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Olberic Eisenberg has been dead for eight long, long years.

At least, that was what Cyrus had read. It had been a nice summer’s afternoon a few years ago. Odette had sent him a tome from Quarrycrest on the fallen knights of Hornburg as a surprise present. His old colleague was acutely aware of his fascination with the destroyed kingdom. Cyrus remembered he had forgotten to send her a thank you letter for that book, even though he had loved the present very much. It was an old shame he had pushed to the back of his mind for so long now.

Looking at the man on the other side of the street reminded him of it.

Tanned skin, black hair, eyes so dark it was almost hard to make out the pupils. He had seen this man in that tome. A drawing of him, at least, one done in beautiful paint. He remembered how impressed he had been by the illustration when he had first seen it. The hues and coloring had been gorgeous, not to mention the eyes. Cyrus did not know if it had perhaps been the artist’s creative vision and imagination or reality itself, but it was almost like there was a flame in there. He had found it absolutely fascinating.

The problem was that that painting had been of The Unbending Blade of Hornburg, one of those fallen knights the tome had been about.

Cyrus glanced at the other man again, to see if this had not been a figment of his overactive imagination. But, no, he was still there, looking around a bit skittishly. For a man of his size and standing, the sight almost looked wrong.

He was curious now. Too curious for him to ignore the feeling in his chest.

“Hello there, good sir,” was what he said as he approached the stranger. The man looked up, definitely confused. “How are you faring today?”

The man was silent for a while before he responded. “I am fine, thank you for asking. How do you fare?”

“Fine as well, indeed,” he nodded, before cutting to the matter of the case. “I approach you as I must ask you something. Are you perchance Olberic Eisenberg?”

The stranger’s eyes widened, just enough for Cyrus to confirm that there at least was a connection between these two men. “He…he is a distant family member, aye, and we do share a surname. My name is Berg.”

“Berg…Eisenberg?” The name was a little ridiculous in Cyrus’ personal opinion, but he was not about to voice this thought to a person he just met. “A pleasure to meet you then, Berg. My apologies for my sudden approach, I saw an uncanny similarity and just had to investigate it! You looked out of place, so to say.”

A murmur, one whose message Cyrus did not catch. “I hear that more often, so you are forgiven. But, if you can excuse me, I must go rescue a lad.”

“Ah, of course, of cou-“ It took just a second longer for Cyrus’ mind to catch up with what Berg had said than he would have liked. So much so he had actually given his approval.

The man was already walking away. He knew what Cyrus was thinking.

“ Excuse me , sir, but what did you just say about a child needing rescuing?” he almost yelled, practically running after Berg. Gods, why was this man so fast ? “Have you contacted the proper authorities already?”

“ I am the proper authorities, in this case at least,” the man shook his head. “So, aye, if this worries you.”

The statement confused Cyrus slightly, until he remembered his talk with the barkeep in the tavern. Cobbleston was a village with a tendency to get itself involved in petty bandit raids. There was most likely some patrol set up around these parts…

Berg did strike him as the type of man to be a part of that.

“May I perhaps be of help then?” he offered, not truly understanding his reason as to why he had spoken those words. Berg intrigued him, more he could not say. “I am a scholar. I could perhaps assist you.”

The man looked at him scrutinizing, as if trying to weigh his options. “Are you sure? There are many bandits ahead. It could be dangerous.”

So he was correct . “I am sure! If I can help, I shall do my best.”

A nod. “Then follow me, scholar.”

The cave system the bandits were hiding in was utmost fascinating. 

The thing was large, spacious even. Cyrus’ footsteps echoed as he walked over the mossy stones that paved the way through the caves. Berg insisted that Cyrus held a decent amount of distance from him as to spread them both out, but it just looked like they were trying to walk in a straight line like a kindergarten class. A bit awkward, but Cyrus could not care less at the moment.

There were far more interesting things here!

“Berg, I did want to ask you something actually,” he began, making sure to be a bit silent. Cyrus was not a great enough fool to ignore their original mission. “Are you perhaps aware of a gravesite in these caves?”

Cyrus could not see his face, but he was quite sure Berg was frowning. “I… am not. Why do you ask?”

“Well, you see, this cave seems to fit the description of the cave where the supposed grave of Beowulf-“

“ Stop that! ”

Both him and Berg perked up from the sudden cry. Cyrus did not recognize the young voice, but from the way the other man’s body seemed to freeze, he was quite sure that Olberic did.

And from the way he ran in the direction of the voice, that suspicion was all but confirmed.

(Why was this man so fast?! )

Indeed, the cry for help led them to a bigger, and decidedly more populated, area of the cave. From the attack he and Berg had faced at the entrance, Cyrus recognized the similar outfits these bandits were wearing. The only one who wore something distinguishing was a man with some kind of horned helmet. The look on his face was ferocious.

Cyrus was sure of it, that was their leader.

The lad who had been yelling was now standing trembling behind Berg. It was just a boy, to Cyrus’ partial surprise. He could barely be more than ten years of age…

“Oh, so this is the brave Sir Berg the kid was speaking of?” the man Cyrus had presumed to be their leader spoke. “I must say, you exceed my expectations. You actually passed by the lookouts, although you had some help. I suppose you deserve some kind of congratulations for that.”

A scoff. “Do not busy yourself with flattery. You know what I want.”

“The boy? Or for us to leave that village of yours alone?” the man laughed, which signaled his lackeys to join him in that horrific sound. “You know not a soul would listen to such a stupid command.”

“If listening does not work, I do not fear to use stronger force.” Perhaps it was just Cyrus’ imagination, but Berg’s eyes seemed to… flare up? He could swear he saw that black change into a mix of orange and yellow hues. “Make your choice.”

“Aha! Now that is some talk I can respect.” There was a grin on the man’s face that went from ear to ear as he unsheathed his sword. It was a typical one-handed blade, nothing really special about it. “What about-“

“ Where did you get that sword? ”

Cyrus was almost surprised by the amount of force hidden behind the simple question Berg asked. Even the lad behind him seemed more scared than before.

“Ah, it was a gift from an old friend, actually.” The man raised an eyebrow, but there was a certain amusement in the statement. “Why do you ask?”

“How- Why did he give that to you of all people?!”

A laugh. “If you want answers, Hedge Knight, you will have to beat them out of me!”

The man lunged, and the cave exploded into a cacophony of clashing metal.

The fight was so quick Cyrus could barely follow Berg’s movements. It was clear that his spells would be of no help if things proceeded like this, for he could barely aim here without risking Berg’s health. The boy had at least enough sense to take off and hide as soon as blades were drawn, leaving Cyrus without a true purpose for the moment.

Then, observation it was.

It was not like the bandits made just standing around that difficult. It seems as if he had gone all but unnoticed except for that leader’s offhand comment about Berg receiving help. Even the lackeys were focussing their efforts on trying to disarm Berg and Berg alone. 

That should perhaps worry Cyrus, if it were not for the fact that Berg seemed quite fine with this.

The man’s skill with that sword was uncanny. Was the entire Eisenberg family just that adept with the blade? That was the only explanation he could think of. But, the fact remained that the man was holding his own while being attacked by three people simultaneously… 

-!

“He is weak to spears!”

The words came out of Cyrus’ mouth before he could think about them twice, but Berg seemed to understand his message. The man traded his sword for a spear in a matter of seconds, skewering the leader’s right shoulder with ease.

The groan that man let out was one that Cyrus would not forget for a long, long time.

The lackeys immediately got cold feet after their leader fell to the ground with a loud Thud! It took perhaps a minute before the only people in the cave were Berg, him, the leader, and the young lad still hiding behind that rock.

“T-they are smart fellows, you see?” the man laughed, although the sound was without mirth. “Well then, you beat me. Ask what you want to. I swear to be honest.”

Berg did not even hesitate before beginning to talk. “What is your name?”

“Ah, Gaston. Just Gaston, surnames are not really necessary in this profession of mine.”

“Very well then, Gaston,” Berg moved his spear to be resting right above where Cyrus thought to be Gaston’s heart. “What is your connection to him? Why did he give you that sword?”

“Erhardt, you mean?” the man raised an eyebrow. “You are really damn curious about him, huh? I suppose I understand, after what he did to you.”

What he did to you?

Erhardt?

Cyrus had to admit he was confused now. It was as if he was missing one piece of information that would make this conversation make sense, one puzzle piece which he needed to decipher this. The name sounded familiar at least…

Berg shoved the spear closer to Gaston’s flesh, almost risking piercing the man. “That is none of your business, and how do you even know-“

A laugh. “It is, sadly, because you now got my curiosity up as well, Hedge Knight. Why did good old Erhardt do such a thing to a poor man? It is kind of cruel, really. It is out of character for even him. He is more of a mercy kill kind of guy.”

“Cruel, indeed, and at the moment you can help me solve that,” Berg sneered . “Where is he?”

“I don’t know, personally. It has been a few years since I saw him.” Before Berg had the chance to react to that, Gaston continued: “I do have a guy who might know. Gustav, The Black Knight of Victors Hollow. You will know him when you see him.”

Berg seemed to hesitate before lowering his spear, but he did. “Thank you. That information is-“

Lowering the spear was a mistake.

In that brief moment of slight trust, Gaston seized the end of the spear, thrusting it into Berg. Even though it was the blunt end of the weapon, the wood seamlessly passed through him.

Cyrus was prepared for a sickening crunch of broken bones, for blood. His feet were already facing towards the exit of the cave, ready to find the first apothecary willing to help.

None of those things happened.

There was no blood, no crunch. Berg’s body seemed to allow the spear to pass through. There was only an annoyed expression on the face of the man in question.

“He really did it, huh?” Gaston said, seemingly unbothered by the sight before him. “Good old Erhardt managed to-“

Gaston never managed to finish that sentence. Berg took the spear from his chest from Gaston’s hands, hitting the blunt part of the weapon against the side of the other man's head. Gaston was out cold in an instant.

Cyrus did not dare stir. Berg did not make any movement to attack him, which was a slight relief, but it did not take his fear away.

Nor did it take away the fact that his head was spinning as he tried to fathom a logical reason as to what just happened here.

“You wish for an explanation, right?” Berg spoke, averting his gaze from Gaston’s unconscious body ever so slightly. 

A mirthless chuckle. “Now what would have made you think that? That spear just went through your body, and you are unharmed! ”

“That would… look strange, indeed.” Cyrus almost wanted to laugh at Berg’s tone. It seemed like the man had actually not realized this before. “The explanation is a convoluted one,  however. I ask for both your patience and for you not to tell anyone. These are secrets I would rather keep.”

“Then you may have it, as I must know what it is that happened here.”

A sigh, if it was of relief Cyrus did not know. “Phillip, could you perhaps tell the Headman that the situation is handled? Give your mother my regards.”

The lad, apparently named Philip, nodded, almost sprinting out of the cave. The boy truly deserved it for Cyrus knew he would have done the same in his position. Only when the sound of Philip’s footsteps died did Berg speak.

“Firstly, I must excuse myself. I have lied to you. My name is indeed Olberic.” 

That… was not entirely unexpected. Cyrus had started a conversation solely based on the fact that this Be- Olberic looked like the man in his tomes. 

The eyes should have told him it. That fire, had it not appeared today?

“Ah, so that declaration of your death was false?” A new source of information on Hornburg could turn study into the kingdom upside down in its entirety! Frankly, it took Cyrus a little bit of effort to not-

“That is the second thing, it was not.”

That stopped his excitement quite quickly. Cyrus frowned, what did Olberic just say?

“My apologies, but you do not look like a dead man, nor do you fight like one,” he retorted. Was this man jesting ? If so, he did not think that the joke was very funny.

“Do you then have a clear idea then, about how a dead man is supposed to look or fight?”

Cyrus… did not.

Olberic continued: “To put it simply, I am what you would call a ghost.”

A ghost…

Well, that truly was unexpected.

“Truly, I never knew ghosts looked so… lifelike!” Granted, Cyrus had not a single clue how ghosts were supposed to look before this encounter. But, this did raise a few questions. “How is it that you could fight Gaston? Ghosts are not rumored to be very physical.”

“I… am not totally sure of it myself. I seem to be able to touch swords and spears well enough.” A shrug. “Nothing else has worked yet.”

“How has no soul figured out you are a ghost then?” he frowned. “You must be able to do things like… open doors!”

A slight chuckle. “You will not believe how easy the blunt side of a spear can solve this issue.”

This was absolutely absurd. Cyrus could not say it any other way. He was standing in front of a ghost of all things. How did he even end up here?

Yet, his mind was still curious. He wanted an answer to the many questions floating around in his head.

“I suppose it was Sir Erhardt that put you in this… condition, if Gaston’s taunts are something to be trusted,” he remarked. “I have heard of your friendship, yes, but not of any violence between you. Was it him that killed you??”

Olberic raised an eyebrow. “Is that not clear? I had hoped at least someone had solved that mystery by now.”

“I will have to disappoint you then. The only thing told about your death is that your corpse was burned by someone.” At least, that was all the information available up until now. Olberic may be able to provide more.

A sigh. “I suppose it was to be expected, as that is the truth, I do believe. I do not know who did it either. But, pray tell me, what is known about the Fall?”

Now, as a history professor, this was a question Cyrus could answer. “Around eight years ago, the Kingdom of Hornburg was attacked by an organization called the Black Brotherhood. They were mercenaries, mostly. In this struggle, the king and most of his knights were slain. This left a power vacuum as King Alfred had had no children of his own. That was what officially caused the downfall of the kingdom.”

“Is it only told as so?” A frown. “I had hoped the specifics would be more prevalent.”

