As soon as the battle began, Arven focused on defense. He gave Skele a short command.
"Mist."
Skele lowered its stance. A cold surge spread from its body, coating the area in a blue haze. The mist thickened quickly, filling the space between them and Duskwither. It wasn't just to block vision—it served as a barrier. The mist could intercept formless attacks, especially those tied to darkness.
Duskwither moved first.
It didn't glow with mana. It didn't chant or trigger any visible skill. It just rushed forward in a straight line, ignoring everything in its path.
It hit the mist head-on.
A second layer of fog burst from Duskwither's body, darker and heavier. The two forces collided—blue against grey—and began twisting together. Pressure built up fast. The swirl of energy formed a low cyclone at the center of the chamber. Loose gravel and dust lifted from the floor. Even the torchlight bent inward, pulled by the sudden wind.
The spinning mass lasted only a few seconds. Then, without warning, it collapsed.
The mist burst outward in all directions.
Arven covered his eyes. The shock hit hard.
Duskwither stood at the center, untouched. It had torn through the mist by force alone.
Arven thought the current Duskwither is strong, but this wasn't how it was supposed to behave, and it's far from its peak.
Duskwither was a creature built with illusions, mind attacks, and psychic force.
But the strange thing is, it hadn't used any of those.
It just charged like a beast and struck like one.
Still, even without tricks, its presence was unnatural. The air around it felt wrong. Its shape wavered, like the edges of its body didn't match the space it occupied.
Arven reached for the pendant around his neck. He pressed his palm to it.
ᛉ — Algiz
[The Rune of Protection. Shield. Resilence.]
The rune responded with a red glow.
A layer of faint light wrapped around Skele's body, added another layer of defense.
Skele launched himself forward again, chasing Duskwither's shifting form.
His claws scraped stone. His eyes locked on target.
But he couldn't land a hit.
Duskwither's movements weren't fluid. They stuttered, blinking from one point to another. It was hard to follow, even harder to predict. It didn't seem to care whether Skele hit or missed. It turned from the fight entirely.
Instead, it slammed its claws into the wall.
Stone cracked. Dust fell.
Again, it struck. Each claw dragged deep, carving symbols into the dungeon's surface.
Arven watched light begin to shine through the openings. Not from a torch—something else. The cave trembled slightly, then again, harder.
At the same time, the pulse of the dungeon was growing louder, stronger.
He looked at the claw marks.
Symbols were etched between the cracks. Faint, but visible.
ᚲ — Kenaz
[The rune of Illumination. Light. Clarity.]
He stared at the symbols. The dungeon wasn't breaking. It was responding.
He made a decision.
"Skele, return."
Skele vanished into light, his form sealed away before he could argue. Arven didn't want him too close—not if this went wrong.
Duskwither paused.
Then it turned to Arven. He cast the protection rune again.
"Shield. Algiz!"
A red shimmer wrapped his chest. He ran. He didn't try to meet Duskwither head-on. He moved toward the wall—the one marked by claw. The stone was still glowing, cracks spreading wider. He pressed his hand to the largest rune and poured mana into it.
"Light. Kenaz!"
Light erupted. The cracks along the wall flared white, then spread across the entire chamber. Dozens—maybe hundreds—of runes lit up at once. The air changed. The glow hurt to look at. Everything became sharp and hot.
Duskwither stopped moving. Its body locked in place, mid-lunge. Cracks ran across its form.
Pieces began falling away from its outer layer. The shape beneath wasn't solid. It flickered, like something held together by force alone.
Its form was fading.
Inside the broken shell, Arven saw one last rune—buried deep.
He ran to it, reached in, and grabbed hold with both hands.
"Eiwaz!" he shouted.
The rune pulsed under his grip.
The world turned dark.
* * *
Arven opened his eyes.
There was no ground beneath him. No sky above. Just open space—black and silent. He didn't feel like he was falling. He wasn't floating either. It was something in between, like drifting through a void without gravity or direction.
He tried to move his arms. They responded, but slowly, like pushing through water.
The darkness didn't press in. It didn't feel cold. It wasn't a place meant to trap him. Just empty.
A faint sound echoed nearby.
He turned his head.
Small lights drifted in the dark—soft, flickering shapes like embers in deep water. They weren't uniform. Each moved differently. Some pulsed. Others floated without change. All of them were silent, except for the low hum he could barely hear.
It didn't feel like mana. It didn't feel alive either.
But there was something inside it. A weight. A tone.
Another light appeared behind it. Then another.
