Summer should not be ending, yet the oaks are already beginning to yellow.

A chilled wind howls through the Whispering Woods, piercing through Aralyn’s cloak. She wraps her arms tighter around her body, fighting off shivers. She's been walking for hours but it feels like days. She knows the clearing is just up ahead, but not for the first time she thinks about turning back.

Aralyn stops and leans on a nearby tree, waiting for the ache in her chest to ease before continuing through the dense woods. Her ribs have already healed weeks ago, but the pain does not seem to want to leave.

Phantom pain, Doctor Lawheim called it, as if two simple words could explain anything.

Aralyn trips on a root and nearly falls, barely managing to steady herself against a tree. She stares down at the root, hearing Fennald’s words echo inside her head.

Watch the footing...

Cold sunlight blankets the clearing in a veil. Aralyn emerges from the trees unhurt, but it isn’t any physical injury that haunts her.

She smells rain. A storm is approaching.

The clearing is much the same way as Aralyn left it. There’s no fog so even under the faint light, the cave opening in the sheer rockface is clearly visible, yawning a few hundred feet up across the grey stone.

By the foot of the cliff, two tombstones jut out from a patch of fresh grass, their chiseled outlines stark against the natural formations behind them.

Aralyn kneels down in front of the leftmost one.

Reaching out, she brushes away the fallen leaves by the stone. Her fingers are shaking, though she’s so cold she cannot feel them.

“Heya, Fenn.”

A bitter wind brushes at Aralyn’s hair. It’s become too long, she knows, but cutting it requires effort she doesn’t have yet. She takes out a cloth from her basket and wipes clean the slab marking the final resting place of her friend.

They should've stayed in the village. Not Oakroot, but their home of Overlake.

Aralyn knows that the proper thing to do is bring something of Fennald's back to his family. But she cannot make the journey, even if traveling alone means she'll take less time.

Alone.

The word whispers against Aralyn's ears.

Alone.

ALONE.

Aralyn pulls out a bouquet of dewdrop-shaped flowers.

“The locals call these Tears of Sharn,” she tells Fennald’s grave. “I think there was a legend that goes with them, but I can’t remember it.”

Aralyn has never been one for names or legends or anything Fennald was interested in. It was their love of adventuring that drew them together. And it was this love that ultimately doomed them, here in this far corner of the realm.

Aralyn places the flowers onto the grass. She hasn’t been back here since she and the villagers buried Fennald and Allastair, and she sees that the grass has already covered up all the upturned dirt. Other than the stone itself, nothing else hints at what lies beneath Aralyn’s feet.

If only memories can be covered up so quickly.

Aralyn touches the cuts on the rough rock, tracing the letters with her fingers.

Fennald Jouvent of Overlake.

Son, Scholar, Friend.

Aralyn bites down on her lip. It took her an entire day to carve out these simple scratches, and she knows that even if she spends the rest of her life here cutting Fennald’s life into this rock, she will never scratch the surface of who he was.

Aralyn kisses the tips of her fingers and brings them to Fennald’s tombstone. "One day, I will join you here. Wait for me."

She stands and moves on to the next tombstone. It reads,

Allastair Argonston of Elfendale.

Brother, Companion, Knight.

Aralyn takes out the other bouquet she prepared. She kneels down, grimacing from the prickling pain. Despite Lawheim repeatedly telling her that her wounds have healed, Aralyn knows the pain comes from a place inside her that will never be whole again.

She nudges the flowers against Allastair’s name, covering the letters under sharp petals.

“These are called Windmill flowers, you know, the ones they make wines from.” Aralyn swallows the lump in her throat. “I thought you might… appreciate a good drink, wherever you are.”

The pain is suddenly too much then. Aralyn flings the flowers at the tombstone, smashing apart buds and stems. She lashes out, screaming as her knuckles crack against the rock. It's too much. Pulsing with her heartbeat, stabbing deeper into her chest with each breath, the pain demands to be felt, demands to be let out.

Blood spills from Aralyn's fists, trickling down the face of the stone onto the grass below. She scowls at the final resting place of Allastair Argonston.