“My sincerest apologies, but most of the kingdom was, well, burned. That makes for utmost difficult research.” Cyrus himself had had some confrontations with this problem. How was one supposed to write an essay when the source you wish to cite is in ashes? “I almost do not dare to ask, but are you perhaps aware of some document that could change that? Some kind of primary source that has not been burned?”

“I died before that.”

Oh.

“You are quite curious about this all,” Olberic remarked. “Why is that?”

As the man had been answering his questions quite well, Cyrus deigned it fair to reply. “I am a history professor at the Royal Academy in Atlasdam. It would be rather strange if I was not!”

“Atlasdam?” From that tone, Cyrus assumed that he had only caused more questions. “Why are you here then?”

“Ah, I have an old friend I wish to visit in Quarrycrest to inquire about a missing tome.” Cyrus would rather not speak about the other reason that had caused this sabbatical of his. “I am no fan of the Frostland snow, so I decided on taking a small trip through the Coastlands instead.” 

“Understandable, I am no fan of the cold as well.” Olberic paused a bit before continuing: “May I ask a favor of you?”

He blinked. “Of course, what is it?”

“May I perhaps travel with you then? At least until Quarrycrest. It…it has been a while since I have been any further than the borders of the village.”

“I was unaware ghosts were even able to travel at all,” Cyrus noted. “But, it seems I am proven wrong time and time again today. It would be an honor to travel with you, Sir Eisenberg.”

“You can just call me Olberic, scholar.”

“Then just call me Cyrus as well.” A chuckle. “It would be awkward if only one of us spoke with honorifics.”

“Very well, Cyrus.”

Cyrus gained a ghostly travel companion that day.

Traveling with Olberic was an odd thing. The man had not lied when it came to his inability to touch anything but spears and swords. It became ever more obvious that this man was no ordinary human the more Cyrus looked. He had not drank or eaten ever since they met, declining Cyrus’ repeated offers for tea which he tended to make on accident, he had not slept at all, and when Cyrus looked carefully at his legs when they walked, he could see Olberic’s boots going just a little bit deeper into the ground than was normal.

The fact that Olberic did not leave behind any trace of footsteps helped his case as well. This man was a ghost, of that Cyrus had no doubts anymore.

It did make some things significantly easier for them as they made their way to Quarrycrest. Olberic required no provisions, nor did he need to halt for rest. It did make Cyrus feel slightly like a bother when he needed to, but it seemed to be fine in the ghost’s eyes.

“Do you miss food and sleep?” Cyrus had once asked on one such stop. It had been an early afternoon in the Riverlands, and the small pond he had been resting beside provided some peaceful background noise. It lifted the mood for the both of them. So much so that Cyrus had felt comfortable enough to dare and ask a question.

A shrug. “Not truly, although I do miss some certain foods.”

Cyrus raised an eyebrow, now curious. “Which ones?”

After a little bit of thinking, Olberic replied to the question thoughtfully. “Goat cheese. I suppose you could call it my favorite food.”

Ah . “Understandable that you would miss such a thing. If I could not eat sandwiches in the afterlife, I think I might die again!”

It took them a week more to reach Quarrycrest. Cyrus had never been to the Cliftlands town. When Odette had said she would move here a decade ago, he had genuinely needed to grab a map to figure out where she was going. 

(He had been a bit displeased when he had discovered that it was on the other side of the continent, but those were past grievances.)

It was not hard to find Odette’s house. Quite the opposite, really. In one… interesting letter, she had left behind her return address. It was only a matter of minutes before the two of them had found her door.

It was more than a matter of minutes before they were let in, however.

“Cyrus Albright, mind explaining to me how you revived Olberic Eisenberg and why you did not invite me?” was what Odette asked when she finally let them in. Olberic was currently standing in the corner, pretending he did not hear anything. “How in the Hells did you do that?”

“Odette, please, you know Sir Eisenberg is dead.” Olberic had requested that his current condition was not to be shared. Even though it pained him to lie about such an important discovery to a friend, he would do it. “That is just… a distant cousin.”

A scoff. “Cyrus, I don’t need to have sleep induced hallucinations to know that that is exactly the same man as in the tome I sent you. Have you not-“

“Out of all people to trust about the statement ‘the same person’, I would not say you are one of them,” he raised an eyebrow. “Or did you forget about my cousin in the Frostlands?”

“Oh please, you and that Roton guy are just copies of each other.”

“First of all, it is Rodion , and second, he is not!”

All squabbles aside, he did manage to convince Odette in the end to tell them both about the book. Sadly, it was not as much information as he had hoped. ‘From The Far Reaches Of Hell ’ was stolen from the Archives and contained passages about things such as necromancy. It was interesting, but not the breakthrough he had hoped it to be.

But then, of course, Odette had the ‘genius’ idea to start talking about her kidnapping investigation and suddenly, Cyrus had an entirely new mission.

Find these kidnapped people and bring them home safely-

“They are dead.”

It was Olberic who interrupted their silence as they walked towards the sewers. Cyrus had a sneaking suspicion that the victims had to be somewhere around here.

Of course, hearing a sudden  “They are dead” the moment you step close to the location you suspect these people of being is not a very calming sentiment.

“I mean to say that at least one of them is dead,” Olberic corrected himself. “My apologies.”

“How do you know?” Cyrus asked, a bit confused. As far as he knew, knowing when people are dead was not one of those ghost… quirks Olberic had.

“A suspicion.”

He sighed. “Very well then.”

It was no small feat actually freeing said kidnapping victims. Olberic had been slightly right; some of the bodies he found on that jail floor seemed dead enough. But, it was clear that most of the victims were still breathing, even though they were heavily wounded.

And, of course, with his luck, the exact moment Cyrus realized this, another man joined them in the chamber. There was a bloody and very sharp scythe in his hands. By the surprised and angered expression on the man’s face, it was clear that he was the kidnapper they had been looking for.

That scythe was not a weapon any person would like to be on the other side of, and Cyrus suspected that the people around him could testify to that sentiment.

The good thing about having a ghost knight on your side was that at least someone was adept at fighting a terrifying foe when it came down to it. Before Cyrus could even fetch his spell tome from the pocket of his cloak, Olberic had already drawn his sword and was currently in the process of beating the life out of the man.

It almost made Cyrus reconsider who of the two was the more terrifying one. At the moment, it certainly was not the man hooded in black.

Looking behind him at the bodies, Cyrus found little care in his heart as Olberic pierced the man’s throat.

At the end of the day, the expedition had been successful enough. They had managed to rescue seven people from the dungeons and reunite them with their families. Furthermore, Cyrus had found a smaller, abbreviated version of ‘ From the Far Reaches of Hell’. It was too thin to be the full document, but it was a step in the right direction to finding the actual tome.

It was good. It was progress. His next destination would be Stonegard.

“I find it a bit ironic to be honest,” was what Cyrus remarked. “I spent a month walking from the Highlands to here, only to be told I have to walk all the way back!”

The night was dark in the Cliftlands. Cyrus had managed to get the both of them a decent room in Quarrycrest’s inn. Well, a room for him. Olberic was more than content to just float around. If there were no strangers around, there was no need to pretend to sleep.

“It is a bit ironic, aye,” Olberic nodded. “Your journey takes you in another direction.”

A laugh. “Indeed! But, it shall have to wait. At least, until you find this Gustav fellow.”

Cyrus had expected some quick response to that. But instead, Olberic fell into some awkward silence. Had he said something wrong…?

“You… wish to travel further with me?”

Ah.

“I suppose it was not part of the deal,” he chuckled. “But, personally, I do wish to follow you. I mean, there are about a hundred questions I still need to ask! I cannot do that in a single night.”

“Such as?”

The question surprised him a bit, but it was not like he lacked ideas. “Can that man you killed today come back to haunt us? I mean, you came back as a ghost, so what prevents him from doing that?”

“I do not think so.”

That was a very short answer for a very complicated question. “Care for elaboration?”

“I am a bit unaware of the specifics as well.” A sigh. “I had an explanation about my own situation, but I am unsure if this is a general… thing .”

“Well, then we can just go by experience, no?” Cyrus straightened himself on the bed, now struck by an idea. “Have you seen anyone like yourself? Perhaps a person who you know has died long ago?”

Olberic shook his head. “I have not seen such a person.”

“Then, considering you have been around as a ghost for eight years, your condition must be rare.”

“And what if you are wrong about that?” Olberic questioned.

Cyrus shrugged. “A theory can be incorrect, of course. It is then the responsibility of the researcher to adjust it. And I do guess we have the time for that, considering where we are about to go.”

A silence fell over them. Cyrus was very pleased with this result. It would be quite annoying if that man with the scythe came back again. But then, had anyone seen two ghosts try to fight each other? The result could be interesting…

“I will head off for the night, if you do not mind.”

Without much thought, Cyrus gave a distant nod. He had some thinking to do. Besides, Olberic had already floated off through the wall leading outside.

(It was only a few hours later, in the comfort of his own bed, that he realized once more that Olberic did not need sleep. )

(What had he said wrong?)

Gustav was apparently not an easy man to find.

Cyrus did not mind it too much, nor did it surprise him. Victors Hollow was quite a large settlement, especially this time of the year. If he remembered correctly, there was a tournament being fought in the historical arena this city housed. This only attracted more people to the city, to his partial surprise.

Cyrus had decided to ignore that for the time being. There was a far more pressing matter on his mind.

Ever since their talk in the inn that night, Olberic’s state seemed to be… deterring? Was that even the right word for it? Could a being that was not alive deter at all? Cyrus did not have the answer to that question, and neither did he know how to obtain it. But, his companion seemed a lot less talkative these days, almost ignoring Cyrus when he tried to speak. Furthermore, even though the Woodlands’ temperature was far hotter than the icy cold of its neighbor, he seemed to shiver? At least, that was what it looked like. At multiple points throughout the week, Cyrus had almost offered the poor man his cloak, only to realize it would do nothing. 

It was clear. Something was up with this ghost. But, Cyrus was just unsure what exactly the problem was.

For now, he decided to focus on finding Gustav. Olberic seemed to have some kind of idea as to where the man ought to be, but refused to be clear about it. Something about the arena, Cyrus believed. It did seem logical, considering the epithet mentioned by Gaston had been something about a ‘black knight.’

Cyrus, however, had not expected Olberic to have learned this information from some eccentric woman who was letting Olberic actually fight in the aforementioned tournament . So much for an investigation.

He did not know how it had happened, nor did he know where. But, Olberic had somehow managed to get himself a manager. Cecily was her name. She said that she had seen Olberic’s potential when it came to fighting. Something about her usual man not being available due to illness.

Besides, there was also something in it for Olberic.

“Gustav will be participating in the tourney,” was what he had said to Cyrus when he asked for an explanation. “If I win, I may ask questions.”

That was at least some kind of a logical explanation for it. It was not a question of if Olberic would win, truly. Even though he would need to duel three opponents in a short span of time, Cyrus suspected that if this man were to lose, his opponent had to be some kind of god, ghost, or other paranormal being he had only believed in when he was a child.

Cyrus thought that was unlikely. But, then again, he was talking to the ghost of a man who died eight years ago.

A nod. “Very well. Is there a way I can help you? I am no expert on tourney proceedings and diplomacy, but I do know quite a bit about its history.”

Olberic… hesitated before speaking. “I do not need your help on that. But, I do need your council for the fights ahead.”

“My council?” Cyrus repeated, slightly confused now. He knew almost nothing of the battles Olberic fought. Cyrus was no fan of bloodsports. How was he supposed to give advice on such a thing? “I doubt I will be competent, but if you insist, I will answer.”

“Thank you then, Cyrus.” Olberic gestured toward a nearby bench. One, he noticed, that was far out of sight from the public still hanging around the arena. “This might take a while. You may want to sit.”

That worried him just a bit, but Cyrus was not a man that would decline such an offer. He sat himself down, looking at Olberic to see if he would begin.

“So, as we have traveled together for two months now, you are aware that the only physical objects I can interact with are swords and spears, correct?” 

A nod. “Yes, I am aware of that. I am the one that opens doors now for that reason.”

“You are also aware that all other weapons I am not holding phase through me, correct?”

“I… am also aware of that.”

“You are also aware that there will be an audience for this tourney?”

It took Cyrus a minute before piecing the puzzle pieces together, but when he did…

By whatever God that was willing to listen, was this man a fool?

“Olberic, if you fear that it will be discovered that you are a ghost if you take a hit, why did you sign up for this tourney in the first place?” he enquired, more than confused by now. Even though Cecily was enthusiastic, he did not assume that this was forced in any capacity.

“I… did not truly think about it,” he admitted, a bit awkward. “Hearing that Gustav would compete was already too much incentive for me to join.”

Of course it was. Cyrus did not understand Olberic’s motivation in full at all, but he had gotten the gist of the basics. Erhardt had done something to put the ghost in this state, and Olberic would only be at peace once this threat was removed. Cyrus was willing to help him with this.

Yet, it still did not make total sense.

“You had no problem letting Philip witness your fight with Gaston,” he remarked. “You did not even attempt to ask him to flee. What is the difference?”

A sigh. “Philip… is a good lad. When he accidentally got a hit on me a year ago, he did believe my explanation about me having an illness.”

Ah. “Are you not afraid he will see through that facade soon?”

“I am, but when that happens, I do not think it will concern me anymore.”

A silence fell over them after that particular comment. Cyrus was just a tad confused as to what Olberic meant by it. He had seen the exact face that people made when they told Cyrus about things that they would not normally digress more than enough, and Olberic was wearing that face right now.

