Liliana moved on through the house, her eyes fixed forward. She didn't look back, didn't meet his eyes, and in that silence, a wall grew between them. Kale followed, his steps heavy, each movement mechanical, as if he were watching himself from afar, barely in control of his own limbs.

As he trudged through the blood-stained halls, his thoughts spun in a whirlpool of doubt. He thought of the temple, of Alistair's blind ambition and Malric's cruelty. Men like them—corrupted, bloodthirsty, willing to sacrifice anything and anyone for power—deserved no mercy. And House Bloodthorn had harbored them, maybe even bred men like them. But was that true of everyone here? Was every member of House Bloodthorn guilty by association, steeped in malice, tainted by cruelty? His mind drifted to the terrified faces they'd passed, to the small, crumpled figure left behind in the hallway.

Surely the children didn't deserve to die like this. Innocent, unarmed, robbed of any chance to be different. And yet… maybe it was mercy. A small, bitter part of him whispered that the horrors they'd face if left to live—anger, revenge, the bitterness of knowing what had been taken from them—might have been even crueler. Maybe they were saving those children from a lifetime of suffering.

But the thought settled uneasily, like a stone in his stomach. Was that worth the price of gaining the Scarlet Veil's might? Did they truly need this alliance, enough to pay in blood like this? The lord's forces were formidable, an army of ruthless efficiency and unflinching resolve—but at what cost? Could they truly not afford even the slightest chance for mercy?

Probably not, he thought grimly, but the answer was hollow, laced with dread. The stakes were higher than anything he could remember, and Xeroth was unrelenting. If they hesitated, if they spared the wrong person, that kindness could return as a blade in their backs.

Yet, the questions remained, gnawing at him with every step forward. What would be left of him after this? After swallowing down every protest, every impulse that still wanted to cling to compassion? He pushed on, but with each step, the hollow ache grew deeper, the weight of his doubts heavier, as though every life they'd taken left an invisible mark on his soul.

They pressed deeper into the heart of the manor, the once-grand hallways now littered with the remnants of a house that had dared cross the Scarlet Veil. The Keepers advanced with a relentless, calculated precision, every door they breached revealing more carnage: the fallen remains of House Bloodthorn, their lives extinguished without hesitation.

Kale's mind drifted, the mechanical movements of his body propelling him forward even as his thoughts twisted through the memories of the day. He could feel each step echo in his bones, each corner turned leaving another dark imprint on his mind. Behind him, the silent procession of Keepers continued, their presence a harsh reminder of the cost of the Scarlet Veil's support.

They reached the final hallway, the doors leading to the last of Bloodthorn's inner sanctum, a place that had once housed secrets, power, and life. Now, it stood as a tomb, the last fragment of a fading legacy teetering on the brink of oblivion. Liliana paused for a moment, and turned slightly, looking back at Kale—though she didn't meet his eyes. Her face remained an enigma, hardened by icy resolve, betraying nothing of the storm that might have churned beneath.

Without a word, she turned back to the door and pushed it open.

Inside, a few figures remained, standing at the ready, though the look in their eyes betrayed the truth—they knew it was over.

Liliana advanced, blood tendrils coiling around her like serpents. She moved with the inevitability of a setting sun, each movement a promise that the end had already been written, her presence a blade drawn to cut through the last vestiges of resistance.

Kale trailed behind, his blade going through the motions, each strike an ember of resolve dimmed by the toll of the day. His movements lacked the fire they once carried, every swing an echo of his struggle, every step a reminder of the growing weight that clung to him like a shroud. Together, they pressed onward, two forces bound by necessity yet divided by the burdens they bore.

He told himself this had to be done, that they were erasing a threat, securing their alliance, protecting Nyridia. But with each life taken, the questions only grew louder, and the silence in his mind more deafening.

At last, only one figure remained in the vast, emptied hall—the Lady of House Bloodthorn. She stood alone, surrounded by the fallen, but there was no fear in her eyes. She held herself with a quiet grace, dignified even in defeat, her chin raised.

Liliana approached her, slow and deliberate. She stopped just a breath away. "Any last words?"

The Lady of Bloodthorn's lips curved in a faint, bitter smile. "I will be seeing you in hell," she said, her tone steady, defiant even in the face of death.

Liliana gave a slight nod, almost a mark of respect. "I don't doubt it."

The Lady of Bloodthorn didn't flinch as Liliana invoked Thirst of the Damned, her power reaching out like a dark tide. Slowly, the Lady's skin paled as the blood began to seep from her eyes, her mouth, and finally from her ears, each crimson stream pulled into Liliana. The life drained from her in slow, agonizing waves, her body growing limp until she collapsed, empty and still.

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Liliana watched, unmoved, then murmured softly: "May it strengthen us both."

The last breath of House Bloodthorn faded into the blood-stained air. Everything it had been—every hope, every promise, every laugh, every tear—was reduced to ash, scattered across the blood-soaked stone. House Bloodthorn was no more, erased from history, its name condemned to be spoken only in whispers and warnings. Corpses lay strewn like broken relics, left to rot in the desolate halls that had once held its legacy—a silent testament to a single, unforgiving truth:

This is the cost of your ambition. This is what happens when you cross the Scarlet Veil.