One by one, they gathered. Not circling him—but watching. Drifting in place.
Each light drifted with its own rhythm. Some flickered like candle flames in the wind. Others pulsed slow and steady, like breathing. No two were the same.
He understood now.
These weren't fragments.
Each of them was an individual soul.
Bound.
Collectively, they were the Duskwither. The collection of tormented souls.
He wasn't standing in a void.
He was inside what was left of its soul.
Arven watched them hover in place.
Some kept their distance. Others floated closer.
He didn't feel fear. Not exactly.
Just a quiet tension under his skin, like walking through a room filled with people who had all stopped speaking.
He reached out to one of them.
It didn't move away.
When his fingers brushed against it, the light dimmed slightly—then steadied.
A feeling settled into his chest. Heavy, but not painful.
This soul wasn't hostile. Just tired.
The others began to respond. Slowly, the lights shifted toward him, drawn by the contact.
No one spoke. No visions came. But he understood.
They weren't trying to fight anymore.
They were waiting.
Waiting for something to change. Waiting for someone to see them. Waiting for release.
Arven stood still as the lights hovered around him, quiet and steady.
Then, he noticed it—further out.
A faint light, far from the others. Smaller than the rest. Duller, barely moving.
It floated alone in the distance, as if uncertain whether it belonged here at all.
Arven tightened his grip on the pendant at his chest. The Rune of Berkano still gave off a steady pulse under his palm. In his other hand, he held the rune of Eiwaz—etched and warm from his earlier shout.
"I see you," he said quietly.
The small light reacted. It twitched once, then began to drift.
Slow. Uneven.
It hovered, circling nervously at first. Then, little by little, it moved closer.
As it approached, the other lights shifted too. They opened space around it. No longer holding their shape—just moving with quiet intent.
They welcomed it.
The space around Arven changed. The dark began to fade. A soft grey overtook the void, as if the world had taken one quiet breath.
He felt something settle behind his shoulders. It wasn't a burden. It was just presence.
They were no longer afraid of him.
He opened his hand and spread the warmth from Berkano. The aura expanded outward from his chest, reaching the surrounding lights.
The protection didn't push. It soothed.
It told them they could rest. That someone had come who meant no harm.
The lights responded.
One by one, they began to hum.
It wasn't a song. Just simple vibrations, like soft notes echoing in the chest. Each light hummed with its own pattern. No two matched.
They weren't echoes of the same soul.
They were individuals.
Arven closed his eyes, letting the sounds reach him.
He understood them—not in words, but in what they carried.
A baker who smiled when customers returned.
An herbalist who walked uphill every morning, picking flowers before sunrise.
A guard's friend, whose feelings were never returned, who tried one last spell.
A rune—Hagalaz—etched within her ring in desperation. Her final attempt to disrupt the spell that erased them.
That object had survived the aftermath, and became their hope. To be remembered.
The curse of forgetting hadn't erased everything.
"I'll remember you," Arven said.
His voice didn't echo. It just sat there, clear and plain in the space between them.
"I'll remember each of you."
He opened his arms and stepped forward.
The smallest light reached him.
He held it gently.
The hum grew warmer. Not louder—just fuller. The sound carried across the space, and the rest of the lights began to brighten, one by one.
No longer cold.
They stretched outward. Together.
Light moved deeper into the dark, reaching places even Arven couldn't see.
But he knew it was working.
They were still individual souls.
But now, they moved as one.
The darkness didn't vanish.
It remained—quiet and wide—but no longer empty.
The lights didn't fade either.
They stayed, scattered across the space like stars against a night sky. Each one kept its own place. Each one held its shape.
Then, the rune responded.
ᛇ — Eiwaz[The Rune of Death and Rebirth. Resilience. Spiritual Passage.]
The husk of Duskwither cracked.
Pieces broke off and fell away, drifting downward like burned leaves. Beneath it, something new stood waiting—not a beast, not a monster.
It didn't have a single body anymore.
It was a shape made of many lights, each one tethered by thin threads of shadow. They moved together, slow and deliberate. Nothing writhed. Nothing screamed.
This was its true form.
What had once been a mass of forgotten dead now held structure. The grief hadn't vanished. It had been recognized.
Through the rune's passage, the veil didn't collapse. It unfolded.
Every soul kept its memory. No longer lost. No longer silent.
Each soul now shone with its own weight—its own light.
A soft voice stirred at the edge of Arven's thoughts.
The voice came without force. It didn't echo. It didn't press. It offered.
[Veylith — The Veil of Souls. Offered to form a bond with you.]