There was definitely something amiss here, and Cyrus would investigate it as soon as he had the chance. But, at the moment, he had another problem to solve.

“Have you perhaps attempted to use some kind of shield?” he suggested. “A blow would be more reasonable like that.”

Olberic shook his head. “I attempted that a year or four back. I cannot hold a shield.”

That was a setback, but Cyrus did not wish to give up yet. “Now, what if we were to make an improvised shield out of, for example, spears. Do you think you would be able to wield it?”

“I must confess I have not attempted that before,” Olberic nodded. “But, the tourney will begin tomorrow at sunrise. That leaves very few hours to make such a project.”

Olberic had a point there. Something like that would usually take weeks, if not a month to craft. Materials had to be found, a design drawn up and then the actual work of making the damn thing.

Alas, in the time that he was thinking about how hard the contraption would be to make in a short amount of time, he was wasting more time . Cyrus stood up, heading as quickly as he could to the armorer. He could find weapons there.

In the end, Cyrus somehow managed to do it. Yes, it took him the entire night, most of his and Olberic’s funds, a few prayers to Alephan and Brand respectively, and a bit of his sanity, but he did it. The ‘shield’ that lay before him looked like an absolute mess from the Hells itself, and appeared like it would fall apart the moment someone touched it judging from the structural integrity.

He could only hope that it worked.

“Olberic, my friend, if you could do the honors,” Cyrus said, gesturing towards the mess he had to call his creation. The ghost perked up from the space he had been resting. “I pray it will not collapse too soon, but it is done.”

“Well… thank you, aye.” Olberic stared a bit at the thing before turning his gaze to Cyrus. “Are you sure it is done?”

A sigh. “Engineering was never my strongest suit. It is as good as I can make it.”

The man gave him a nod, crouching down in an attempt to pick the thing up. Cyrus could only silently hold his breath as Olberic slowly lifted it off the ground.

It did not fall apart, however.

Miracles apparently existed, and this was one of them.

“It seems I must thank you, Cyrus. Your plan worked.” Even though it was clear Olberic was trying to mask it, the surprise in his voice was clear. Cyrus did not blame him. He was frankly considering donating a large sum of money to the local church in around five minutes.

He laughed. “A true wonder, yes. Now, I cannot guarantee that thing will take more than one hit, so I ask you to be careful. It would be unfortunate if this labor would be for naught.’’

A slight smile, so brief that Cyrus had to ask himself if he had not imagined it. “Aye, unfortunate indeed.” 

He won the tournament, just like Cyrus expected. 

The shield did fall apart in the last match, also as expected. One particularly hard hit by Gustav was just too much for the thing. But, it was fine. Olberic managed to dodge all other attacks. A miracle, really. But, a necessary one. As both Gustav and Olberic left the arena, he could see they were already in conversation.

They would find Sir Erhardt soon enough.

It turned out to be Wellspring. It was quite ironic, really. They had actually walked through that town before on their way to Quarrycrest. Having to go all the way back was… unfortunate, but that was a sacrifice that had to be made. They had done it before, they could do it again.

No, the walking was not the problem, nor the time it would take. Olberic had been deterring once more. That was the real problem.

After Victors Hollow, Cyrus had hoped that all would be fine again. He meant, the ghost seemed perfectly fine when he was battling. More than fine, really. When he fought Gustav, Cyrus saw that fire again. What it exactly was, he did not know. But, it was strong. Olberic seemed happy at that moment. Cyrus had seen him laugh at one of his bad history related puns. 

It had been three weeks since that tourney, and Cyrus could count the times they had a proper conversation on one hand. Wellspring was two days away.

The Inn they were at was a small one and the rooms were limited to say the least. but Cyrus still had to get a room fit for two people to avoid suspicion. So, the bed he had at his disposal was more than agreeable. It was soft, big even. He should be able to sleep in this just dandy by all metrics. 

Alas, he could not. Not when his ghostly companion was staring out of the window as if the world was burning.

“Olberic, friend, I know you do not need sleep, but is it necessary to keep looking outside?” was what he eventually managed to say, pulling himself up to sit straight. 

The man turned to face him, although his gaze was still not focused upon Cyrus. It was as if he was looking through him.  “Ah, my apologies. I was unaware this was annoying you.”

“It is not exactly that that is annoying me, but it is more about the summation of a few things that I have been seeing.”

Now Olberic was looking at him. For the first time in weeks, Cyrus seemed to have his full attention.

“It is just- It is quite a difficult thing to hold a full conversation with you. You seem to be distracted by something you do not wish to share with me. Which, for such a thing I will not fault you. I do not share every emotion I feel with you, you are not obliged to do so either. But, you leave me in the dark a bit too much, don't you say?” he chuckled, although it was not pleasant. “This is not to mention that our relationship seems to fluctuate every other week. I just wish to know the reason.”

The inevitable silence that followed hit Cyrus harder than he thought it would. He had worded that a bit rudely, had he not? Maybe he said something wrong…

“My apologies then. But, I cannot give you the answer you seek.”

Silence. Apparently, Olberic’s reasons were truly something he could not speak of.

“Very well, if this is too personal, I shall not pry,” Cyrus finally concluded. It was a lie, but one he would tell for the time being. It was clear Olberic did not trust him with this at the moment. “However, I do not wish for this… arrangement to continue without some stark changes. So, what can I do?”

It was now Olberic’s turn to be confused. “What do you mean?”

“Well, is there something that will make you as talkative as you were at the tourney? Forgive me if this is presumptuous, but you seemed happier around there than I have seen you in weeks. What is it that keeps you grounded?”

He quite hoped that to this, Olberic would have an answer. Cyrus had met more than enough people in his life that were a bit hesitant sharing information, especially when it is personal. Most of the time, it was not too hard for Cyrus to still understand what they meant, even if no words were spoken. But, with Olberic? That man was almost impossible to read, and Cyrus had hesitations about prying as well. He greatly appreciated the man for both his courage and his sense. He was a good friend, if not a bit confusing at times. 

It was… difficult. Cyrus just wished that-

“It is the duels.”

…Was it truly that simple? 

“Is that all?”

A frown. “You very well know why I cannot ask you to duel me, scholar. It would be impolite, not to mention unfair for you.”

“Something is only impolite if the receiver takes offense, and I certainly do not,” Cyrus laughed, finally getting out of the bed. He needed to get some better clothes… “About the unfairness part I cannot rebuke you. But, again, I do not truly care if this is what helps. Now, if you would allow me to change into something more decent, we can do this now.”

The look that crossed Olberic’s face could only be described as confusion of the highest order. “Are you actually agreeing to this?”

“Why, yes, of course I am,” he stopped for a moment. “If this somehow helps, I have promised to do everything in my power to assist you.”

Olberic replied quickly: “And I will do anything in my power to keep you safe. This sword is still sharp, Cyrus. It could harm you and I would not forgive myself for that.”

That gave Cyrus reason to be silent for a moment. “That is quite a promise you are making.”

“I will keep it.”

Why that did something to his stomach, Cyrus did not know. He just grabbed some more garments, muttering something about it being “perfectly well ” in his book.

In the end, he decided on just wearing his usual attire, minus the cloak. Armor might have come in handy, but he did not have much of that either. Which, Cyrus had to admit, might have been a foolish move for a man with his constitution. But, it was what it was.

They mutually decided to do this outside. A better place, there truly wasn’t.

Cyrus noticed that Olberic had spoken the truth when he said that it was the battling that was the cause. The ghost seemed to have livened up so much in the span of just ten minutes. Was that a smile on his face? It truly was fascinating…

“Very well then,” Cyrus started as they finally reached the designated empty field. “How do you wish to do this? Forgive me for my inexperience in these matters, but I am quite clueless. I suppose some rules may need to be adjusted.”

Olberic nodded. “Aye, first blood will not quite work in this situation. I suggest we set the goal that one’s opponent must be disarmed to win.”

“I can agree with that.” Almost instinctively, Cyrus grabbed his staff tighter. Would that do something? Most likely not, no. He was going to lose either way.

That familiar flame appeared in Olberic’s eyes, and Cyrus immediately knew this was the right choice.

In his defense, Cyrus did think he put up a good enough fight. As good as one can fight against a ghost. His options were limited to ice magic, but he managed to block a few strikes before Olberic inevitably knocked his staff (and Cyrus. He should have held on a little less tight), to the ground, leaving him scrambling.

“Well fought,” the knight complimented, lending the dull end of his spear for Cyrus to grab. A hand would be more difficult. For some odd reason, Cyrus found himself wishing he could grab it. The hand, that was.

He laughed, taking the spear. “That was less than a minute! That cannot possibly count as a job well done.”

“I would say it is. I am not exactly… a fair opponent .” Olberic knew of Cyrus’ ability to take down monsters on his journey. He did not do it often (Those were the perks of having an indestructible knight ghost as your traveling companion), but Olberic at least knew that Cyrus could do more than this.

Cyrus shook his head. “Still, now that we are here, I at least suggest a round two. Just to make it worth the walk.”

It took Olberic a second to process that statement, but when he did, a smile appeared on his face as he changed his spear for his sword.

That smile, that was what Cyrus did this for.

“Very well then. Are you ready?”

Cyrus grabbed his staff from the ground, his grip a bit less tight now. “Let us do this.”

Cyrus lost every single one of the fiftytwo battles they fought, but he did not regret it one bit. The two days that it took them to get to Wellspring were traveled in splendid humor.

Cyrus only wished that it had lasted for a little longer. The moment Olberic entered the city, it seemed as if any form of progress they made was lost to time. That fire of passion had disappeared again.

They started with asking the townsfolk if anyone had even heard of Erhardt. It could very well be that the man was living under a pseudonym, just like Olberic a few months ago. It was therefore quite the surprise when they figured that not only was Erhardt well known around these parts, he was actually a town hero. Apparently he had saved Wellspring from trouble quite a few times.

It was a discrepancy. Cyrus had not heard much about Erhardt after the Fall, he did not know much about Erhardt, but this was the man that made Olberic like this. This was the man that destroyed a kingdom. Why would he do such good deeds?

But, if it was Cyrus who was confused, Olberic was absolutely flabbergasted. Even though they were outside, Cyrus could see that he was not keeping the illusion of being alive up as well as he did most of the time. Feet accidentally going through the ground, Olberic almost floating through the door as they entered the tavern. It was… worrying.

“Perhaps it is best if we rest a little before proceeding,” he proposed as they settled down in the corner of the tavern. Cyrus tactically decided to only order one mug of ale. How was he supposed to pretend that Olberic was drinking? “You may need some time to process this.”

Olberic slowly nodded. “I… thank you, Cyrus. I need to think.”

“Understandable,” Cyrus replied. “I mean, you never told me too much about the man after our initial meeting. But, I assume this is not how you think of him nowadays?”

“Nay,” he shook his head. “I thought he would at least be terrorizing these people, after all he has done. That would perhaps make this easier.”

He raised his eyebrow. “Easier? What will be easier?”

“I…” A sigh, “I am what I am for a reason. Erhardt is responsible for it. He must be held accountable.”

With that, Cyrus could agree. But… “Yes, that is logical indeed. But, I must ask, how do you wish to do it? I cannot imagine that you wish to fight and-”

Bang!

Cyrus spun his head around towards the source of the noise. Guards, a lot of them as well. And, at the moment, they were not looking particularly friendly. The unsheathed swords did not help their case.

Oh dear…

“Were you two the men that were asking around for Lord Erhardt?” one of the guards asked them, sword moving awfully close to Olberic himself.

Cyrus nodded. From that tone, he could guess that they were here to arrest them. If one of these men actually touched Olberic, they would be in for great trouble. He needed to de-escalate this. “We are, yes. What of it?”

“Captain Bale wants to see you.”

Cyrus should have expected something of the sorts. Of course asking around for a war criminal of all people did raise some suspicions… 

Well, there really wasn’t a way out now, was there? No, that would just put them in trouble.

“Where is that captain of yours?”

It was a rather awkward wait.

For a man who sent quite a few of his men to collect them, Bale seemed to have no haste in getting to his… office? Was that what this was? It looked like one, Cyrus observed, but he had to note that most offices did, in fact, not contain any sort of weaponry. 

Olberic was completely silent all throughout. Cyrus could imagine why. Even if Bale had some… problems with them inquiring about Erhardt, it had to mean that the man in question was at least close. That must do something to Olberic, something Cyrus could not comprehend.

Still, the silence made it all rather awkward. Cyrus was almost thankful when Bale came storming in.

“My apologies for the wait, gentlemen, I had some matters to attend to,” the captain shook his head, putting his sword (was that blood?), in the corner quickly and taking a seat. “I hope I created no issues for the two of you?”

“None,” Cyrus replied. It was clearly a lie, but the truth could wait for diplomacy for a moment. “But, I must inquire as to why we are here in the first place, sir. From what I know, we have done nothing that is legally punishable.”

The captain nodded. “Aye, nothing is wrong. But, I must speak with Sir Eisenberg privately, if you do not mind. There are some things I must discuss with him.”

Cyrus blinked. How did he- It looked like Olberic was as surprised as him. The ghost’s eyes betrayed it all. Yet, still…

“If you know my name already, Cyrus must stay. I insist upon it.”

A frown. “You know what I intend to discuss.”

“I am fine with that,” Olberic shook his head. “I wish to keep him by my side.”

The man glanced at Cyrus for a moment. “Are you truly sure?”

“He stays, or I will leave.” 

What was even going on here?!

“Very well then,” Captain Bale agreed. “My suspicion that you are Sir Eisenberg was confirmed by you just now, so I need to ask the question, what are you?”

