Liliana placed a hand on Kale's shoulder. "Kale?"

He snapped out of his spiral of thoughts and turned to her. "I'm going to kill Xeroth."

She gave him a sympathetic smile. "I know. And you won't be alone. We'll be right there with you."

He shook his head slowly. "I just… don't understand how Ikareia could say this is normal, that this," He gestured toward the broken glass. "is natural, that Xeroth upholds the balance."

"Maybe he did," Liliana said. "Once. For most death is part of living, a natural conclusion. Things wither to make room for new life."

She looked down at the empty street, to the bloated bodies in the cart. "But this isn't that. This is something else."

Kale frowned. "Then what is it?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "But if it ever was balance, I think it's tipped."

She hesitated, then added, "Something must have happened to make it shift. I know it wasn't always like this. And you might not see it yet—maybe you don't want to—but I think… whatever Xeroth is doing, he's responding to something. Something that pushed the world out of line."

Kale's expression didn't change, so she continued, more softly, "She stole from another goddess, Kale. From a primal god. To rise to godhood herself. In the name of what? Peace? Maybe Xeroth didn't choose to destroy the world. Maybe he's doing this to balance her actions."

Kale finally spoke. "Aeloria has helped me since I got here. She's the reason I'm even alive. Why are you making her out to be the bad one?"

"I'm not. I'm saying… to me, it looks like Aeloria has been helping Aeloria the whole time."

She looked away for a moment, then back at him. "Maybe she's not the bad one. Maybe there isn't a bad one. Or maybe everyone's the bad one. I don't know. It's probably not that simple."

She gestured to the city around them. "But we're in the middle of it now. And they've forced us to deal with it."

Her voice dropped slightly. "Just remember… once we defeat Xeroth—which is exactly what Aeloria wants—we still have to deal with what happens after."

Kale didn't answer right away.

Aeloria had saved him. Spoken to him. Guided him. In a world gone to rot, she had been a light—however distant. He wanted to believe in her. In her purpose.

But the word balance kept echoing.

He looked around—at the silence, the broken glass, the bodies. And he thought of Khor'vel. Thought of the bladeweavers he'd killed. Not because they were evil. But because something bigger had used them up and thrown them away.

Liliana's words echoed too. Maybe Xeroth didn't choose to destroy the world. Maybe he's doing this to balance her actions.

It sounded wrong. It felt wrong. But so did this town. And maybe that was the point. Maybe everything was wrong. And he was starting to wonder if Aeloria had known that all along.

He'd been feeling like a pawn since the start. Tossed from one calamity to the next, pointed like a weapon at things he barely understood. Aeloria had always been there, whispering, nudging, pushing him forward. Helping him, yes… but toward what?

What if she was the reason everything was wrong?

What if all of this—Xeroth, the rot, the war—was her fault?

Maybe she hadn't been guiding him. Maybe she'd been using him.

And if they defeated Xeroth—if they actually pulled it off—then what? What would a world look like where nothing died? Where nothing ended?

He couldn't imagine it.

And he had no idea what Aeloria would do once Xeroth was gone.

That scared him more than he wanted to admit.

Kale exhaled slowly. "We'll deal with it."

Liliana looked at him, clearly she noticed his inner conflict. She knew him better than anyone.

"Whatever happens after," he said. "We'll deal with it. Like we always do."

He tried to sound certain. Tried to feel certain.

"It can't be worse than what's happening now."

"Can't it?" Namara asked.

Everyone turned to her.

She gave a little shrug. "What? I'm just saying, things could definitely be worse. I feel like at this point, it's statistically irresponsible not to acknowledge that."

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Kale looked at her. He had no idea how to respond to that.

Liliana sighed. "I hate to agree with her… but she's right. Things can always get worse."

She glanced around. "I'm not sure how, but I'm sure they can."

"We'll deal with it," Kale said firmly. "Whatever comes next."

He turned to the others. "Let's move. I want to get out of this place."

***

They kept to the main street.

More bodies now. Some slumped against buildings, others half-collapsed in the gutter. One twitched weakly as they passed, dragging itself an inch forward before Sadek ended it with a sharp, quiet thrust. No one said anything.

Kale was starting to hate how normal it was becoming.

Ahead, two figures caught Rika's eye. She slowed, then stopped.

They were pressed against the outer wall of what had once been a bakery. A man and a woman. Arms wrapped around each other, their faces twisted with fear. His body shielded hers. Her hands were clenched in his shirt.

In front of them, a third corpse lay sprawled across the road—its hand still wrapped around the woman's ankle.

Liliana stepped closer. "They were trying to get away."

Kale looked at the bodies. The way they clung to each other. The black smear leading from the third corpse to where it had fallen.

"Didn't make it," he said.

No one replied.

They kept walking.

More bodies. Some curled near doorways, others half-slumped across cobblestones. A few had dragged themselves partway down the street, leaving thick, black streaks behind them. The group didn't speak much anymore—just moved quietly from one patch of death to the next. When one of the corpses stirred, they dealt with it swiftly. Cleanly. Without comment.