With House Bloodthorn reduced to silence, the trio and the remaining Keepers made their way out of the manor. The late morning sun was high now, casting a harsh light over the blood-streaked stones of the courtyard and illuminating the carnage they left in their wake.

Kale walked with the others, but the horror of the morning's events lingered around him, pressing down on him, each memory fresh, vivid. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the small, crumpled form of the child. He could still see those wide, terrified eyes, the faint whisper of "thank you" that had echoed just before hope was torn away. The image replayed in his mind, and each stride felt heavy. He could feel the last shreds of his resolve slipping, each step dragging him deeper into the silence that tore at his mind.

They reached the edge of the Bloodthorn grounds, where the scarlet and white-clad soldiers of the Scarlet Veil waited, their eyes fixed on Liliana. Her face was impassive, every trace of emotion hidden behind a mask of control. She nodded once, dismissing the soldiers, their formation parting as they began to retreat from the estate, their task complete.

Rika clapped Kale on the shoulder, her face lit with satisfaction, her warhammer slung over her shoulder as if it were no more than a weightless tool. "That," she said with a grin, "is how you send a message."

Kale forced himself to nod, but it felt muted. Words seemed empty, lost against the horror of what he'd seen. His thoughts drifted back to the manor—a broken shell now behind them—and he couldn't shake the thought that something vital had been lost with that child, something he might never find again.

Liliana looked his way and hesitated, just for a moment, as if she sensed the fracture within him, something raw and wounded that he could barely keep hidden. For a brief, fragile instant, her cold exterior cracked, a glimmer of understanding—of regret—flickering across her face.

"How can you justify this?" Kale murmured.

She looked away. "This is how it is," she replied, voice steady but softer than she'd meant it to be. "This is how my people survive. House Bloodthorn knew the cost of crossing us, and they chose to ignore it. You either win, or you die. Those are the rules."

But her words hung hollow, as if she, too, wrestled with them. She felt his kindness, his goodness—a quiet light in a world that seemed determined to snuff it out. And for a fleeting moment, she felt something close to regret, not for herself, but for him. Kale—good-hearted, resilient Kale—had been broken again, forced into something he did not deserve. Could she have protected him? Should she have tried?

Her expression hardened once more. "This was necessary. Nyridia needed to see what happens to those who defy us." Her voice held firm, yet there was an edge to it—a trace of doubt, or perhaps pity, lingering just beneath the surface. Not for her actions, but for the quiet ruin she saw settling across his face.

Kale didn't respond. His eyes were fixed on the horizon, as if the distance could somehow soften the image burned into his mind, silence the questions clawing their way through his thoughts.

As they began the journey back to the Bastion of the Scarlet Veil, the streets fell silent, citizens retreating into doorways and side streets, fear and awe stark on their faces. Kale could feel Lifedrinker's weight against his back, the blade's whispers weaving through his thoughts with dark, mocking satisfaction.

"Soft-hearted fool. All that blood, wasted on a weakling's conscience."

Kale forced the voice down, but its presence lingered. And with every step, the memory of the child haunted him, the thank you that would never leave his ears. A chilling certainty settled within him: something inside had shattered, a fracture he feared might never heal.

***

Kale sat alone in the garden of the Bastion of the Scarlet Veil. The quiet was profound, broken only by the rustle of leaves in the night breeze and the distant murmur of the city. He stared at the ground, his mind replaying every vivid, unshakable image from the slaughter. The memory clung to him, refusing to fade, its presence an unrelenting shadow.

Footsteps approached, quiet but unmistakable. Rika sat down beside him, her usual grin absent, her expression softened as she looked at him.

After sitting silently for a moment, Kale broke the silence. "How do you do it?" His voice was hoarse, heavy with things he could barely name. "How can you do these things… and not feel anything?"

She sighed, leaning back as she looked out across the garden. "Not everything has to be fun, Kale. Sometimes the most important things are the ones you least want to do. This had to happen. And believe me, it would've happened with or without us."

Kale's brow furrowed, his eyes never leaving the ground. "And that makes it right?"

"No," she admitted, "but it's the reality. By doing this, we showed the Lord of the Scarlet Veil we can be trusted. We showed him we're strong. And that's the only language that carries weight here. Strength."

Kale looked at her, searching her face for any hint of remorse, any glimmer of regret. But her eyes remained unwavering, resolute.

"Like it or not, the Scarlet Veil is powerful," she continued. "And having them on our side… it might be the edge we need against Xeroth. Think about it—some innocent people died. Some kids, even." She paused, watching him carefully. "But how many more will die if Xeroth is left unchecked? This is the price we pay now, to save lives later."

Her words settled over him like cold water, pulling him under, yet they could not wash away the ache inside him. He knew, on some level, that she was right. That their alliance with the Scarlet Veil was powerful and necessary. But he couldn't ignore the faces that haunted him, the small thank you that still echoed in his mind.

"Maybe," he murmured. "But I wonder how much of myself will be left when all this is over."

Rika was silent, looking at him with a faint glimmer of something softer, perhaps even understanding, before she shrugged and looked away. "Only you can decide that, Kale. Just don't lose sight of why you're here."

And with that, she rose, leaving him alone to wrestle with the balance between what was right and what had to be done.

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