“Did Erhardt tell you what he did to me?” Olberic asked back, avoiding the question quite skillfully. 

A nod. “Aye, thus why I am confused. You are supposed to be dead. He told me that enough times by now.”

“And as you can see, I am here.”

Bale hummed in agreement. “But, what are you?”

Olberic gazed at Cyrus, seemingly looking for advice. Sadly, Cyrus had not a singular good idea as to how he was supposed to handle this. They could lie, spin up an elaborate tale as to how Olberic survived. But, if Bale knew the details from Erhardt, the chances that they would not conflict with the actual tale would be close to zero…

Wait.

Olberic knew the details of his death. 

“Do you not consider this a great offense, Captain, asking this man what he is?” Cyrus feigned annoyance. He could only hope that Olberic would get the hint. “The answer is human. This man survived a near death experience and you ask him such questions on your first meeting?”

Olberic nodded, a little frantically to be honest, but it would have to do.

“Excuse me then,” Bale eventually replied, seemingly getting a read on the conversation. “Erhardt always told the tale as if you died.”

“He has the right to assume it,” Olberic nodded. “I found a kind apothecary in time to treat my wounds after he stabbed me in the gut. I would not have made it otherwise.”

Bale… agreed. Or so, Cyrus thought, prayed. “Ah, I suppose Erhardt would like hearing that.”

“Do you know where he is?” Olberic asked.

He shook his head. “Lizardmen have been attacking the village for a while now. If I were to guess, he is fighting the leader of the horde at the moment.”

Now that Cyrus thought about it, except for the people they questioned, Wellspring had been suspiciously empty. Perhaps these people had been doing the smart thing by taking refuge in their homes. 

Gods, why did everything always seem to click too late for Cyrus?

They took their leave without too much problem. Bale only objected once, stating it was dangerous for citizens to join in the fight, and that he could impossibly allow this as a captain. Olberic rebuked it by stating the fact that he was far from a citizen, and Cyrus had the necessary experience to be of use. They would be just fine. 

Cyrus was not so sure of that. He had experience, yes, but this was sounding like a far more organized threat than he was used to dealing with. Bale insisted on going with them and bringing a few soldiers along. He could only pray that they and Olberic would be able to handle anything he could not.

The Lizardmen, as Cyrus expected, were formidable opponents. Well, not formidable enough to prevent their deaths for longer than two minutes, but they were quite alright. It did not take long for Olberic to make quite a dent in their numbers. The source of all of them, however, seemed to be in some sort of cave. If they were not quick, they would be overwhelmed.

It was clear that that was their destination. Luckily, Bale and the soldiers were also in agreement that the source must be eradicated, and now that Olberic and he had proved themselves so capable, they were free to go.

He had therefore not expected to see any human life in that cave. But, if Cyrus’ eyes did not deceive him, there was decidedly someone standing a few meters away from him.

“ Erhardt. ”

Even if Olberic had not spoken the words, Cyrus would have noticed sooner or later that this was him. Just like Olberic, that man had also been drawn in that tome of his, next to Cyrus’ ghostly companion. The same blond hair and red tunic were still visible all these years later.

This was Erhardt. Quickly, Olberic approached him.

Cyrus could not hear what they spoke off in the whirlwind of clashing blades of bone and the crackling sounds of his own fire. Gods, he should not have insulted these Lizardmen so. They might not be so strong individually, but with these numbers that they had? It was almost difficult to keep this up.

Would he later cite that as the reason why he had not noticed Olberic approach him? The answer was yes. But not only that.

Olberic was freely floating now, not even pretending he needed solid ground to move. 

Cyrus barely saw him doing that- No, that was an understatement. Why was he doing that? Erhardt was here! That couldn’t possibly be-

From the corner of his eye, Cyrus glanced at Erhardt. The man was not bothered by this at all.

Something happened here.

“Cyrus, the headman is in the right cave,” Olberic calmly told him, as if he wasn’t stabbing a spear through some Lizardman’s eye at the same time. “Can you handle him?”

Him? “Are you sure you will be fine here? This is quite a lot even for you!”

“I will be.”

It wasn’t logical for Olberic to send Cyrus after the thing. No, both of them knew that when it came to battling, the former knight was clearly superior in it. So, why sent Cyrus?

There was an alternative motive here, and Cyrus had his suspicions about it. But, this was Olberic’s fight. He knew what was best for himself.

Cyrus had to admit, he had no idea if it was possible to rush a battle. But, whatever it was that he was doing with the Lizardman Headman felt like it. He gleaned that its weakness was lightning, so, Cyrus used it. It was as simple as that. He used it again, and again, until the poor thing before him was more roasted flesh than beast. Until the creature’s scales turned black from the burns.

Perhaps he would be horrified if this was a normal situation. Perhaps he would find it cruel, how he left it on the ground to die on its own terms. But, Cyrus heard metal crashing from the other side of the cave.

The Lizardmen had no metal weaponry. The sound such a fight would make was far different than this.

He needed to go.

It felt like eons before Cyrus had made his way to Olberic’s side. Rationally, he knew that there was no haste to be had. Olberic would win regardless. He was a ghost, for Alephan’s sake. His death had already happened. If he wished to kill Erhardt, that was his choice. He had told Cyrus of it a thousand times before that a fight would happen. Yet, there was something in Cyrus that dreaded this moment.

There was something wrong. Something incredibly wrong.

His footsteps grew quicker.

He had been right, Olberic and Erhardt had been dueling, and looking at the display before him, Olberic won. Erhardt was on the ground, blade far away from his reach.

Cyrus only vaguely noted that neither of them seemed to take notice of his presence.

“Will you now give me answers?” Olberic asked, sword still raised to deliver the killing blow, but not acting upon it. “Why?”

“As I said, I do not know, I truly do not-” A hack, was that blood? “I apologize, Olberic, but I cannot tell you anything .”

“Liar, you did this to me. You- Can you not even give me the peace of knowing why?” The frustration in his voice… Cyrus felt he should leave. This was private. Yet… “He told me that if I killed you, I would be free. That you did this to me, that I had to redeem myself to finally rest. But, you are saying you do not know. You lie. Do you think that will earn you my sympathies, after all these years?”

“I…” Erhardt shook his head. “I burned your body. Eight years ago, I killed you, aye, and I do not deserve your sympathy. But, I do not know what made you like this. That is the truth.”

Olberic let his sword fall.

What was this? Cyrus took a step back. Killing Erhardt was for revenge, correct? It was for all that he did. But, that being free part, what was it referring to? Who was the one that told him that?

He was slowly beginning to realize that Olberic had not told him everything. He was hearing the unspoken words that had been lying in between them all these months.

“You… you burned me?” he asked, a quiver in his voice as he said it.

“I made a mistake that day, one I can never take back for as long as I live,” Erhardt nodded. “That was the one thing I could do, however. It was the most proper funeral I could give you.”

Silence. Cyrus took it as his sign to leave right then and there. He would not intrude upon such a thing any further.

Walking out of that cave left him alone with his questions. Which, he had too damn many of them at the moment to even count. Gods, why had he not asked Olberic more? Then at least he would feel a bit less confused than he did now.

Bale looked at him saddened as he walked past. The man probably assumed there was a reason he was alone. Cyrus had kept just enough wits about him to at least tell that Olberic and Erhardt were talking. The Lizardmen were gone, one with the sand now. Celebrations could start.

He himself just settled upon getting a seat in the tavern, the exact same one he and Olberic had been at an hour before, and ordering some water. It was the best he could do for now.

Cyrus did not know whether to go back and ask, or to remain here. By Alephan himself, he had so many questions. Too many for his liking. Who had told Olberic that killing Erhardt would do something- Amend that, what would it even do? Cyrus had always assumed this was just justice, an eye for an eye of sorts, but with the minute he was growing less sure of that theory.

He took a sip of that water. Most of the time, that calmed him down just slightly.

It did not, in fact, calm him down. His other hand was still fidgeting.

What should he even do? He could hardly go back and ask for elaboration. Hells, he was probably not even supposed to know anything. Olberic had sent him to fight that Lizardman for a reason. No, he had to wait. He just had to.

Cyrus Albright was not that good at waiting. Especially when three whole hours passed without a trace of Olberic.

Especially when Erhardt walked into the tavern, without Olberic.

Erhardt looked rather well for what he had just gone through, taking in the congratulations and pats on the back with a slight smile. Another victory was attained, all was well in Wellspring.

Yet, Cyrus could not help but feel a pinch of anger. For there was one question he needed immediate answers to.

He left his half-empty glass on the table.

“Oh, greetings,” Erhardt spoke as he saw Cyrus approach. There was some confusion in his gaze. “How is-”

“Where is he?” Cyrus deadpanned.

Erhardt shook his head. “What do you speak off?”

“You perfectly well know who I am talking about.” Cyrus had to abstain himself from yelling that sentence. They were in public, after all. “I do swear by all gods upon this continent. If you did do something to him, Alephan knows how, I know how to find you, you understand? I may have no skills with a blade, but I am not afraid to duel.”

He shook his head again, now even more confused. “I thought he was with you. He practically said that he had to tell you something when he left.”

…Oh.

That was…

“Thank you, Erhardt.”

At night, Wellspring was damningly cold, much to Cyrus’ disadvantage. At least the commotion of today’s victory lit up most streets. Perhaps Olberic had gotten lost there, talking to all the people he had helped today. Cyrus would have liked to give him a pat on the back too, if that had been possible.

He wandered for a good half an hour, receiving various notions of thanks for what he did today, but no Olberic. He tried asking Captain Bale about it, but he told him the same story as Erhardt did. Olberic had promised to go visit Cyrus to tell him something. That was all.

Cyrus seemed to be at a dead end.

Perhaps he wanted time for himself? Cyrus would absolutely not blame him for it. In fact, it was the logical thing to do. He would have liked to be informed, however. That was the complaint he settled upon. Maybe to distract himself from the worry growing in his gut, maybe not.

He… he needed to go do something. Something he could lose himself in.

Library.

When Cyrus had gone and reserved them a room at the inn, there had been a small study with books fitted into the corner, totally abandoned. It was so small that Cyrus had barely taken notice of it when he walked past.

Perfect.

Getting to the inn was easy enough. Sure, the streets were difficult to navigate with all these people out. However, it only took him two minutes to get there. He greeted the innkeeper before walking up the stairs. Luckily, she seemed to not have noticed he was alone, while she had clearly checked in two people.

Cyrus only understood why when he finally opened the door to that study, finding that he was not as alone as he would have liked.

“Olberic.”

There, next to the windowsill. It was funny, how in the moonlight, it was almost like he could look through the man. Olberic seemed to be aimlessly standing. There was a chair, but of course, that had no purpose for him.

Olberic looked up. “Cyrus, I-”

Silence. Apparently, he did not know what to say either.

Cyrus chose to sit down with a light sigh. At least he knew Olberic was fine now. That was what he came for anyway.  But, there was also another feeling growing in his gut. Something that pushed even the relief of this to the back of his mind.

“Where were you?” Cyrus eventually managed to ask, trying to look Olberic in the eye. He was avoiding Cyrus’ gaze. “No, amend my question. Why are you here? Erhardt and Captain Bale both told me the same story, and it was not this.”

“I- You are correct, aye. I needed some time,” Olberic replied.

A frown. “You could have told them so.”

“I could have, I agree.”

Cyrus shook his head. “Could you please just be clear for a moment? You cannot tell me there is not something wrong, look at yourself. Tell me, what is the reason you are here?”

Olberic hesitated for a moment before he answered: “I knew you would come here eventually.”

That was a rather odd reply. “And, for what reason must you see me here exactly?”

Perhaps it was cruel to ask such thorough questions to a man clearly going through something. But, Cyrus needed his answers.

“There is something I must elaborate on,” Olberic eventually settled upon to be his reply.

There it was.

“Then please, do speak, for I have a few queries of my own,” Cyrus replied, slouching just a bit in that chair of his. “Perhaps they align.”

Olberic’s face was surprisingly neutral. “Did you know it was Erhardt who burned me?”

…Ah, there that feeling of guilt was again.

“I must admit there was a certain part of your conversation I might have overheard.” He would not lie. He refused to do that. “My apologies, I was rooted to the spot. I left as soon as I felt capable.”

“No offense taken, this might make what I am about to say easier,” he shook his head. “Did you overhear how I talked about a certain he ?”

A nod. “I did, indeed. That is one of my queries.”

“What if I were to tell you that I was referring to Brand himself?”

Perhaps, if Cyrus had not been traveling with a ghost for the past half year, he might have been surprised.

“I would say that it is not the strangest thing I have heard so far,” he answered. “I suppose that is what happened?”

“Aye,” Olberic shifted to be just a little closer to Cyrus. “He was the man that explained my situation to me when I died. The rules, so say.”

Cyrus supposed it made sense enough. Supernatural occurrences equalled divine reasoning. Yet… “That is not all you wish to tell, is it?”

“Nay, there is something else, aye.” A sigh. “He was the one who told me that if I were to redeem myself, I would be free.”

“Quite cryptic,” Cyrus had to admit. “I mean, the redeeming yourself part you obviously interpreted as killing the man who murdered you. Which, I am assuming, considering you did not kill Erhardt, is wrong. But, the being free part? I must say, I am at a dead end as to what that means. That is-”

“It means I disappear, Cyrus.”

He halted his thoughts. “What?”

“I am only here to right the wrong of letting Hornburg fall. I am here for redemption, nothing more.” Again, Olberic averted his gaze. “That is why I am still around. When that goal is finished, I am gone.”

Cyrus was silent. 

