Dan and Dexivdwyne began their long journey home, their hearts heavy with grief. The remains of Dawrien were little more than a small urn of ash, cradled in Dan's arms.
The path through the frozen wilderness and twisted woods seemed quieter now, the oppressive presence of the forest lifted.
Yet, silence didn't bring comfort, it only made the weight of their loss more profound.
They stopped only when necessary, tending to Dexivdwyne's injured arm and ensuring Dawrien's remains were kept secure.
The Bloodstone clan would demand answers, and Dan knew the truth would be difficult to swallow.
They had trusted Alexander, believed in his potential, and yet he had fallen, not only to the corruption of the forest but to his own obsession and killed Dawrien.
When they finally arrived home, the castle's great iron gates opened, and their parents rushed to greet them.
The sight of Dan's grim expression and Dexivdwyne's weakened state stole the words from their family's lips.
