Xerxes had done it.
Or at least, he had done part of what he had set out to do.
As he pulled his hand from Orpheus' heart, the realisation did not come with triumph. It came with weight. A dull, settling heaviness spread through his chest.
He had won the battle, yes, but more than that, he was able to learn something about himself that no amount of training could have prepared him for.
He learned how far he was willing to go.
A memory that came from the Fallen Kingdom had surfaced.
'Would I ever feel the need to kill someone, the way I kill beasts, Aemon?' His childish and naive voice echoed through his mind.
Back then, there were certain lines he would never imagine crossing. No matter what the world demanded of him. He believed that his hands could remain clean if his intentions were pure enough.
Now, standing in the snow with blood on his fingers, he understood how little the world cared for such beliefs.
The true terrors of the world didn't lie within a forest that was riddled with monsters. It rested with man. And if Xerxes had already grown accustomed to killing beasts to protect others, then today he had learned the final, bitter extension of that truth.
He had grown capable of killing men.
The acceptance came easier than he wanted it to. It frightened him slightly.
Because even now, knowing the good this kill brought, knowing that the lives of the Gem'rafh would be spared, there was a bitterness he couldn't swallow.
He had killed an innocent man. Orpheus was just an echo. He himself had fractured the light of the world to dispel some of the darkness.
'And do I have that right?'
'Does strength determine whether or not I can take someone's life?'
His thoughts spiralled.
If tomorrow he were to become a tier one mage, awarded with power and prestige, would that suddenly make his actions unquestionable? Would strength alone be the measure of justice?
His gaze drifted as he asked himself a question which he didn't want to be confronted with.
'Is that how Yves thought?'
The question hit him harder than any mana could. He placed a hand on his tightening chest, catching his ragged breaths, whilst the comparisons he was making took shape.
Power deciding worth. Survival granting permission. For a moment, he was succumbing to the pressure, but shook his head.
His eyes dulled, hollowed by the weight of it all.
Triumph.
Grief.
Fear.
Uncertainty.
They churned together, unresolved.
Then, he exhaled shakily and forced himself to stand straighter.
'Why am I tearing myself apart right now?'
The answer came slowly, but clearly.
It was because he cared. He lifted his gaze to the sky, whilst his breath fogged in the cold air. The chaos of his thoughts began to still as flashes of his life played by.
The path that led him here, every choice, sacrifice, hesitation... it all proved something to him.
He didn't need certainty; he needed resolve.
"I know what I value," Xerxes said aloud, as if declaring his thoughts to the world. "And I know what needs to be done if I want to protect the people who need me."
He paused.
"And for now, that's enough. It's enough for me to move on."
The moment passed, and suddenly a black, nebulous cloud surged violently from Orpheus' body. The skin along its body cracked and peeled away, the features dissolved as if they were never truly there.
What remained wasn't a tyrant or a grotesque figure. Instead, a young man who was sickly pale and had jet black eyes.
Blood seeped from his mouth as he struggled to speak.
"...Orpheus knows they aren't here and—"
The last embers of strength were quickly diminishing as he slumped forward, resting his weight against Xerxes' shoulder.
"Thank you," he whispered, barely audible. A crooked smile formed on his face. "Thank you for freeing me."
With that, Xerxes didn't need to look at him to know he was dead. He gently lowered him to the ground and closed his eyes.
The words didn't erase any conflicting emotions Xerxes had, but they certainly eased the weight.
Slowly, Xerxes straightened, and his vision blurred whilst he looked across the battlefield. The fighting had nearly stopped. Orpheus' fall, real or not, broke something fundamental in the slavers' resolve.
He raised his hand, igniting a small flame that was weak and fragile. A breath could have snuffed it out, but it burned.
With what little mana he had left, Xerxes forced his voice to carry. "Any who still serve Orpheus and attempt to enact his command, even in death, shall meet him. For those of you who have recognised that the Gem'rafh chains have been broken, stand down."
The authority in his words didn't come from confidence; it was necessity. If he faltered now, if he allowed himself to collapse into doubt, then everything he fought for would unravel.
The Gem'rafh heard him. The slavers heard him, and when they looked at him, the words didn't come from a meagre child. It came from someone who chose to stand through anything that faced him.
He was iron-willed and conditioned by the cruelties of this world.