“I understand that this might upset you. You have a right to it. It is just-”

“That it is hard to tell a friend they have been helping your suicide mission all along?” Cyrus spoke.

A shrug. “It is not a suicide mission if you have already died.”

This was absolutely insane. Absurd. Literally unheard of. What if Erhardt had been the man he needed? Would Olberic have killed him without telling anyone of what would happen to him? By Alephan, he had that boy back in Cobbleston. Who would have to tell him the news? Why had he not even said goodbye-

Would Cyrus even have known he was dead? Erhardt would not have been there to tell him, would he? Would he just have been left guessing until Cyrus himself died?

He should be angry. By all rights, he should be. But, the way that Olberic looked at him, both guilt and shame in his eyes was undoing any rage Cyrus might feel.

At the end of the day, it was Olberic’s second death that they spoke off. Not his. This was not something up to Cyrus to decide.

“Who must we find to get to that goal?” Cyrus asked.

Olberic seemed to be confused. “Are you implying-”

“Yes, Olberic, I am implying I am willing to help you further in this endeavor,” he finished the sentence. “We would not be here if you were not sure of this being what you want, and I promised my aid as far as I am able to. This counts. I will help.”

Olberic was silent at that for a moment. Cyrus did not really know what to say either. 

“We will first go to Stonegard, however.”

Cyrus frowned. “What?”

“I said what I said,” Olberic continued. “This is your journey too. We cannot shove your goals aside to just cater to mine.”

That…

Why did Cyrus still feel like it was an excuse?”

“I will not complain about it. Very well, let us do that.”

The man’s name was Werner. He was the current ruler of Riverford.

From the moment Cyrus heard that information, he swore to make that man’s life living hell for all that it was worth.

Captain Bale seemed to be more than happy to let the two of them go. Even though Olberic and Erhardt had talked and seemed, as far as Cyrus could see, to be on at least neutral terms, there was still some tension that was truly distracting. Perhaps that is what happened when you are the murder of the person you are talking to.

It was a bit awkward, Cyrus had to note, standing next to that.

Well, not more awkward than the situation Cyrus currently found himself in, stuck in a prison around ten meters underground. That might be described as the height of awkwardness of his week.

Frankly, Cyrus knew perfectly well that these were the consequences of his own actions. In fact, if he had been a bit more reasonable, he might have been aware that what he was doing could be described as trusting the henchwoman of his rather evil employer without question, that he was practically leaving himself blind and in the hands of fate.

He should not have been surprised when that knife made its way into his shoulder.

He… he was fine. Yes, this prison might be in what he suspected to be said evil employer’s old childhood home. But, that did not mean he could not think of an escape plan.

…He did not have an idea as to what an escape plan might be.

Cyrus hated to admit it, but last week had worn on him. Olberic seemed to be trying to pull himself together just a bit more these last few days. Perhaps he thought that Cyrus would not notice, but it was clear as ever after all these months together. Olberic was doing everything to make the next few weeks at least pleasant, even though it was clearly forced. 

He was going to be gone in a few weeks. Stonegard was just a distraction. Both of them knew that well enough. It was the reason he had asked Olberic to talk to a few townsfolk while Cyrus went off with Lucia. Multi-tasking could be handy in their situation.

That was a bad miscalculation, because Cyrus was now in prison with no hope of rescue for at least a few hours.

He was in prison with no hope of rescue, and no plan of escape.

He had to be fair to himself, when he saw the shadow of Yvon above him, he felt almost relieved.

“So, you followed the trail, it seems?” It was hard to distinguish a facial expression from down here, but Cyrus could almost imagine that familiar fake smile. Cyrus stood up, trying to make this conversation at least a bit respectable. “It seems I underestimated your ability for stubbornness, professor.”

“Spare me the speech, Yvon, what do you want?”

It was blunt, even for Cyrus’ standards. But, he had not slept for two days straight. He thought he had the right to it.

Cyrus’ statement had apparently even caught Yvon off-guard. “Well, I was just suggesting you could join me. You have the wits for much more than just chasing a tome.”

“You truly think after all these years of butting heads with you and your ideals I would suddenly change my mind after being stabbed once and locked up for an hour or so?” Cyrus asked, half-genuine. 

“I do not take you for a man foolish enough to let himself rot down there.”

Cyrus was absolutely not planning on staying here for too long, even if he had not a clue on how he was getting out of here. Yet, he still said: “Then you overestimate me.”

Perhaps, if it had been any other time, if his shoulder was not still throbbing from a stab wound, Cyrus might have been a bit more amused by how disgruntled Yvon sounded as he left, clearly dissatisfied with how his plan worked out.

He just leaned against the wall. There was not much use in gloating now.

“Is he gone? He has to be gone, right?”

He frowned. Cyrus recognized that voice. 

By Alephan, it could not be…

“Therese?!”

It could not be, but the silhouette he was seeing was clearly his student. Next to her was Olberic.

Cyrus had to suppress the urge to laugh.

“Professor!” Therese exclaimed. “You are alive!”

“I am, indeed, although I have not a clue as to how to I am getting out of the pickle I have found myself in.” The prison was too far underground. Frankly, Cyrus should be questioning as to how he even got in here . There seemed to be some sort of trapdoor that could be opened yes, but how would he even get up there-

Olberic held up his spear. To it, a thick rope was bound. “That can be solved.”

…But, of course.

Cyrus Albright would have never said in his entire life that he had the upper body strength to scale ten meters of rope to get out of a prison cell. Alas, it seemed he was set on proving himself wrong about many things these weeks, and the adrenaline was giving him a helping hand.

The hug Therese gave him once he had pulled himself up, out of breath and more tired than he had been in a while, was unexpected, but not unwelcome. Olberic looked a bit out of place, however. Physical assurance between them was an impossibility they had both accepted.

“I am so glad you are well, professor,” Therese eventually admitted, releasing him from a tight embrace.

“And I am equally glad to see you, Therese, but what are you even doing here?” After his leave, she should have gotten a new tutor. Where did she even get the time to travel here? “There are studies you must be attending to.”

Therese shook her head. “I have time to catch-up on that later. I knew you were in danger. We saw Headmaster Yvon talking to you, did he threaten you?”

“A little bit, I suppose. But, what do you mean when you say danger?” he frowned.

“Well, there is this thing I-”

Perhaps he should have looked around the corner before beginning this conversation.

Perhaps he should have checked if Yvon truly was out of sight.

But, it was too late now. In just a few seconds, he took Therese by the shoulder, shoving a knife against her neck. The yelp she let out almost physically hurt Cyrus.

They both disappeared into thin air without a sound. 

The message was rather clear. This was a hostage situation.

“Cyrus?”

And Olberic was there to witness it with him.

“We need to get her,” Cyrus quickly concluded, straightening his cloak quite uselessly. “He sees this as some sort of guarantee that I will not go after ‘ From The Far Reaches of Hell ’. I am sure of it now, he must have it. That is why this whole place feels so strange. We must go.”

“Nay,” Olberic started, putting his hands out in front of him as if to calm Cyrus. Touch was still impossible. “Those are many conclusions you are making in a very short amount of time. Think for a moment.”

He had to prevent himself from snapping. “It is not like I have that much time, do I? He has Therese, for Alephan’s sake.”

“Still, it might be wise to pause and strategize,” Olberic raised an eyebrow. “He will not harm her. She is leverage until she can be used, you concluded that already. You have the time.”

Cyrus shook his head. “I am going to find her right this second. You can come with me, or you can stay.”

“ Cyrus- ”

“Your choice, Olberic.”

A sigh, defeated. “I will join you.”

“Good.”

It was funny, how easy most dangerous situations became when you had an invulnerable ghost knight on your side.

Not even when Yvon transformed into whatever that crystal made him did the fight become a challenge for the ghost. Why would it be? Of course, Cyrus got some hits in himself, for he was far too angry to even consider the fact that it might be unnecessary. But, at the end of the day, it was . It did not even take him more than a quarter of an hour to get Therese out of that horrible device and towards the nearest apothecary. After that, he would get her to rest a bit, a few hours of sleep in the nearby inn should suffice. Then and only then he could discuss with her what had just happened. The poor girl would need that.

Him. Olberic seemed to have reverted back to silently floating about a few meters behind Cyrus at all times. His sword remained unsheathed, as if there was still a threat looming. But with Therese still here, he could not ask any questions.

An hour later, Cyrus closed the door of Therese’s rented room in the inn.  They were alone now.

“What is it?” Cyrus asked.

Olberic did not seem surprised when Cyrus said that. But, he still asked: “What do you mean?”

“You have been awfully silent this last hour.” When Olberic responded to that with more silence, Cyrus continued: “Olberic, we moved past that. What is it?”

“Concern,” Olberic eventually replied.

That came as a surprise. “The fight with Yvon went fine, did it not? No one was injured- Well, I do believe Therese is a bit dizzy at the moment, but she will recover soon enough.”

“It went fine, aye,” Olberic nodded in a tone Cyrus could not decipher for the life of him. “Will it be fine the next time you run into danger without a care for your own safety, and I am not around?”

He frowned. “I could handle him.”

“I do not doubt that. If I was not dead I would be terrified of your magical ability. But, I still have to note, if I did not try and stop you, you would have attempted to choke the life out of Yvon with your own two hands because spells felt insufficient to you.”

Olberic did have a bit of a point there. He would have at least liked to try. “Still, you were around to stop me.”

Cyrus stopped himself from speaking further than that.

This conversation was not only about today.

“I see your point,” he managed to say. Cyrus was adept enough at battles. He might even claim to be good at it. But, he was reckless. That was the true concern here. “Some more care… it could be a good idea, yes.”

Olberic cast his eyes down. “My apologies.”

“There is nothing to apologize for, Olberic,” Cyrus said.

“You still have them.”

It felt like a half-finished story. A conversation that could not reach its end at this moment. Cyrus wished he could hold the other man’s hand, to assure him that there was nothing to feel guilty for, that Cyrus was not angry about the late notice, that he could let go easily, that it was all perfectly fine .

That not even half those statements were true was something Cyrus despised.

It was Olberic who floated away, muttering something about wanting to look around the city more before leaving. Cyrus did not have the energy to ask him to stay right now.

Riverford was at least not too far away, which Cyrus took as both a curse and a blessing. He had to be frank, he did not like the amount of walking he was doing these days. It was tiring, exhausting even . He should be happy that the travel time was short.

But, now with the knowledge of what they were to do in Riverford even more prevalent in his mind… every minute that was passed meant a minute closer until the time Olberic left. He disliked that thought as well.

Disliked was an understatement. Gods, he hated it.

He might have been bluffing a little when he had reacted rather calmly to what Olberic said in both Wellspring and Stonegard. Most people would have been a lot more frantic than just calling something an assisted suicide mission. But, now that Cyrus got some time to think about it, he did not like this at all. They had been traveling together for months now . They had fought together. They had talked together over one sided dinners at campfires. They had laughed together. They had done practically everything together this entire journey.

Olberic Eisenberg was a genuine friend of his. One he could not just let go as easily as he should. That was a difficult thought to manage for him.

But, then again, he had very little time to think about it. In just two weeks, they were already standing in front of the gates of Riverford, and at that point, there was no turning back. 

Except if they were denied entrance by those soldiers before them at the gates. Then they would most definitely need to turn back.

Cyrus supposed a city tax was to be expected from a man the likes of Werner. It was just the right amount of utterly insane, combined with a little bit of civility to make it perfectly acceptable. He could almost applaud it for its genius if it was not done with evil intentions.

Olberic looked as unamused as Cyrus was. He was holding a small sack of coins.

“So, do you have a plan of attack already?” Cyrus asked in a hushed tone. It would be a bit foolish to discuss murder plans in front of the mercenaries hired by the man they were planning on murdering.

“I must say that I do not,” Olberic admitted. “Not enough time to think about it.”

He had had enough time to think about it. Three weeks to be exact. Cyrus chose to keep this fact unspoked. “Well, I suppose now would be a good time to give it some thought, considering we are here at this very moment.”

A nod. “I suppose so indeed.”

And that is the point where the conversation stopped. 

Typical. By now, Cyrus had just come to know that Olberic had his ups and down. Today was a major, if not the biggest, down of them all.

They managed to bribe the guards. Well, Cyrus supposed this was perfectly legal, so was it truly bribing? That could be the subject of a furious debate. He did not get much time to think about it, however. Not when the wooden structures in front of them were literal pyres.

If Cyrus had to be honest with himself, what he learned those next few hours should not have surprised him in the slightest. In fact, it should have been just an affirmation of what he already knew. Werner was a horrible man responsible for the death of many, for a reason so unknowable it had been one of the only things Cyrus had thought about these last few weeks. It should not be a surprise that this man sent people to their death bound to pyres.

 It should not be a surprise that he had murdered the father of the man telling this whole story.

Alas, it was. The turning in his stomach did not stop until he let himself fall on the bed of the room he rented for the night.

Of course, it was always supposed to be ‘their’ room. Cyrus had made sure it was a room for two. But, Olberic was nowhere to be found. Something with planning the attack of tomorrow. Cyrus knew perfectly well that was a lie. Olberic knew it as well. Still, he had let the man go without a complaint.

The night before they had confronted Erhardt had been peaceful. Cyrus was willing to admit it had not been the night they had been most sociable. But, they could talk. They could converse. He had asked Olberic his opinion on the few tomes the inn had. They had been able to laugh at one particular book with so many mistakes about Hornburgian history it should have been counted as comedic fiction. It had been fun.

Cyrus had not known that the possibility of Olberic being gone the next day was existent. What would he have said if he did?