"I thought you said you were going to join the King's Guard," she says. "You were supposed to be a knight, a hero, a great adventurer, maybe even someone’s husband someday."

Aralyn drops her fists. Allastair will become none of that. There is nothing here but grass and broken promises now.

Aralyn plunges her fingers deep into the soil by the tombstone. Even though the grass has covered it, the dirt is still soft. Her torn knuckles burn but Aralyn welcomes the pain. She pulls out a handful of dirt - a handful of him - and presses it to her chest. She breathes in the smell of that which is no longer hers, and closes her eyes so she may see that which is no longer there.

Dark clouds drift over the sky, blocking out the sun. Wind picks up the scent of death, scattering a carpet of crusty leaves across the clearing. The rustle of trees is musical, alive.

“Painful, isn’t it?”

Aralyn shoots up, stifling a cry of pain brought by the abrupt movement.

“Who’s there?”

Shadow looms across the clearing.

Aralyn blinks. Where there was nothing, now a girl is standing bare feet in a circle of yellowed grass, holding a red parasol low over her face.

"Nothing hurts more in this world," says she, "than being forgotten, lost to the march of time.” She’s surrounded by dead leaves and flower petals, which flow around her as if caught in a gentle whirlwind.

She starts to walk, pale legs barely seeming to move as she glides across the grass. She’s wearing a loose sash over her body, which slides over her body like an icy mirage.

Aralyn reminds herself that fear is a sword sharper than steel. “Who are you?” she asks.

The girl keeps coming. Where her toes touch, the grass turns yellow. The trees seem to sway in her wake, shivering off the last of their dying leaves to carpet the ground where she treads.

Aralyn unsheathes the dagger strapped to her thigh. “S-stay where you are. I’m not in the mood for hauntings today. Fennald, Allastair, I swear if this is your spirit coming back from the Third Realm, you’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

The parasol lifts an inch, revealing the heart-shaped face of a child.

“I’m afraid I am not them,” the girl says with a dimpled smile. Her teeth are bone white, her eyes bleeding red. “But that does not mean you may not see them within me.”

Aralyn’s breath catches in her throat. Fear kicks her heart into a flutter. Her muscles tense with the readiness to fight.

“I’m not going to ask you again,” she says, forcing herself to stay routed. “What are you and what do you want from me?”

“My name is Hikari,” says the girl. “But you must call me Kari. Only my sister gets to call me Hikari.”

"Sure," says Aralyn. "What are you doing here, Kari? We're a long way from the village."

Kari ignores her. She keeps walking, brushing past Aralyn to stop in front of Fennald’s grave.

“He was only fifteen, wasn’t he?” Her voice is the soft mew of a child’s, yet there is a coldness that latches onto her words. “Cut down too soon. Such a pity.”

Aralyn never recorded Fennald’s birthday onto his tombstone. Something twists in her stomach as she watches Kari touch a small hand to Fennald's name.

“Death stops for none but those cursed to endure its torment.”

Kari shakes her head sadly, her silver curls swishing across the tops of her shoulders.

"Those who are left. Such as you and I."

Aralyn's nerves are screaming for her to run, to fight, but she does neither. Deep down, she knows that not even Nranhana will save her from this girl, should she wish her harm. She grips onto her dagger and waits.

Kari turns to look at Aralyn. Her eyes are too sad for someone so young.

“You need not blame yourself for your comrades’ demise,” she says. “Life has a way of prying our most precious treasures out of our grasps, no matter how hard we try to hold onto them. It’s not your fault, and it’s not theirs.”

Aralyn can’t help but look away. How many times has she wished to hear those words said to her? How many sleepless nights has she spent blaming and tormenting herself, for not waiting for them to catch up, for not being stronger, faster, smarter…

“You're wrong,” Aralyn says, swallowing the tears before they can come. “I kept charging forward when we should’ve rested, so we weren’t ready when the… the…”

Flashbacks bring pain but no words. Aralyn’s knees buckle under the weight.

“I did this.” She stares at her friends' graves, watching them blur. “I killed them.”

