As Fennald tends to the girl of his dreams, the wraith, having recovered from being blinded, spots the duo on the ground and makes a beeline for them, ready to kill. But Allastair steps in the monster’s path with his buckler raised, yelling at the top of his voice,

“HEY, YA UGLY BAG OF BONES! I BET YOU CAN’T GET THROUGH ME!”

The crimson ore in his belt blazes brightly, transforming the ordinary shout into something the monster cannot ignore. The wraith screeches, immediately changing course to barrel into the yelling man.

Long sharp claws, like blades of obsidian, send sparks into the air as the wraith clashes against the steel edge of Allastair’s buckler. Allastair feels the tremendous force behind the slash reverberating through his bones, and hears the distinct sound of wood splintering, but before he can prepare his retaliation, a multitude of blows rain down like hail, forcing him to hide his head behind his shield and bide his time.

The opportunity comes. The wraith roars a blood-curdling screech as it raises its arm for a powerful slash. Allastair lunges forward with a mighty shout,

“Kinle Kasinder!”

With a flash of lightning, his sword explodes into a beacon of purple fire. Allastair takes a mighty swing, carving straight through the wraith's left arm. The monster screams and writhes in pain, its flesh and cloak burning from the ethereal flames. Allastair advances with his own flurry of blows, setting ablaze the fabric between the literal and the intangible.

But the wraith is quick; it weaves between the knight’s swings with fluid, nimble movements, and soon, Allastair’s feels his arm grow heavy. His breathing becomes labored, and sweat pools in his eyes. The power inside him drains rapidly, but he pushes on, shrugging off the wraith's one-armed blows as he matches it with his own. He cannot stop now. He’s so close. He has to keep swinging.

With a thud, the tip of his sword digs into the ground.

Time seems to stop. Allastair’s scalp freezes over and his heart drops to his feet. His eyes dart upwards, just in time to watch, in cruel slow motion, as the wraith's black claws rake across his face.

Allastair reels backward, howling as the world reddens. He brings his buckler up, but another slash rends it in half; the wood splintering and flying all over. Allastair forces his eyes to open through the blood, and barely has time to bring his arms up before the wraith surges forward with jaws wide open. They topple to the ground, Allastair twisting his body at the last second so the wraith’s fangs sink into his shoulder instead of his neck.

Pain explodes in Allastair’s mind. He tries to shove the monster off, but it is like pushing away the wind. And for one sickening second, he thinks about dying.

He feels the fire before he sees it.

“Kasphare!”

The world lights up as an explosion of heat blasts over Allastair. The wraith is torn away, its fangs shredding the knight's shoulder into ribbons. Allastair screams, just as another shout blasts through the air.

“Kasphare, dammit!”

Allastair squints through the red mist in his eyes, to see the wraith being launched high into the air, its body trailing with embers. He blinks, and Fennald is by his side, launching fireball after fireball, his dark eyes flashing hot vengeance.

Allastair reaches for his sword and struggles to his feet, biting back the scalding pain.

“Stay down man, I’ve got this,” Fennald tells him, but the mage’s voice is strained. Each fireball he casts is smaller than the last, and the wraith, its cloak singed and smoking, darts frantically around all of them as it slowly, but surely, gains back lost ground.

Fennald changes tactics. “Goddesses be with me.” He grits his teeth, and holds his staff in front of him, pointing his ore directly at the advancing wraith.

“Kaamezi!” he yells, and a magnificent jet of solid fire shoots from the staff, engulfing the wraith. The monster screams as Fennald howls with rage and fury, “Die, you wretched thing! Die!”

With a surge of adrenaline, Allastair stands up straight. Gripping the hilt of his sword tight in both hands he grunts, “Kinle, Kasinder,” and brings the flaming sword over his head. He aims at the writhing shadow in the flames, and then with a mighty roar, hurls his weapon through the air.

The wheel of purple fire spins gracefully in a perfect line, inching closer and closer to the wraith trapped in Fennald’s torrent of fire. But a second before the weapon hits its target, a charred claw springs out from the flames. It catches the sword mid-spin, and then moving too fast for Allastair to see, flings it back through the air.

Thud.

Fennald’s staff clatters onto the grass.

The boy looks down at the sword sticking out of his chest. A flash of bewilderment twists his features, and his mouth opens, then closes. He turns his head to look at Allastair, petrified on the spot, and the corners of his lips turn upwards as if he is seeing something hilarious. He opens his mouth again and tries to say something, or to laugh, but only a soft ah manages to escape from those pale lips.

Then, the boy’s legs give way beneath him. He falls to his knees, then sideways onto the grass, next to his dropped staff.

Fennald lies on the ground, looking at a sideways world. There is no pain, but it is so cold, and the boy finds his eyes becoming increasingly difficult to keep open. He squints, trying to see where Aralyn is lying on the ground over by the trees. Warmth spreads through his chest at remembering how he finally mustered up the courage to kiss her, even if it was only on her forehead. He sighs, relaxing into the soft, warm ground. He needs to check on Aralyn again, to make sure she’s breathing normally, and then get her back to the village.

But he’s just too tired right now. He can’t even move.

Maybe he’ll have a nap first.

Yes, just a short rest.

And then… he’ll go to her.

Allastair stands unmoving on stone legs, sinking deeper and deeper into the damp earth until there is nothing left of him. He does not see anything, cannot feel anything; not the chilling breath of the wraith as its remaining claw descends upon him, nor the pounding pain in his gushing wounds, or even the blood dripping into his eyes like rain. He only stands there, watching the pool of red around Fennald’s body grow ever wider. He does not understand. He does not believe. Until he hears Aralyn’s voice.

“ALLASTAIR!”

The scream, full of panic and grief, slaps the knight across his face. Something inside him snaps. Allastair pushes his arms upwards, shattering his fists against the wraith’s descending claw. The pain is electrifying, welcomed. The wraith pulls back, but Allastair grabs onto its bony wrist.

“Damn! YOU!” he bellows, voice cracking with maddening desperation. “Damn you to the DEPTHS OF HELL!” He rips the crimson ore from his belt.

“KINLE-”

The knight feels the power inside him surging, searing his body, but he clutches the ore tighter, digging his broken fingers harder into the fire.

“-KASINDER!”

The world ignites into a roaring luminosity, but Allastair can only hear the silence, and Aralyn's screams.

"Stop! Oh, dear goddesses, stop!"

He feels the wraith struggling. He pulls, yanking it towards him, into him. He wraps one arm around it, embracing its slippery body with his own burning one. The wraith begins to thrash, but the strength of a man beyond reason overwhelms even the most desecrated of creatures, and together, they burn.

But the wraith will not. With one long, final shriek, the monster leans into Allastair and bites straight through his neck. Allastair does not feel the pain, but his body spazzes as it dies, and his fingers release by themselves. The wraith sends the knight to the ground, and then with its body smoldering and flaking away to dust, flees back into its lair at the foot of the grey cliff.

"N-no." Allastair reaches out as if to go after it, but his body is no longer listening. He tries to summon more willpower, more strength, more anything to give, but his body has nothing left for him to take.

I am dying.

The thought is clear in Allastair's mind this time, and this time, he welcomes it, not because his duties as a knight include such disciplines as accepting death, but because he can no longer feel the need to care. The fire has extinguished from his world, and coldness starts to take him, but it is not a bad feeling. Now, he can get some rest.

Allastair lifts his gaze to the heavens, watching the tiny clouds of steam rise from his body, as they take him into the brightening sky.