That was the reality he was living in now. What was he even supposed to say to someone who seemed so sure of what he wanted?

It was already late. He should sleep. By Alephan’s sake, he had a revolution to support in the morning. And he, unlike a certain ghost, needed to be rested for that.

He turned on his side.

He was going to regret not doing anything. He was going to regret it. He knew that.

For the second time this month, Cyrus Albright went looking.

Unlike last time, finding Olberic was an easy enough endeavor. In fact, if fate was something that truly played a role in this world, Cyrus would say that it was the cause of this.

Olberic was standing before those accursed pyres, staring with a look Cyrus could not fully describe. His sword was unsheathed.

“Pleasant night, is it not?” Cyrus began, breaking the ice. Olberic looked surprised. Had he not noticed Cyrus approaching? “Not a cloud to be seen.”

Olberic slowly nodded. “It is indeed pleasant. But, must you not sleep? There is much to do in the morning.”

“On that I agree.” If only the matter was so easy that just an agreement sufficed. “But, before that happens, I think the two of us still have a conversation to finish.”

To Cyrus’ great relief, Olberic at least seemed to get what he meant. “I suppose that is inevitable.”

“Indeed.”

Silence. By all gods Cyrus could swear by, what was it with them and silences?

“I am not here to convince you to… not do that,” Cyrus started, awkward, unsure. “I understand that you have a goal, one you have had for an awful long time and was given to you by a literal god, and that living as what you are is less than pleasant. I just… By Alephan, do you not have any wishes of the sort that I can at least focus upon?”

Olberic frowned. “What do you imply?”

“Something! I do not know, but you have that boy back in Cobbleston, correct? I asked it before, and I understand it might be difficult, but does he not deserve to at least know of your death? Is there not something you wish to say?” Cyrus could not help it that his tone was a bit enraged. Frankly, he thought he should have the right to a little anger. This confused him. This saddened him. He had been given so little time to deal with the realization he was helping him , this man who he had traveled with for more than half a year, die. Could he at least have some questions?

The other man seemed to consider the request, looking down. Cyrus regretted his tone now.  Why did-

“The sword. You can give him the sword.”

Now it was Cyrus’ turn to frown. “Is that not perhaps… a bit inappropriate?”

“It is the only thing I have I know he desires, I cannot offer him anything better in compensation of what I am about to do,” Olberic spoke. Once again, Cyrus could not pinpoint the emotion. 

“I suppose that that is best then, yes,” Cyrus half-heartedly said. “I can do that.”

How would the sword be left? Cyrus could not imagine that Olberic would have another corpse. Would it just be lying in a random hallway, blood upon the blade-

“My apologies.”

-?

Cyrus glanced at the man. Olberic was not facing him, seemingly having turned all his attention to a murder of crows a few meters away from them just now. Seven of them.

“As you said, it was inevitable,” he tried to start, before changing his mind on how he was going to address this. “It is just you have given me rather little time to process it all. What if you did kill Erhardt? What was your plan there, just leaving me in the dark until I drew a conclusion myself?”

“I-” A sigh. “Nay, I cannot defend that decision. I admit it was not a well thought out plan.”

“Everything except, indeed,” Cyrus nodded. “What was even the thought process behind that?”

“It is slightly difficult to talk about your own death.”

…Fair. He would agree that that was fair.

“I just-” Cyrus had to give it to him, Olberic was doing his best to keep the conversation up. “I hoped you would draw your own conclusions and move on. You are a wise man, Cyrus, you can find the answer to any question that you need answering.”

Although the flattery was doing things to his stomach that Cyrus had not regarded as possible, it did not mean that his anger had dissipated. “And even if I did, do you think I would have been satisfied with the answer? I care for you, Olberic. I would still grieve your death all the same.”

A slow nod. “You would.”

It was only then that the absurdity of these past months truly became apparent to Cyrus. There he was, next to a bunch of pyres in a foreign city, planning on murdering its ruler the following day, talking about how he would grieve the ghost next to him. It had been dark for the past two hours. The moon was bright tonight.

Absurd. It was absolutely absurd.

“I wish I could ask you to stay,” Cyrus eventually admitted.

That seemed to hit Olberic as a surprise, “But- You know how-”

“Yes, Olberic, I am completely aware of how that would not work in any lifetime I might hope to live.” It was exasperating, having to recite this thought process once more. And yet… “You are what you are, and I am what I am. I cannot ask you to give up the one thing you are so sure of. But, I wish I could.”

It struck Cyrus that Olberic had been looking him in the eye as he spoke those words. 

“If it comforts you, if I was capable of it, I would ask the same thing to you.”

Stay.

And Cyrus would just have to be satisfied with that notion, for there is nothing more he was allowed to ask. Nothing more he would allow himself to ask.

“I will speak to you tomorrow, Olberic.”

He did not. Harald was a smart enough man to see that mentioning the fact they had the Unbending Blade on their side to the people of Riverford was perhaps the smartest move to keep morale at the incredibly necessary high required for this revolution to work.

Cyrus understood. In fact, if Harald had not thought of it himself, Cyrus was around ninety percent sure he would have advised it to him.

Ninety percent. In the other ten percent of cases Cyrus would have pulled Olberic aside to go and apologize profusely for last night.

By Alephan or any other god willing to hear him, what was wrong with him? Where in the Hells did he even get the idea to just walk off like that? It certainly was not the idea of sleep. Cyrus had not been able to close his eyes for any longer than a minute. The only reason he was able to stand today was because of how much he feared not showing up

The fact that his own actions confused even himself must say quite a lot about how Olberic must feel.

Harald had decided to put him on the diversionary force, while Olberic would go with the main one. Cyrus might have protested the decision if it was not the objectively better one. He would have done the very same in Harald’s position.

That, at the end of the day, was the moral of the story. He would have done the same at every turn.

The advantage of the diversionary force was that there were a lot less people present than the already small group which were going to break into the estate. This was supposed to look like a spontaneous revolt. No planning was supposed to go into it. Not even a bit of strategy. Pure vandalism was all that was needed.

The problem was, this was already the third house Cyrus had set on fire today (with permission from the owners, of course. By Alephan, Cyrus was not willing to commit crimes upon innocents. He had standards.), and not one guard had noticed it.

In fact, Cyrus had not noticed any guards at all. It had been a bit quiet this morning, which would be nice any other time. But, when you are trying to get people to notice you are committing crimes in the name of some revolution, it was not.

“Hey! You there!” Cyrus almost expected the voice to have come from a guard, or at least someone who he was trying to upset. But, it was Reggie. “Have you seen any of the guards?”

Cyrus shook his head. “I have not, no.”

“Me neither,” Reggie admitted. “It is kind of weird, don’t you think? Most of the time the entire town square should be full of them by this hour.”

He had not been in this city for long enough to know that, but he trusted Reggie. “Should we perhaps light up the pyres? That should symbolically be rather offensive to them.”

“That could work, yeah.”

Now, Cyrus had no complaints about doing some more work. But, this could not be the solution to this, right?

Why were there no guards?

He still put the pyres on fire, of course, but Cyrus most definitely noticed that excluding his ‘comrades’, there was no one here. 

Why were there no guards? This was rather ridiculous.  A feeling of dread was beginning to settle in his stomach.

He looked around for a moment. His co-conspirators seemed as confused as him. There was something rather acutely wrong here. Something Cyrus had yet to put a name upon. But, it was there. 

It was wrong. Horribly, undoubtedly, wrong.

What was it?

The moment he realized that every person in this diversionary force had gathered onto the town square to watch Cyrus put those pyres on fire, the moment he realized that they could be surrounded oh-so easily right now, that was the moment a woman to the left of him fell down to the ground.

Arrow to the neck.

In confusion, they had led themselves to their own slaughter.

There weren't even that many guards. Five in total, much less than Cyrus knew Werner to have under his control. It did not make sense to set an entire ambush up without sending your full force.

That was unless there was another plan at work. 

“Scatter!”

Cyrus only remembered those words were his a few minutes later.

He had never run this quickly in his life. Why did it all click now? Werner had somehow seen through the plan, and figured out they were just a diversionary tactic. He had stationed most of his soldiers at his estate, and left the rest to set up an ambush. There was a godsforsaken ambush happening, and Cyrus just had not noticed it.

‘You are a wise man, Cyrus, you can find the answer to any question that you need answering.’

Perfect timing, truly.

Cyrus did not know what he expected as he managed to find his way through Werner’s estate. If the ambush had succeeded, he was just walking towards his own death. If it did not, he was being utterly useless. But, he found the main hall soon enough. He swung open the door.

The room was as empty as a chamber littered with corpses could be. Crouched between them was Erhardt.

Cyrus should be surprised. He was quite sure that all those people on the floor were, in fact, dead. He was saddened to see some familiar faces in their ranks, but at least they were outnumbered by strangers.

Erhardt was carrying a sword, one stained red like his tunic.

Cyrus recognized it. Any questions about how Erhardt ended up in Riverford were thrown out of the window in that second.

“Where is Olberic?”

Erhardt looked up, seemingly not having noticed his approach. He stood up as soon as he noticed that it was Cyrus.

Yet, he remained silent.

It was Olberic’s sword he was holding after all.

“You might have more use for it.” Before Cyrus could even progress what was going on, the blade was pressed into his chest. The blood stained a bit of his shirt. “We switched swords before he went. Something about giving it to you.”

His head was silent.

“It is meant for a boy, yes. He told me to give it to him. Thank you,” Cyrus nodded absentmindedly. Without a sheath, the sword was too big to carry. He would need to purchase one from the armorer.

He was holding Olberic’s blade.

Olberic had not given him the thing.

His hands trembled, just slightly.

“I-” For the first time since Cyrus had met Erhardt, the man seemed awkward, undecided on whether or not they were going to talk about it. Erhardt had been quite uselessly standing here as well, after all. “The uninjured have gone back to help defeat the rest of Werner’s men. Do you wish to join them?”

“I think I will have to pass.”

“Ah.”

His hands were truly shaking now, weighed down by the sword. The last words he had said to Olberic were so insignificant. He had indeed seen the man today, but not spoken like he said he would. And now, he was not here anymore. 

Cyrus had walked away from the opportunity to properly say goodbye.

“Do you perhaps then want to get a drink?”

The request surprised him.

Perhaps that was the reason he said: “I would like that, yes.”

Getting a drink with Erhardt was a decidedly awkward endeavor.

The problem was not the lack of opportunity, no. Werner and his men were defeated, and although a sadness for the dead lingered, celebration had already broken out. Perhaps that could not be helped after all these years of terror. He and Erhardt were just barely able to get a table at the tavern due to the crowd.

Two meads were ordered, and then silence. Cyrus did not have the will in him to begin a conversation. Erhardt would just have to lead it.

To his credit, he did try.

“He asked me to wait for you specifically,” he started, “I think he felt guilty for going without a goodbye.”

Cyrus stayed silent. Perhaps, another day, he might have felt guilty for it too. In his lap, he was still holding the sword. He had not cleaned the blood yet, but he also did not have the capacity to mind the stains at the moment.

“He stalled, do you know that?” A shake of the head from Cyrus. “I think he truly did want to talk to you. But, if Werner was not taken out soon, a lot of people might be dead now. After he died, his soldiers dispersed so chaotically it was easy to fight them one on one.”

He did not reply.

“He saved a lot of people, and well, he got what he wanted, did he not?” Erhardt shrugged. “That was the best we could give him.”

We. 

Erhardt was grieving, again.

“It was,” Cyrus finally managed to get out, his throat a bit raw. 

A nod. “How long did you know that… this was what he was trying to do?”

“As long as you have.” Why, for Alephan’s sake, he was laughing, was a question even Cyrus did not know the answer to. “He did not have the courage to tell me until it really had to be done, apparently.”

“That sounds like Olberic alright,” as if in a toast, Erhardt heaved his glass before taking a sip of the mead. “Never really managed to talk about such things until it was so important it could not remain unspoken.”

“Truly now?” Were they already in the state of reminiscing? For Alephan’s sake, he was still holding that damn sword, practically cradling it. Cyrus had no doubt he must look like a fool.

“Once, he had upset our commander so much he was put on stable duty all week. The entire stable, that is. Normally four of us had to put our heads together to get it all neat if we wanted it to be done before midnight,” the mirth in his voice made it all too clear that Erhardt liked this story. “He did not ask me to help even once . He slept two full days after that week was over. I only discovered the reason when I asked the lad who made the chore division about it.”

Duty-bound and stubborn. That was how he knew Olberic.

“Apparently, as a ghost, he needed duels in order to cheer himself up a little,” Cyrus said, wanting to share a more mirthful story of his own too. “He did not even consider asking me until I practically forced some shared practice upon him.”

Erhardt chuckled. “It is good to see he stayed himself even after his death.”

His death… that soured the mood again.

“I suppose you never talked about that plan with him?” Cyrus carefully asked.

He shook his head. “Nay. He was too loyal. He cared for me, that I knew, but he would have ratted me out the moment I told such a thought. Not with any ill-intend, but because he wished for me to get help.” A sip, Erhardt continued with; “When I killed him, I knew it was a mistake. I should have left him on that field, perhaps without purpose, aye, but alive.”

It was funny how someone’s true thoughts about something only shone through in such dire situations.

“I needed someone to know that,” Erhardt took another sip of his drink. Cyrus’ remained untouched. 

“He is at least at peace now,” Cyrus said, perhaps only as a reminder to himself to stop the pain welling up in his chest. After this conversation, he would need some privacy.

Erhardt hummed in agreement. “He is at peace. That is all we can ask for, can’t we?”

It was.

