The next thing I knew, I was lying in Illara’s bed.

  The pain was gone, though my body still felt shaky and unreal, like I hadn’t quite settled back into myself yet. I sat up slowly. I was dressed only in my underwear. In the corner of the room, folded neatly, was a pile of clothes that were not mine.

  Sunlight streamed through the window. Despite the cold outside, it felt warm against my face.

  My gaze dropped to my thigh.

  Where the wound had been, there was now only a scar, circular and slightly raised, the pale skin standing out against the rest of my leg. I ran my fingers over it carefully, half-expecting pain.

  There was none.

  Even the touch felt… normal.

  I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood. My muscles protested, heavy with exhaustion, but they held. As I steadied myself, the events of the last days crashed back into me all at once.

  The stalker in the dark.

  Norman falling.

  The desperate run back to Holver.

  Then the pain.

  The physical agony of forcing my ruined leg to carry me farther than it ever should have. And beneath that, the deeper ache, the one that hadn’t been healed at all.

  Norman was gone.

  And it was my fault.

  I sank back onto the bed and buried my face in my hands as the tears came, hot and uncontrollable. I hadn’t cried during the run. I hadn’t cried in the temple. Now there was nothing left to hold them back.

  After a while, I wiped my face and reached for the clothes that had been left for me.

  It was a green dress, well-worn and carefully mended in a dozen places. Someone had put time and care into it. It fit me surprisingly well, and as I pulled it on I realised this was the first dress I had ever worn.

  The thought barely registered.

  I stepped out into the warmth of the living room.

  Ash, Theo, and Illara sat around the table in silence. No one spoke at first. Then Illara looked up and met my eyes.

  “I’m glad to see you doing better,” she said quietly. “I was really worried about you after Dad told me what happened.”

  She stood and crossed the room, wrapping me in a hug.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered into her shoulder.

  She pulled back slightly, her brow furrowing. “Sorry for what?”

  I swallowed.

  “I’m sorry I let my other half take control,” I said. “Norman died because of it.”

  Illara studied my face for a long moment.

  “You couldn’t have known what would happen,” she said gently. “For all we know, the stalker might have killed you instead.”

  “But I didn’t apply what Cain taught us,” I said, my voice rising despite myself. “I should have worked with you. I could have deflected the strike. I could have taken the blow instead.”

  Illara took both my hands in hers, clasping them firmly, forcing me to look at her.

  “But you didn’t,” she said. “And we can’t undo that. We can only learn from it and do better next time.”

  She squeezed my hands.

  “What matters is that you ran yourself nearly to death trying to save a friend. You endured unimaginable pain because you refused to give up on him.” Her voice softened. “That’s not something an evil person does.”

  “But I still failed,” I said, tears spilling over again. “It was all pointless.”

  Illara tightened her grip.

  “It wasn’t pointless to me,” she said.

  She pulled me into another hug, holding me there until my shaking eased.

  “You have nothing to be ashamed of,” she murmured. “And I think you’ve passed my little test.”

  Something loosened in my chest at that. The guilt didn’t vanish, but it eased, just enough to breathe again.

  Even though my choices had ended in failure, Illara had seen the intent behind them.

  This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

  And somehow, that made the attempt matter.

  Illara and I sat down at the table with Theo and Ash, and before long the stories about Norman began to flow.

  Illara spoke first, smiling sadly as she talked about his visits when she was growing up. How he always brought little curiosities with him. How he had been especially fond of Tabatha before she was gone, lingering over the memory with a tenderness that surprised me.

  Theo followed, reminiscing about Norman’s cheeky humour and how he was always ready for a good drink, even when he absolutely shouldn’t have been. The way he told it made Norman feel present again, like he might burst through the door at any moment with some ill-advised idea and a grin to match.

  I retrieved Norman’s notebook from my bag and put it on the table in front of us.

  We gathered around it together.

  The first ten pages were filled with nude, hand-drawn sketches of Tabatha.

  Theo recoiled instantly, face twisting in open disgust.

  We all burst out laughing.

  The tension cracked, just a little, and for the first time since the temple it felt like we could breathe again.

  After that came pages of notes about people Norman had met along the way. Including us.

  Theo read aloud.

  Ash:

  Quiet boy. Still suffering from his past, but I’ve noticed him slowly coming out of his shell.