The slavers all removed their blindfolds and decided to stand down. The Gem'rafh raised their heads and cheered as the battle finally came to a close.
A faint smile appeared on his face as he turned around and gave the slave a proper send-off. With the flame in his hand, Xerxes washed it over the slave who was finally free.
"Goodbye," Xerxes said simply.
The next few hours were spent tending to the injured, with whatever materials the giants could find. The slavers who survived were restrained and put away so they couldn't harm anyone.
Kaylun moved swiftly through the camp, locating the elders. He found them secluded, chained apart from the rest, and it was fair to say their conditions were far worse.
After all, the two elders, Ishkar and Zoron, were amongst the strongest they had. He tore through the restraints and helped them to their feet.
Nightfall came quickly, and the clock was ticking. The polar sky shimmered above them, streaked with pale white dots, and fires were lit by the Gem'rafh. Many gathered, and their voices rose in celebration, performing many dances.
Xerxes had asked Kaylun to summon those who had proven themselves in battle, along with the wisest tribesmen.
Eventually, a few figures stood before him.
Two were immediately distinct from the others. Where most Gem'rafh bore dull blue skin, these two appeared almost earth-cracked and darkened, as though moss and bark had taken root along their forms.
Kaylun's restraint finally broke.
"You defeated Orpheus," he voiced with awe. "Just as you said you would."
Xerxes nodded, though tension lingered in his demeanour. He didn't share Kaylun's relief, and the giants noticed. The celebration behind them quieted as attention burned back to him.
"The Orpheus I fought wasn't his true self," Xerxes explained. "Only a fragment. A vessel."
The explanation of what he meant took time. Questions followed, sharp and fearful. Xerxes answered them all, making certain to emphasise one crucial detail.
The danger was far from over.
Zoron and Ishkar exchanged a glance, their voices rough with age and strain.
"It seems," Ishkar rasped, "we must fight another day..."
Zoron nodded slowly. "We have won a singular battle, nothing more. There is still blood in our path." His gaze drifted towards the distant fires and the exhausted figures around them. "We need a plan."
Xerxes appreciated Zoron's steadfast approach.
They couldn't remain here. Not with Orpheus free to return, with more hunger and desperation. He now knew that Airi and Thornfum weren't here, so he wouldn't hold anything back.
Ishkar bristled. "Our people need rest. They have been pushed to their limits."
"So have I," Xerxes cut in, his voice sharper than he intended. "So has everyone here. I understand what you've endured, but if we slow now, then what will the point of all of this be if we all end up dead?"
Kaylun stepped forward, siding with Xerxes. "Elders, heed his words. If we falter, history will repeat itself."
Zoron raised his head in acknowledgement. "The young speak truth, brother. We must do what we sought out to do months ago; we march towards Amento."
Amento.
The name stirred in Xerxes' mind. Was the reason for my instructions to head to Amento all in need of this? The Gem'rafh and Orpheus. If so, what part do they play in my destiny? What does it have to do with the Ezurewrath style? He wondered.
Ishkar sighed heavily. "Amento. We are still placing our hope there. The man known as Ice-Veined had once defended us from Orpheus, but where has he been since then? He has not appeared when we needed him most. I cannot put the lives of our tribe on such frivolous ideals as hope, let alone mankind."
Kaylun's voice hardened. "Does that diminish what this human has done for us? He has put his life on the line for us. He has halted Orpheus in his plans. By the heavens, he has even killed for us!"
It seemed as if that affirmation had silenced the giants, which made their eyes turn to Xerxes, who was wounded, exhausted, but despite all of it, still standing.
"He fought for us when no one else could," Kaylun continued. "If we cannot match that courage, then we have already lost. Our way of combat, Krosha Kar, relies on the three fundamentals of timing, precision, and exertion. And wasn't it you who told me that we apply it to our way of life?"
Kaylun looked around, his voice becoming grim. "And right now, our window of time is closing."
Ishkar was left speechless.
After a pause, Zoron cleared his throat and decided to take command. "Then we act."
He straightened. "Kaylun, take the warriors with you and firstly interrogate the slavers. Learn everything you can."
"Ishkar," he said, turning, "you have a way with our people. Gather them and tell them our situation. Command them to gain as many materials as we can. Also, secure the Moonshard ore."
Finally, Zoron faced Xerxes.
"Young human," he said quietly. "I wish to speak to you."