Cyrus still wished he had asked something else, however.

“What are your plans now?” Cyrus found himself asking without care. “I suppose the whole purpose of this visit is over.”

“Aye, I will go back to Wellspring soon,” Erhardt replied, “And you?”

“Duskbarrow.”

It was too curt. Too short. Too soon.

Cyrus noticed his breathing was growing heavier.

“My apologies, Erhardt, I… I must leave you here, yes. I have something to attend to. I have to buy a sheath for his blade.”

The expression on Erhardt’s face made Cyrus doubt that his excuse was working. “Very well. Travel safe, Cyrus.”

“You too.”

He bought that sheath two days later. He could not manage to get out of his room a second earlier.

It should be fine. Cyrus had gotten a short notice, yes, but he had a notice at least. He knew this was going to happen. He knew the damned exact moment it was going to happen. The warning had been there, he had seen it, he had talked about it, he should have accepted it.

It should not, in any way, have surprised him.

It still did. 

From there, it all spiraled downhill for a good while. Cyrus could not decide between going back to Cobbleston, or journeying further to finish his business is Duskbarrow. He wanted neither. He, in fact, would be content with spending the next weeks lying down on his face in a nice and comfortable bed. But, he needed to do something. He had read that in a few books on dealing with grief. They all advised doing something and sticking to a routine. So, even if wandering through the Riverlands without a sense of purpose was useless, it was something.

That was how Cyrus ended up in Clearbrook. That is how he ended up talking to the apothecary.

Alfyn… was nice to him. Kind even. Perhaps the other man did not know, but allowing Cyrus to assist in handling that viper was the one act of grace he needed to feel just a bit like himself again. Like the world was in his control now.

Cyrus did not fully remember offering to travel with Alfyn. But, it was the right decision. He could help him in this journey, and Cyrus could ignore his own dilemmas for a little while.

He had intended to be faithful to that sentiment of ‘a little while’, but when they also found a thief in Borderfall to help with a heist of all things, it became a bit more difficult.

Six. In the course of this new journey, he found six new people. All with their own problems to solve and desires to find. Six new companions. Six people who he grew to love. 

A love he tended to use as an excuse for never stopping by Duskbarrow or Cobbleston.

It was not the healthy solution, he knew that perfectly well. There was only so much you can do to avoid such things. Especially when these companions of his had journeys of their own.

For H’aanit, they had to make another trip to Stonegard. Her missing master was supposed to be there. For Tressa they visited Quarrycrest once again. For Therion they had stopped in Wellspring. He had never told Alfyn why he was traveling, let alone the rest. Cyrus had to pour most of his energy into avoiding the people he already knew. 

When would they end up in Duskbarrow? When would he see the stone steps of Cobbleston again? Cyrus could only guiltily look at the sheath resting on his side. Olberic had made one request, and he could not even find the strength in himself to fulfill it.

That is why he ended up sulking in the corner of the tavern in Wellspring.

Cyrus had, most luckily, not taken to drinking yet to solve his overthinking. In fact, most meads had gained a foul taste ever since Riverford. He preferred water, even though it perhaps looked a bit pathetic, sitting in a tavern drinking something decidedly non-alcoholic. 

Perhaps it was the slight hope that the water made him appear more sane than he was, being back in the town where it all went wrong.

“Professor?”

As usual, fate decided to toy with him.

“Alfyn? What are you doing here so late?” Cyrus asked, turning to his right to see a rather confused apothecary.

“Ah, just wanted to check in on ya, saw your room was empty,” he explained, looking down at Cyrus’ hand. “Odd choice of drink.”

A shrug. “I needed a refreshment.”

“Fair, I suppose,” Alfyn sat himself next to Cyrus. He supposed it was inevitable. “But, I don’t think that is the only reason ya ended up here.”

Cyrus raised an eyebrow. “Truly now?”

“Oh c’mon, don’t play dumb with me. Ya haven’t spoken a damn word ever since we ended up here.” That… might be close to the truth, actually. When was the last time he opened his mouth to make a remark? “Something’s up, and I would like to inquire what it is.”

It was late. Cyrus did not wish to lie either. A brief answer would suffice. “I have been here before. This place has certain memories attached to it which I rather dislike.”

“Before-?!” Alfyn seemed genuinely surprised. “Oh, I do tend to forget ya traveled before ya met me. Ya never really talk about it.”

The statement felt like an unspoken invitation. That was Alfyn at the end of the day, far too good at getting the information he wished for by just being nice. He did not even need the prying that Cyrus required.

Cyrus decided to take it. Had it not all been easier if Olberic had told him about his true intentions earlier?

“Before I met you, I traveled through the continent to find this tome my employer had stolen with a friend of mine for around eight months.” Alfyn did not need the name. “In turn, I helped him with his own mission. His is… completed, I suppose, mine is not. Does that answer contain what you are looking for?”

Alfyn seemed to get the implication. “Shucks, professor…”

“It is the past now, Alfyn. I will be fine.” Would he be? The past he was referring to was three months ago, and look at him sitting in this tavern. Most people would not describe that as fine, nor would they describe it as someone who was in the process of being ‘fine’.

That sentence seemed to ignite some sort of determination in Alfyn. “Well, we could at least try and help ya out. Tell me what you still need to do.”

Cyrus frowned. “Pardon?”

“Ya said your mission ain’t completed yet, so where do ya need to go?” Alfyn asked. “I mean, ya helped me out quite a lot, and I don’t think I’m only speaking for myself. It is only fair ya get to finish what ya started as well.”

The offer came unexpectedly, out of a corner Cyrus did not see. But, after all these months…

Not Philip. He could not talk to Philip just yet.

“Duskbarrow.”

Duskbarrow was the start of the end.

Cyrus did not mean that in the literal sense. He was almost surprised how easy the battle with Lucia went. Perhaps it was the anger and resentment that had been building in him all these months, finally being able to be taken out on something that looked as monstrous as Yvon had in Stonegard. She had burned. It was brutal, but she had burned.

The tomes. Those were the start of the end. Perhaps a mural telling him ‘ Death Doom Destruction ’ over and over again should have made that obvious to him. 

Now, the moment Cyrus decided, more than a year ago already, that he wanted to read ‘ From The Far Reaches of Hell ’, did he consider that he might actually need to travel to said Hell to get the answers to all his questions? No, he did not. In fact, if Cyrus had the ability to travel back in time to tell his past self about this revelation, he would have been laughed at most certainly. It was ridiculous. Such a meaningless little decision should not lead to that.

Alas, after helping these six people to their journey’s end, he was there, standing in front of the Gate of Finis. 

The Gate of Finis, out of which they were supposed to rescue a teenager. A teenager who was kidnapped by a demi-goddess, for the purpose of resurrecting her continent-consuming, world-ending godly father.

How would Olberic have reacted if Cyrus had told him that? Would he have found it as idiotic as he did? Would they have been able to laugh about it?

As Cyrus practically marched himself into the gates after Lyblac’s little speech, he settled for ‘unlikely’ as his answer. Olberic would take the threat seriously from the start.

There were flames in front of them, eight in total. It took Cyrus a while before he figured out that these were the threats they all needed to defeat before proceeding. It should have been a horrifying discovery, seeing all these old foes once more. But when Simeon appeared in his sight, Cyrus could not muster true fear for that creature. The emotion he felt was more akin to confusion. The flames were inconsistent. Not only did they differ by who they presented as the threat they needed to face (Was it the final person they faced on that journey or did they face them beforehand?), but it also differed in whose enemy it presented. For Ophilia it was Mattias, for H’aanit it was the dragon. The list seemed to consistently expand with each flame they blew out.

There were seven of them. There were eight flames.

Cyrus did not allow himself to think about that until the second to last flame was gone. It had been his, the fight with Yvon left him enveloped this strange calmness he would have never thought possible ten minutes ago.

“So, what’s the next one, prof?” he heard Alfyn asking from behind him. After Cyrus noticed the pattern in which the flames were spread out after H’aanit’s dragon, that question was standard every time they strategized their next move. “Can’t be one of ours, can it?”

Cyrus shook his head. “It is not. But, I have an idea as to what it is. Is it well with you all if I attempt to do this alone?”

A few objections were made, most concerning Cyrus’ own wellbeing. But, in the end, Alfyn seemed to notice the expression on Cyrus’ face, and shushed them for that reason.

Cyrus did not know how he would ever express how big his gratitude was to the apothecary.

He did not know what he expected as he touched the flame. In all other previous instances, whoever they were about to face should be in front of him, in this monstrous shadowy form that just looked wrong . There was nothing of the like in here. It seemed that whoever was supposed to be in this arena had already been defeated.

As Cyrus’ vision sharped once more, he knew who did it, for that man was sitting on the ground before him.

“Cyrus?” Olberic asked.

It was like seeing a ghost. Cyrus almost felt like a fool for the thought, because Olberic was one. He, for the entirety of their friendship, had been a ghost of a man long dead. But, this time, this time Cyrus felt it . This was the ghost of the man he had been grieving for half a year now. 

It took him all of his will not to collapse on the ground there and then.

“Cyrus?” Olberic asked again, standing up to face him. His face only showed confusion and concern for Cyrus’ wellbeing. “Cyrus? Is that you?”

It shook him from his trance, just a bit. He did not know what to say, his throat paralyzed by possibility. Was this real? Was he imagining this all? Had his horrible coping mechanisms finally gone to his head?

Perhaps it was stupidity that made him wrap his hands around a ghost in a hug, but it had been the one thing he had wanted to do all this time.. 

The actual surprise was that he was actually met by resistance. Leather armor, it was softer than Cyrus had imagined all those hours he had spent looking at Olberic.

He was too tired to be confused by the physicality of it all, too happy to be repulsed by the contact. This could be a dream, gods, maybe it was. But, he did not care at that moment. He was allowed to take it, just for a little while.

Cyrus did not know when the exact moment was that he let go, but he eventually did, just mumbling the words: “Are you real?”

“As far as I know, aye,” Olberic nodded, confused. “How did that just happen?”

“I do not know, and I am far too tired to question it. I am just- Gods, what do I even say?” What was he even supposed to do right here and right now? Yell at Olberic for leaving him like that? Try and beg for his forgiveness for never giving him that goodbye they both needed desperately? “Let us just start at the beginning, yes, what the Hells are you doing here? Where is Werner? It is his ghost that is supposed to be here, yes?”

Olberic averted his gaze, just a little. “I never managed to kill him. His ghost is not here.”

“...What?”

It made just a bit of sense. Just a little bit. It was at least enough to pull Cyrus back to some sort of reality, one where everything was confusing and all seemed to be out of his control, but it was a reality he could live in. 

“I managed to strike him down, but before I could land the final blow, Werner fell by his own sword.” A sigh, as if it was a memory of long gone days. “I still ended up here for a reason I cannot fathom, conscious enough of my fate.”

Something in Cyrus shattered at that moment. They had traveled all that time to make sure Olberic was at peace. Cyrus had comforted himself with the fact that the other man was supposed to be at peace.

He had not been.

“Well, have you at least been able to do something? It is a bit empty here, I would say.” It was an understatement, except for Olberic and Cyrus there was nothing here, not even a blade. Olberic’s sword was still stuck in that sheath Cyrus had bought for it.

Cyrus hoped just a little that Olberic would not notice what that implied.

“I can go out of the arena,” Olberic nodded. “Everything seems to be material here. I cannot cross through the gate anymore.”

“Neither can I, it seems that it shuts after someone enters it.” It was a bit weird, truly, those gates seemed far too heavy to be closed. But they were about to try and find a god. He had hugged a ghost. A ghost who was his friend. Everything that was strange could become stranger in this reality. 

“Why are you here then?” Olberic asked. “You locked yourself in.”

That was the question, was it not?

“I… After you left, I joined another traveling party. Apparently, all our troubles may have originated from a certain demi-goddess wanting to revive Galdera,” Cyrus tried to make this absurdity sound sensible, but how to do even that? “It is why Werner wanted to conquer Hornburg. If you walk out of the gate, you end up at the place where king Alfred was slain.”

Olberic slowly nodded. “Werner told me something similar before he killed himself. But, I would not guess such a problem would extend to more people.”

“Me neither.”

Silence. They always returned to that at the end of the day. Cyrus noticed that Olberic’s gaze had strayed to the oversized sword at Cyrus’ hip. The one that should be in the hands of a child. 

“I could not manage to do it just yet.” It was an excuse, they both knew that. “It felt like letting you go fully, and after walking away like that, I could not do it. My apologies.”

“Nay, you have my apologies for not saying goodbye before I left,” the way that Olberic spoke was soft, almost unrecognizable from his usual tone.

Cyrus disagreed. By Alephan, he disagreed . “No, that is my fault. I was the one that walked off that night. I should be the one apologizing at this moment.”

“You should not-”

“I insist, I do.” Out of all things Cyrus had wanted to do, this was his one priority. The one thing he just needed. “I should have approached the topic with more care. I should have taken you into consideration more. I should have, truly.”

“You have done all these things, Cyrus, please-” Olberic tried to say but Cyrus interrupted him.

“No, let me finish. After half a year, I have found that I have much to say about the amount of mistakes I made.” This was not anger, far from it truly. But, he could not go about accepting any apology just now, for Cyrus did not feel like he was the one that needed it. “I have not even been able to face Philip and hand over the blade. Is that not enough proof?”

He shook his head. “You did more than enough by just being by my side. Philip is a smart boy, he can wait a little longer before hearing the news.”

“You… you are okay with that?” Cyrus had to question, feeling a certain tension disappearing from his stomach.