  Theo:

  Quiet, reserved kid. Always trying to do the right thing.

  Has grown a lot since Ilza’s death. An amazing father to Ash and Illara.

  Illara:

  Naive like Jenna, adventurous like Ilza. She’s going to achieve a great deal in the future.

  Then Theo hesitated slightly before reading the last entry.

  Drisnil:

  Kind and caring most of the time, but capable of great cruelty and calculation on occasion.

  Almost like she is two people.

  The words settled heavily in the room.

  They were uncomfortably accurate.

  None of us spoke for a moment.

  Near the back of the notebook was a page that looked different from the rest. Written more carefully. More deliberately.

  A will.

  In the event of my death, I leave everything to Cain, Tabatha, Cain, Illara.

  The names were crossed out and rewritten in places. It seemed Norman had changed his mind more than once over the years, until finally Illara’s name stood alone at the end.

  At the bottom of the page, in smaller writing, was a final note.

  Please look after my apprentice, Faie. She may have my spellbook and potions.

  Illara looked up from the page, eyes wide.

  “When do you think this was written?”

  “No idea,” Theo said quietly. “Could have been recent. Could have been years ago.”

  “Who’s Faie?” I asked.

  Everyone looked at me.

  Blank stares all around.

  “I… guess we’ll find out,” I said after a moment. “Hopefully she turns up at the tower while we’re there.”

  Illara closed the notebook gently, as if afraid of damaging something fragile.

  “I think it’s time for dinner,” she said. “I’ll make it tonight. I need something to do. Something to keep my mind off things.”

  No one argued.

  And as she stood and moved toward the hearth, I realised that grief, for all its weight, also came with responsibility.

  Norman was gone.

  But the ripples he left behind were only just beginning.

  Illara set about making a simple dinner over the hearth, adding meat and vegetables to the pot until the beginnings of a stew simmered gently. I sat nearby and watched her work. She moved quietly, methodical and focused, stirring the pot now and then as it bubbled softly over the fire.

  Time slipped past without my noticing it.

  Eventually, she served four bowls of lamb stew, thick with chunks of carrot and potato. We gathered around the table and began to eat. The only sound was the quiet clink of cutlery against bowls.

  Ash finished quickly, as he always did. Illara ate more slowly than usual, pausing often, staring at her spoon as if she had forgotten what she was doing. Theo was slow as well, his gaze distant. Unlike other evenings in this house, no one spoke.

  When the meal was done, I helped Illara clean up. We washed the bowls and spoons together, dried them, and put them away in silence.

  After that, we went to bed.

  We lay in the dark, Illara pressed close against me, her warmth familiar and grounding. She held me as she always did, and for a while I focused only on the rise and fall of her breathing.

  Then the guilt came back.

  It rose slowly, heavy and unrelenting, and before I could stop it, tears slipped free. I tried to keep quiet, but Illara felt it immediately. She shifted and rubbed my shoulder in small, steady motions.

  “Geoff,” she murmured, half-awake but certain. “I’m proud of what you did today. You know that, don’t you?”

  I didn’t. Not really.

  “But I failed,” I whispered. The words felt worn thin, but they were all I had.

  “You didn’t fail me,” she said gently. “You got me home safely.”

  “But I left most of your belongings behind.”

  Illara shifted, then reached back and tugged gently at my shoulder until I rolled onto my side to face her. I could feel her looking at me even without seeing her eyes.

  “Belongings can be replaced,” she said. “What matters is that you chose to sacrifice yourself for someone else. You gave your body, your safety, for another person. To me, that’s the most meaningful thing you’ve ever done.”

  Her hand found mine and squeezed it.

  “You need to forgive yourself,” she said softly. “Please. Do it for me.”

  I wiped at my eyes, breathing unsteadily.

  “Alright,” I said. “I’ll try.”

  She rolled over then and tugged my arm around her, settling back against my chest.

  “Good,” she murmured. “Now it’s your turn to hold me.”

  I did.

  As her body relaxed and sleep slowly claimed her, I lay awake a while longer, listening to the quiet of the house.

  I let myself grieve Norman’s loss.

  But I decided, in that stillness, that I would not let it define me.

  I would remember him.

  I would learn from what I had done.

  And I would try, truly try, to forgive myself.