Chapter 68 The Memorial and the Confrontation
Narrin’s death didn’t feel real.
Not at first.
It was too sudden, too clean. One moment he was there—steady, brilliant, quietly holding us together—and the next, he was light. Gone. A flash of runes and silence.
I kept expecting him to walk back into camp, muttering about tactical errors and how we’d all ignored his last three contingency plans. I wanted him to scold me. I wanted him to say, “Mo, you’re being reckless again.”
But he didn’t.
And he wouldn’t.
We held the memorial at dawn.
The Rift was quiet, the storm paused, the Vale still. It felt wrong to speak. Even the wind seemed to mourn. Everything seemed to pause as if it were waiting for us to say goodbye.
Talon stood first, his voice rough. “Narrin was the one who saw the whole board. While the rest of us were swinging swords and throwing spells, he was planning ten moves ahead.”
“He was also the only one who could make sarcasm sound like strategy,” Yuel added, carving a second rune beside the first. “I’m going to miss that. And the way he always looked like he was disappointed in me. It was comforting.”
Thess knelt beside the runes, her blade laid across her knees. “He saved Milo. He saved all of us. And I hate that he had to.”
Kael placed a crystal at the base of the memorial. “His magic was old. Older than most of us realized. He didn’t just use runes—he was one.”
Lira planted silverleaf around the site, her hands glowing softly. “He was quiet, but never absent. He listened more than he spoke. And when he did speak, it mattered.”
Zeke didn’t say anything. He just placed a data scroll beside the crystal. “He liked numbers,” he said finally. “So I gave him mine.”
Milo stood last.
He didn’t speak.
He just touched the rune Yuel had carved, and whispered, “Thank you.”
I didn’t cry.
Not because I didn’t want to.
But because my flame wouldn’t let me.
It surged inside me, wild and restless, like it knew something was coming. Like it was preparing for war.
I stood at the edge of the Rift, watching the storm churn in the distance. The Hollow Crown was still out there. Watching. Waiting.
It had taken Narrin.
And it wasn’t done.
“I’m going,” I said.
The Watch turned to me.
“Going where?” Talon asked, though I think he already knew.
“To the Hollow Crown,” I said. “To end this.”
Thess stood. “Then we’re going with you.”
“No,” I said. “This is mine.”
Kael frowned. “You’re not facing a corrupted monarch. You’re facing prophecy itself.”
“I know,” I said. “And I’m the one who rewrote it.”
Yuel crossed his arms. “You’re not doing this alone.”
“I have to,” I said. “Narrin gave me a choice. I’m choosing to finish this.”
Milo stepped forward. “Then I’m coming too.”
I looked at him. “You’re still recovering.”
“So are you,” he said. “But we’re stronger together.”
I didn’t argue.
Because he was right.
We left at dusk.
The Vale shimmered behind us, quiet and grieving. The Rift pulsed once, like it was saying goodbye.
The path to the Hollow Crown wasn’t a road. It was a memory. A thread of possibility woven through time. We walked through echoes—moments that never happened, futures that never were.
In one, I saw myself crowned in flame, ruling Aeloria with fire and fury.
In another, I saw Milo alone, his shadow consuming the stars.
In a third, I saw Narrin alive, smiling, whole.
I almost stopped.
But Milo took my hand.
And we kept walking.
The Hollow Crown waited at the edge of reality.
It wasn’t a throne.
It wasn’t a person.
It was a shape made of silence. A crown forged from denied futures. A voice that spoke in prophecy and pain.
“You come to end me,” it said.
“I come to choose,” I replied.
“You already chose. You attempted to seal the Vale. You silenced the echoes. You gave me space.”
“I made a mistake,” I said. “But I’m rewriting again.”
“You cannot rewrite what was never written.”
“I can,” I said. “Because I’m not alone. Narrin didn’t have to die for this.”
“The one that died chose to protect you. You decided to fight. This is the price. Every action has a consequence, and this was yours for choosing to go against me.”
Milo stepped beside me, shadow flaring.
My flame surged.
And together, we spoke the words.
“Let silence break. Let choice remain.”
The Hollow Crown screamed.
Then laughed. “Did you really think that would work. Let choice remain,” the entity laughed loud and long.
The entity flared, trying to consume us—our flame, our shadow, our memories. Our flameborn power surged. But so did the entity's power; it surged stronger than.
But we held. We struggled, but we held.
Narrin’s runes flared around us, one last time.
And the Crown cracked.
Light poured from the fracture.
But the storm held. Though less than before.
We returned to the Vale at dawn.
The Watch was tired and exhausted.
Talon nodded. “Is it done?”
“It’s hurt but not finished,” I said.
Yuel raised an eyebrow. “So we’re still cursed?”
“No, down but not out,” I said.
Thess smiled. “Good. I was worried that the existential dread had taken us over.”
Kael muttered, “You say that like it’s not your natural state.”
Lira hugged me. “You did it.”
Zeke scanned the Rift. “It’s stable. For now.”
“That is the best that we can hope for at the moment. I saw Narrin; it was brief, but I saw him. He smiled and nodded when we all joined together.”
“I thought I saw him as well,” Thess said.
Milo took my hand.
And I looked at the sky.
Narrin was gone. I wonder if the surge of power that we felt was Narrin adding to it. It was hard to think that Narrin was never coming back.
But his light remained.