Chapter 13 – Brighthold

Chapter 13 – Brighthold

Lucien Halvoryn sat in his study, his quill moving across documents without much thought behind it. He knew this was part of his duty, and he knew it was where he could best serve his nation, but concentration refused to come. The words on the page blurred each time his gaze drifted to the window.

Beyond the glass, Brighthold gleamed under the afternoon sun. The rooftops of the merchant quarter caught the light, terracotta and gold, and the scent of apple blossom drifted in from the orchards east of the city walls: faintly sweet, the smell of every spring he had known since childhood. Familiar. Ordinary. The kind of day that made catastrophe impossible to imagine.

He set his quill down.

When the farseers had first issued their warning, he had not taken it seriously. Those who spent their lives staring into the Outside Void were rarely what anyone would call sound of mind, and the world’s defenders had fended off Outside incursions for thousands of years without incident.

The latest reports from the front had been optimistic: the defenders were holding, casualties were within expectations, and the invader showed no signs of possessing the strength to break through.

But the battle had dragged on far longer than anyone predicted. The High Elves had not been seen on the surface in months. Even now, at this very moment, humanity’s strongest were still fighting somewhere above the boughs of the World Tree, and no one could say when they would come down.

Was it really right for him to be sitting here reviewing trade agreements?

Lucien’s fingers tightened slightly on the edge of a parchment.

At level 380, he had once believed himself strong. Strong enough to stand among the defenders of the world. Now that belief felt thin and fragile. Was he truly serving his people by sitting here?

Or… simply hiding behind responsibility?

The thought had barely formed when the world shifted.

A voice filled his mind.

I am sorry, my children.

It was soft, gentle, and filled with a sorrow so deep it seemed to echo through his very bones. The cadence was impossibly beautiful, each word resonating with a clarity that stilled his thoughts.

We will no longer be able to watch over you.

Lucien froze. His breath caught in his throat as the voice continued, each syllable wrapping around his mind like a warm embrace.

I entrust you with the world—

Lucien wanted to listen forever, so beautiful was that voice. But it suddenly cut off.

The silence that followed felt wrong, like a song cut short mid-note. Lucien swayed where he stood, his hand bracing against the desk.

“What… was that?” he whispered. And why did he feel like a child who’d been abandoned?

The answer came a heartbeat later.

Memory.

A temple bathed in golden light. A prayer offered in quiet desperation. A voice that had answered.

The Goddess of Life.

His chest tightened.

“She said… goodbye.”

And she had said we.

A cold realization spread through him, sharp and suffocating.

“No, it can’t be…”

The door to his study slammed open. His wife was already breathless when she crossed the threshold, one hand still on the door frame, her flame-red hair escaping its braid.

“Lucien,” she said, between rapid breaths. “Did you hear it? The voice, just now. Did you hear her?”

Lucien grimly nodded. Outside, voices began to multiply, first one and then many, repeating the same question across different parts of the keep. Boots rang on stone. Somewhere down the corridor, someone was weeping.

Beyond the window, a black rain began to fall.

They struck the glass with ordinary softness, and for a moment that was all they were, simple drops of rain. Then one struck the stone sill, and the stone itself seemed to flinch, the surface darkening where the liquid touched it. Lucien felt the energy radiating off each drop like a hand pressed against a wound. His soul recoiled from the sheer wrongness of it.

Then the screaming began.

His wife was still staring at him, eyes wide, body trembling slightly. He had to be calm for her sake.

“Aurelia,” he commanded her, projecting as much composed authority as he could when his heart was beating a mile a minute, “I need you to gather the women and children and take shelter in the lowest level, by the teleportation gate. Move quickly, but keep them calm. And when I tell you to run, do not hesitate.”

She gracefully inclined her head in acknowledgement. She stood firm and steady now, trying her best to be brave.

Lucien hesitated, then crossed the distance between them in a few quick strides and pulled her into a fierce embrace.

“I love you,” he whispered, burying his face briefly in her hair. It smelled faintly of lavender and sun-warmed silk. Aurelia hugged him back, her grip just as fierce.

“Then come back,” she replied. “Don’t make me raise our children on stories alone.”

She turned and was already issuing commands before she reached the corridor, her voice carrying clear and calm above the rising noise of the keep. He stood and listened until the sound of it faded, then took the Crown of Command from its place on his desk and settled it on his brow.

The voices of his vassals came pouring in. It was time to do his duty.

Lucien stood atop the Sunspire.

The wind tugged at his cloak, carrying with it the sharp tang of ozone and something far fouler beneath it. Above him, the city’s protective barrier shimmered, its golden surface hissing where black droplets struck and dissolved into smoke. But it held, for now.

Below, Brighthold moved in controlled chaos.

“Keep them moving!” a captain shouted from the street.

“Careful, don’t touch the skin directly!”

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Teams of soldiers and volunteers swept through the avenues, lifting the afflicted onto stretchers. Some victims writhed, their flesh darkening where the rain had touched them. Others lay disturbingly still, their breaths shallow and uneven.

From the direction of the temple district, a steady glow pulsed.