Thael opened his eyes. A boy stood over him and he rushed to speak, his words distorted past understanding from his pounding senses.

He had died, he was certain. He felt a cool tingling warmth suffuse his body, strange yet welcoming. Every feeling and sense was muddled as if he had just drawn his first breaths. Then it all came back to him. The waterfall. Verena. A race against time to save the prince. His son. Their escape from Dres Lanieth. He had died, yet somehow returned back into the world. He rose, flexing his hands, for he felt a vigor he had not felt in years, decades even.

Arrin and Nireih stared at him in stunned silence.

He looked at the mound of dirt and the hole beside.

“You’re not burying me just yet,” he said.

“Your Shroud,” Nireih remarked.

He glanced down at his Greyed cloak only to see that it was now as dark as when he had first undergone the Wraiths’ ritual, glimmering like a wrynn’s plumage.

The sylvan Wraith drew her twin blades.

“We have company,” she said. “Protect the prince.”

Thael turned to see four figures emerge from a distant thicket. Somehow Ambrose and his Venatorii had survived their fall, the mage’s uniform pale against the verdant meadow.

“Stay near the tree,” Thael ordered Arrin.

“You’ll die if you face all of them in the open.”

“You’ll die if we face them here. Stay here.”

He moved alongside Nireih.

“Stay with the prince,” he told the sylvan. “How many arrows do you have?”

The Wraith nodded, nocking an arrow to her longbow. “Enough.”

“Good. I’ll stall them. Take the first shot.”

He strode out in the open to meet the four mages.

Ambrose opened his arms, a feral grin twisting his face.

“You are a hard man to kill, Kingmaker.”

“Take another step and you will all die,” Thael said.

None halted. Ambrose pointed. “Kill him.”

An arrow sprouted from the cowled head of one Wraith.

“Ignore him and reach the tree!” Ambrose commanded.

The others rushed forward, past Thael. He caught up to one man, lunging with a dagger. The Wraith reeled back, holding out a hand. A blast of wind swirled out to send Thael kicking skyward to land on his backside, hard. He stood, racing after the Wraiths that converged upon the tree. He threw one dagger, knowing he was too far away, too late. Except a howl of wind gusted, carrying the dagger to stab into the back of another Wraith, felling him.

He sprinted to the tree. Under its shade he could see two shadowy figures clashing in a burst of speed. When he reached them, one was still standing, the slender form of the sylvan.

“Lay down your weapons,” Ambrose said. He held a dagger to the prince’s throat. “Or I’ll kill your son.”

Nireih stabbed her swords into the ground. Thael dropped his dagger.

Arrin murmured, “What would Gilda think of you now?”

Ambrose paused, the dagger stilled for an instant. Thael felt something course within himself, power welling and willing to be released. He swiped his hand out, a hissing shimmer of air traveling to slice past into the minister. Ambrose’s head slid and fell off his neck, his body collapsing backwards with a low thump.

Thael took the boy by his remaining arm. “Are you hurt?”

Arrin shook his head, weary beyond his years. “We need to bury this man. He merely wanted others to not have his own fate.”

Thael looked upon Ambrose’s corpse.

“Alright then.”

He gripped his fallen head by his hair, dragging the rest of his body into the open grave. He, Nireih, and the boy shoveled the dirt with their bare hands until it was covered.

“What will you do?” the prince said as they stood looking down at the mound

“It seems there are gods somewhere in this world,” Thael replied. “I know I died here. I won’t squander this life.”

“Are you my father?” the boy asked.

“Yes.”

“My mother?”

Thael drew a slow breath. “Her name was Verena. She was a Wraith, like me.”

Arrin suddenly hobbled forward, Thael catching him.

“You must–” the prince grunted “–go to Umbra. There are things I’d like to know, knowledge you can find there. Can you return once you’ve been Enlightened?”

“I will,” Thael answered. “But what—”

The boy had fallen unconscious. He carried him in his arms over to Nireih.

“What will you do, Eilraz?” she questioned.

Thael donned his hood. “I’ll do what I’ve always done.”

The sylvan nodded. “May you walk a bright path, Thael.” She turned to leave.

He glanced skyward to the branches of the tree, laden with its many lush leaves, sunlight peeking from above. He stood still underneath its soft shade before stepping out into the light.