“No.”

Kari steps in front of Aralyn and before she knows to react, the girl's small body envelopes her in a hug.

“It’s not your fault.” Kari's words are soft as they graze Aralyn's ear. “It’s hers.”

Aralyn stiffens. “Who… are you talking about?”

Kari is stroking Aralyn’s head, smoothing down frizzy ends and knotted clumps. “The blue-eyed demon, of course, the one you called Munchkin.”

Memories surface. Gold hair, blue eyes, a laugh so bright the stars pale in comparison.

Aralyn pushes Kari away. “You monster! How dare you speak of her like that!”

Kari returns Aralyn's rage with wide-eyed confusion. “But she was there when you were getting choked. She didn't help because you were nothing to her. She abandoned you in this village so you wouldn’t exact your revenge. If there is a monster, it is she, surely.”

Aralyn flashes her dagger. "Don't lie to me."

Kari giggles at the threat. Her next words drop like rocks.

“She didn’t come out to save you because she was too busy killing someone else. You heard the screams, didn’t you? Did you check what was left inside that cave?”

Aralyn does not answer. She did check. She saw it, the remains of a body with its head crushed against the rocks, and the bloody handprints leading away from it. Handprints that were too small to be made by a man.

But perfect for a girl.

The story made it into the village not long after that. Many even started claiming they saw the gold-haired girl disappearing from the village a half-day after Aralyn and her party set out.

Something hard begins to take shape inside Aralyn’s heart.

“I knew she was different. A God Gier from the legends. But I didn’t think she was capable of… doing those things.”

“Your lives mean nothing to her,” says Kari. “You were all collateral damage for her real goal, which had always been the wraith. In fact, she used you as bait.”

The dagger slips from Aralyn’s fingers, digging blade-first into the grass.

"No. She wouldn't... She isn't..."

"Who she made you think she is," Kari finishes. "But then, how many of us are?"

Aralyn presses the heels of her palms hard against her eyes. The pieces fit too perfectly. Why else would the God Gier have just left if it wasn’t because she had already accomplished her goal?

All you need to know is that I am not here to hurt you, was what she told Aralyn, and Aralyn had believed every word.

"It... no, it doesn't even matter," Aralyn says. "She’s gone. And my friends are dead."

Kari takes a step closer. “Perhaps. But they don’t have to stay that way.”

Aralyn’s heart goes still. She looks at the girl. "What?"

“You can have them back.”

Kari’s words are hypnotic, more alluring than a siren’s song.

“I can give you the power to disregard the laws of this world, power to spit in fate’s eyes and snatch what the void has taken from you.”

Kari walks around Aralyn, embracing her from behind. “Do you want that?" she asks. "Fennald and Allastair and whoever else you love. You can have them all back at your side again.”

Such beautiful words. They worm inside Aralyn's ears and burrow inside her, taking root, making her theirs.

Aralyn is staring at graves, but she's seeing her friends again, their faces smiling and beckoning to her.

The answer seems so simple.

“I do.”

“Then kneel.”

Aralyn gets down on her knees, her body moving on its own. Kari’s touch is feather-light, grazing against the side of Aralyn's neck. Her words come out in a whisper but they hold power beyond any Aralyn has ever known.

“You will never be alone in the darkness. You will be an enemy of fate, an anomaly in the fabric of time. The only price you must pay for this power is to use it. Bring your friends from the depths of oblivion and smite the one who watched them die. Will you do this, Aralyn Windborne of Overlake?”

"I will," says Aralyn, and shudders as a warm wet tongue caresses her skin, above the place where her pulsing lifeline is. Her breathing goes fast. Her heart starts beating too fast. Her voice comes out as a shaky whimper.

"I will. Use this power. To kill her."

Kari’s laugh is like a dark crackle of lightning flashing before a thunderstorm. "Good."

Aralyn gasps as hot steel points of pain explode along her neck. Thunder racks along her spine, plunging her into a hell of freezing ice, then fire, then darkness.

The last thing she hears before the world falls away is Kari’s soft purring in her ear...

“Let me help you then.”

End of Part II