Kale didn't know if mercy felt like mercy when the world was already this far gone.

An open door stood ahead, barely hanging on its hinges. The frame was splintered, like someone had tried to slam it shut and failed.

He stepped closer and looked inside.

A small figure lay just beyond the threshold. Still. The body was turned toward the wall, knees pulled in, like they'd tried to hide. One arm stretched out behind them.

Clutched in their hand was a wooden toy. A painted horse, faded from wear. One wheel missing.

Kale crouched down, resting one hand on the frame. The room behind the child was empty—no furniture, no other bodies. Just that little splash of color in the dirt and dust.

He didn't move for a while. Just watched the toy, watched the hand that held it.

No one was spared.

Not the guards. Not the sick. Not the families who waited it out behind marked doors. Not even the ones too small to understand what was happening.

He exhaled, slow and tired, then rose without a word and walked on.

***

They reached the town square. It was larger than expected, an open cobbled space surrounded by shuttered shops and a dry fountain. Corpses were scattered everywhere. Some looked like they'd dropped mid-step. Others were curled beside empty stalls, as if trying to hide. A few had made it to the fountain's edge before collapsing. There were no signs of violence. No broken glass. No burn marks. Just death.

And in the center of it all was a circle.

Painted in black, it stretched nearly ten feet across the stones. Old runes lined the edges—some arcane, some unfamiliar. From its center, the same black substance they'd seen in the corpses had spread outward in jagged veins, soaking into the stone, branching like frost across a window.

Liliana stopped just shy of it. "Looks like this is where it started."

Namara stepped closer, arms folded. "Why didn't they break it?"

Liliana's voice was quiet. "Maybe they couldn't."

Namara frowned, then dragged her foot across one of the painted symbols. Nothing happened. The rune didn't smear. Didn't fade. It didn't even scuff. Her brow creased.

"Hmmm."

"They probably tried that," Liliana said. "If they even knew what it was."

Namara looked up at her. "Can't you dispel it?"

"I was about to ask you the same."

Namara gave the circle another glance, then shook her head. "I don't think you need magic to undo this. Not anymore. If this had been active, I'd feel it pulsing. There's no feedback. No resistance."

She gestured toward the spreading black veins. "Whatever this was, I think it was single-use. Like a bomb. They triggered it… and that was it."

Liliana knelt beside one of the branching tendrils, her expression drawn. "You can still feel the residue."

"Yes." Namara nodded. "But it's not doing anything. Not anymore."

"Then what did?" Kale asked.

Namara straightened. "The infected, probably. This just started it. Whatever spell this was—it didn't have to finish the job. The people inside did that."

Silence again.

Rika put a hand on her hip, gaze sweeping the circle and the bodies around it. "So they were doomed the second this was cast."

"No." Liliana's tone was flat. "They were doomed the second someone decided it should be cast."

No one answered that.

Namara tilted her head at the circle. "You know what?"

She stepped back. "I don't like it. I don't like the way it just sits there. Quiet. Waiting. Someone else comes along, decides to study it, try to copy it. It's better if no one even remembers what it looked like."

She raised both hands, fingers curling. A sudden wind swept across the square, spiraling in from every direction as a ring of spectral figures erupted around her. Shrieking souls. Echoes of the dead, pulled screaming from wherever she kept them.

The circle howled apart.

Stone cracked. The cobbled square buckled. The fountain exploded in a burst of shattered granite. Every painted rune was torn from the earth, ripped into fragments that flew skyward before disintegrating into smoke.

When the wind died, there was only silence again. A ruin where the circle had been. A crater ringed with debris.

Namara lowered her hands.

"Just in case," she said. "I think it's better no one gets any ideas."

The others stared at her.

Yajub gave a slow, approving nod. "Namara intelligent woman."

Kale looked over the shattered square, the broken stones, the bodies still slumped along the walls.

"So we found the source," he said quietly. "We know what happened here."

No one replied.

A breeze moved through the ruins, light but sour, stirring bits of ash and dust.

"There's nothing more we can do for these people," he went on. "No one left to help. No fight left to win. Just… ghosts."

He turned to the others. "Let's get to Eldruin. As fast as we can. And pray Xeroth hasn't gotten there first."

Liliana gave a short nod. "If the rot's already reached that far—"

"Then we stop it there," Kale said. His voice wasn't loud. Just steady. "We don't let this happen again."

"Fine by me," Rika said. "This place gives me the creeps."

Sadek glanced back once at the ruins, then turned to follow.

Namara lingered a moment longer, gazing into the crater she'd carved into the center of the square. Then she gave a satisfied little nod. "Alright. I'm done being heroic for the day. Someone else carry the moral weight next time."

No one laughed.

But they left together. Quietly. No more words to say.

Their harriers rose from the square one by one, wings beating the still air, claws scratching against stone as they took flight. The city of Loyrth shrank beneath them—silent, broken, and dead.

No torches in the windows. No movement in the streets. Just rot and ruin and the echo of what once was.

Kale looked back only once.

Then they flew toward Eldruin.

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