“Why would I not be?” Olberic looked a bit concerned, if Cyrus had to be honest. “You asked for the task yourself. If it brings you distress, you should not do it. You are not responsible for my mistakes.”

That was true. Cyrus had asked for the request because he thought it would comfort him. But, in the end he had just twisted it into something horrible. Had he really been guilting himself over that?

He continued: “I am more than glad that I had the opportunity to at least talk to you once more. When I realized that I had not died yet, it was one of the only things I still wished to do.”

“I am too.” They were standing so far away from each other again, it was practically unbearable. All these months, Cyrus had wanted to give Olberic physical assurance, to tell him it would all be alright, and now that it was somehow possible, they took their distance.

“May I hold your hand?”

The request was perhaps… odd. Amend that statement, it might be one of the oddest things Cyrus had said in the last few minutes. But, it was a question he at least wanted to ask.

Olberic did not even reply. He just stepped closer, closing the distance and taking Cyrus’ hand in his own.

Yes, this.. this was what he needed.

“I am glad I got to see you one more time,” Cyrus tried to say, speaking not louder than just a whisper. This was a goodbye, was it not? It always had been one from the beginning of this conversation.

Olberic slowly nodded. “I am too.”

Bamn!

As if awakening from a dream, Cyrus’ gaze shot up from his and Olberic’s hand intertwined to… a door. The one on top of the staircase. It had finally opened.

He was not in the arena anymore. Somehow, they were standing in the exact same place where Cyrus had entered that accursed room. How had they even ended up here-

“ Who the Hells is that! ”

That was Tressa. He did not even have to look down at the source of the sound to know that. But, it did appear that most of his travel companions seemed to be a bit confused as to how it was that he had emerged with one more person out of that flame. That wasn’t really what tended to happen.

“I am Olberic,” Olberic quite simply replied.

Cyrus absolutely did notice the way that Alfyn frowned after hearing that. But, he decided to ignore it.

“He is a friend of mine,” he tried to explain in the most straight-to-the-point tone he could manage. The door was open. They should really be focusing upon that. “I just- I found him there. He is good with a blade. He might be able to help us.”

He knew perfectly well that the reason he was not met with more resistance to that request was the fact that his companions trusted him enough that conjuring a stranger out of nowhere was acceptable. If these people were not his friends, this would have been classified as very, very odd.

Cyrus turned to Olberic, unsheathing the blade and handing it to him before joining his fellow travelers.

Well, he dragged Olberic along too. As soon as the sword passed into Olberic’s right hand, Cyrus took his left without a word.

It was agreed upon that the door should be a sign that this was the route to go. The only true problem was that not a soul knew what could be behind it, nor if it would close and lock them in as the main gate had done before. Taking a few minutes before going could not hurt, and could perhaps save them a lot of problems later.

Cyrus wished to make the most of that time and just talk with Olberic. He would take any time this world may grant him. But, Alfyn was gesturing at him insistently, asking without words to talk to him in private. 

He did feel like he owed him at least some answers.

“So, err, I don’t know how to really ask ya this, but I think I should,” the man stumbled over his words, clearly a bit uncomfortable. Cyrus had an idea what this might me about. “Is he… ya know, him ?”

“Yes,” he just nodded. Denying it would only make this more confusing. “Yes, that is him.”

Alfyn frowned. “But, how is that even possible? I mean sure, I can’t deny we’re in a realm where the rules don’t really apply anymore, and I’m happy for ya that he is here, but still. That is a ghost. A weirdly material ghost, yeah, but a ghost!”

Cyrus… Well, he did not really know what to say there. From the beginning, he and Olberic had agreed on lying about this. Even Odette, perhaps the person in his life he trusted most, did not know of this.

He glanced at Olberic, just hoping that the other man could understand what he was asking here. 

A nod.

“He has always been a ghost. My apologies, Alfyn, but I have left a few details out of my explanation,” Alfyn tried to interrupt him at that point, which was probably just a statement to his surprise, but Cyrus continued. “Olberic is the ghost of a rather famous knight. I helped him with reaching his goal of redemption, but, well, he had no purpose left once we were done. A person cannot overstay their welcome after that.”

Alfyn was silent for a moment. “I always wondered whose sword that was. No offense, prof, but ya ain’t the type for it.”

“No offense taken,” he chuckled. “But, do you at least trust this idea now? I am willing to vouch for him if you must.”

“Nah, I trust your opinion more than enough. If ya say he’s good, he is more than welcome, even if he was just a stranger ya picked up a minute ago,” he shook his head. “It ain’t the reason I asked.”

“Why did you ask then?” Now that was a question Cyrus could genuinely be curious about.

“Well, ya said he was a friend , ya know? I am just confused- I don’t know if this is private, ya got the right to that so please tell me if I am saying something real dumb, but I think ya understand what I mean here, don’t ya?”

 Cyrus took a little while to think about what Alfyn was implying. But, after a few seconds, he did begin to understand the apothecary’s nervous attitude.

Oh. 

They had been holding hands, had they not? Had it not been something Cyrus wished to do?

This… A few rather unfortunate realizations were beginning to dawn on Cyrus at that very moment. 

He liked Olberic. He really did. From the moment they met, something had clicked in Cyrus that only seemed to happen around him . That was something he could confirm, yes. Those were the facts. 

His gaze strayed to Olberic, who was now standing next to H’aanit. They were conversing about something Cyrus could not make out from here. It was most likely something concerning weapons, judging from Olberic’s rather enthusiastic attitude concerning H’aanit’s bow.

Cyrus’ gaze always tended to return to him, did it not? Between their silences, their inability to even touch , Cyrus could at least look. He could stare. He could try to judge Olberic’s mood from his expressions only. His eyes were his own. They had been what shaped his impression of the ghost. They had been what made them friends.

Cyrus had always been looking.

“We are friends,” Cyrus confirmed, and he left it at that.

Judging from Alfyn’s gaze, he seemed to understand what that meant.

Behind that door, they found Galdera.

Behind that door, they fought Galdera.

Behind that door, they somehow defeated Galdera.

He kept looking for Olberic now. The man was not invincible anymore. If Cyrus could hold his hand, he could be hurt. But, as was per usual, he was fine. Perhaps a bit more bruised, scraped, and wounded than any fight they had fought together before, but fine. He would live.

A ghost that would live. In the back of Cyrus’ mind, he had concocted the theory that perhaps Galdera was the one Olberic needed to kill to finally get out of this limbo of his. That maybe this was the path to redemption. It was the reason Cyrus made sure Olberic was the one to get the last blow in.

He was still here, however, bruised, scraped, and wounded. Cyrus could still look. 

This terrified him beyond belief. This meant their goodbye would be no surprise this time around.

Kit was, most luckily, unharmed. A bit confused, as might be expected from a poor lad who has just been kidnapped by a demi-goddess, but unharmed. Since the gates back outside had opened up, it did not surprise Cyrus that Kit was one of the first that walked right outside. Cyrus would have done the same in his shoes.

But, the fact stood that he was not. He was Cyrus Albright, and he needed to have one last conversation before leaving.

He was just happy the rest of his traveling companions seemed to accept his excuse as to why he wished to stay for a few more minutes in such a horrible location.

Starting such a conversation was a bit harder, however.

When Cyrus had imagined himself saying goodbye to Olberic after Wellspring, he had always been a bit fuzzy on the details. How he would actually leave had never become clear to him, because at the end of the day, Cyrus could barely imagine such a situation, let alone the end of it. 

Yet, there he was. Olberic was standing a few meters away from him, silent.

That was something Cyrus could not permit.

“The fight went quite well, don’t you think?”

Olberic’s focus changed from the wall to Cyrus’ face. 

They were doing this. They were finally doing this. 

“I agree,” a nod. “It was… I should not say this, but it was thrilling to have a proper battle once more.”

Cyrus chuckled slightly. “It must be. It is just rather unfortunate that the one time that there were true stakes, it was also the time that those stakes consisted of the entire continent. It would have been nasty if it went wrong.”

“Perhaps a bit more than ‘nasty’.”

It would have been. But, Cyrus had to rationalize it in his head somehow. No human could handle the thought that they had just fought for the lives of so many. Those kinds of thoughts could not and should not exist.

“I digress, it is behind us now, is it not?” It was, the statement was redundant. “The future without such a threat is before us. We are still here.”

Us. Cyrus would like to use that word more. The gate behind them still loomed, however, now open. Cyrus could not see outside clearly, only a bright source of light was visible. He had experienced enough these months to assume that it meant that once passed, returning inside was impossible.

“We are still here, indeed,” Olberic agreed. “I had thought that perhaps, considering that at the end of the day, Galdera was the one responsible for it all, that I might finally be at peace when I killed him.”

“I thought the same. Is it not odd that you are still here then?” At this point, Cyrus was not incapable of questioning the advice of literal gods. But, he could find it strange. “I mean, let me be honest, I am far more glad about it than I have the right to be. You deserve peace after all these years. That you have not been granted it, even though you did everything that he asked you, is cruel and unheard of.”

“That leaves us with the option that I might have done something wrong.”

That confused him. “What do you mean?”

“I thought about it these months. I had not much else to do either way.” There was a bit of a painful edge to his tone. Cyrus had found people to talk to and to be accompanied by. Olberic had been alone. “He asked me to redeem myself, nothing more. Perhaps nothing about this was redeeming me.”

“...Continue.”

Cyrus tried not to note that Olberic took a few steps closer. He did not wish to hold any hope. Not today.

“The fact that I did not kill Werner got me here, aye. But, I am not gone. I have done something wrong, or understood something wrong, I must conclude that Brand meant something else by redemption.”

“But, what then?” Cyrus asked. “You were sure that that was the answer.”

A slight shrug. “A theory can be incorrect. It is then the responsibility of the researcher to adjust it.”

Perhaps that exact second took the cake for being the unlikeliest moment to hear a quote spoken by Cyrus.

“That is true,” Cyrus nodded. “What… by the gods, I almost daren’t ask, but do you perhaps have any other ideas? I would like to help while I am here. I did promise you that.”

Olberic was silent for a moment before replying: “A new purpose. I think that is the answer.”

Cyrus frowned. “It is a bit vague.”

“Aye, I… Even I do not truly know what I mean by it,” he shook his head. “But, I do know that whatever I mean does not lay here.”

…He could not mean that.

“You worked for eight years to get where you are now. Are you truly sure you wish to try a different route?” Oh, what was he even doing? Cyrus was quite sure his heartbeat had just increased tenfold due to just the sheer notion of possibility. 

“I am sure. This is not working, so I will try something new,” Olberic cleared his throat before continuing. “This is why I would like to ask to stay by your side. I do not know any person wiser than you.”

“If it comforts you, if I was capable of it, I would ask the same thing to you.”

This was not a goodbye.

Slowly, as if the moment would escape his grasp if he even did one thing wrong, Cyrus took Olberic’s right hand once more.

“I accept,” Cyrus confirmed.

They stood there once again in silence, nothing more happening between them than just the handholding. But, Cyrus was looking. He was looking. What else was there to do for him? Olberic’s eyes shone with that fire Cyrus had gotten to know so well over these past few months. It was still as beautiful as the first time that he had noticed it.

It was too much, and too little at the same time.

Cyrus did not know what foolishness possessed him at that moment, but the words already left his mouth before he could think.

“May I-”

However, he did not finish the sentence.

Olberic’s lips were preventing that.

It took Cyrus a few seconds to process that he was being kissed, even though that was the exact thing he was going to ask. It was a silent affair, but rather sweet, like it was something they had been putting off for quite a while.

Cyrus found himself wishing for more.

When they parted, Cyrus noticed Olberic’s expression going from extremely pleased to a bit horrified in a matter of seconds. “That- Was that alright?”

“If I must be honest, I would describe it as far more than just alright,” Cyrus had to suppress his urge to laugh. He even felt a bit giggly. “Perfect would be closer.”

That conjured a smile to Olberic’s face. “Good. That is good.”

They were still holding hands. Cyrus would not dare let go in a thousand years. The world outside of this gate would do that for him. 

“I cannot say that all will be fine, but I do wish to make a statement before we leave,” Cyrus slowly began. Having Olberic’s eyes so concentrated upon him, it was exactly what he needed right now. “I would like nothing more than to accompany you in whatever journey you might find yourself in beyond this gate, wherever that might lead me. I just wish for your honesty. I do not think my heart can handle a repeat of Wellspring. In turn, I shall not walk away from important conversations anymore.”

“Then you may have it,” Olberic spoke, a shimmer in his eyes. 

And that was all he needed at that moment.

Beyond the gate, touch once again became an impossibility. Cyrus’ feelings did not fade, however. What they were was still unlabeled, but not undiscussed. They were something. Cyrus liked that.

They returned to Cobbleston. Cyrus had experienced many emotions in his lifetime, but there were few which could top seeing the expression Philip made when he saw Olberic again after all this time. The boy was absolutely ecstatic seeing his mentor, and Cyrus knew Olberic shared the feeling.

The blade remained Olberic’s. Philip would still be working with his little wooden sword, which, it was becoming less little by the day. A newer, bigger blade would need to be found in a few months if he continued growing like that. By the time Philip reached adulthood, Cyrus had no doubt he could match Olberic in height.

It was peaceful, domestic even. In a few weeks, they would be traveling to Atlasdam to bring the news of all that had happened. He was not particularly looking forward to it, but seeing Therese would be a highlight. One that he could look forward to. He could finally walk into those archives with her, and show her all the literature he would have loved to assign for his classes, but was unable to due to Yvon’s interference. 

Olberic would be there too, at his side.

It was more than he would ever allow himself to ask for.