, replaced by something softer, something far more dangerous in its quietness.
"Alistair..." Her voice broke the silence, whispered like a prayer—an invocation to a future that she feared might never come. The weight of the words carried more than just sorrow. There was a plea in them, a hope hidden beneath the layers of grief. A hope that somehow, someway, they would meet again.
She held the second half of the neckale close to her chest, the gift she had bestowed upon him, the tether that bound their fates together. It pulsed in her hands, faint but persistent, like the beating of a heart that refused to die. The tie was weak, fragile, but it was something. A promise. A sliver of a chance.
Her eyes closed, and for a moment, she let herself be consumed by the darkness of the moment. The world around her was unforgiving, and yet she couldn't let go of that thread of possibility.She would wait. She would wait until the day fate twisted its course, and they would meet again.
Morgana's breath steadied as the cold of the night pressed upon her, but the fire of determination in her chest burned brighter than any sorrow.