Page 86 of The Midnight Death Match

We’ve shared many silences over the years. This is one of the most poignant. In the space between our footsteps, there’s aconversation happening. A recognition of loss, of change, of the strange territory we’re navigating together.

“I keep expecting to hear his voice,” I say eventually. “Telling me I’m walking too fast, or that we should have taken the eastern path instead.”

Harek’s step falters slightly. “He always did think he knew the better route.”

“He usually did.” The admission comes with a smile that feels like it might break my face. “Remember when he insisted we could cut through Thornweld instead of going around? We spent three hours untangling ourselves from brambles.”

“And he spent the whole time explaining how it was still technically faster.” Harek’s voice carries the ghost of laughter, but it’s shadowed with something deeper. “Even when we had to stop to dig thorns out of his dreadlocks.”

“He was so proud of that shortcut. Used it in every argument for days afterward.” I pause, feeling the weight of memory settle in my chest. “The ‘Thornweld Principle,’ he called it. Sometimes the harder path is the right one.”

The words hang between us, and I can see Harek processing them, understanding the deeper meaning. Because that’s what Einar did, isn’t it? He chose the harder path. The one that led through sacrifice, through his own death, to save something larger than himself.

The thought hits like a punch to the gut.

“He was too smart for his own good.” Harek’s quiet voice pulls me from the fresh wave of pain.

“And too stubborn to admit when he was wrong.”

“And too loyal to let anyone else pay the price for his decisions.”

We walk in silence for a while, lost in our own memories. I find myself thinking of a dozen small moments—the way Einar would hum under his breath when he was concentrating, how healways checked his weapons twice before a fight, the particular expression he got when working through a problem everyone else thought was impossible.

The farther we go, the more the world feels changed. Not just in the obvious ways—the absence of the curse’s influence, the way the magic flows more freely through the air—but in the quality of light filtering through the leaves, the way my own footsteps sound against the ground, and the rhythm of my breathing, no longer constantly adjusted for the presence of something hungry and watchful in the back of my mind.

Even the magic in the air has settled, now brighter than the wild surge that accompanied Einar’s sacrifice. Not hollow as the dark magic was growing in the land. It feels warmer. Restored. Whatever was broken is healing now. Remade into something that can exist without constant feeding, without the sacrifice of innocent, good lives to maintain its power.

I reach for a good luck pendant beneath my tunic. It was my mother’s, and the silver disk is warm against my palm, warmer than body heat should make it. When I was a child, she told me it would protect me when she couldn’t. I used to think she meant physical protection—a charm against blades or claws or the dangers of the wild. Now I know she meant something else entirely. Protection against becoming something I couldn’t live with. Protection against losing myself in the pursuit of power or vengeance or the simple, brutal mathematics of survival.

The shield and its message call to me. I can’t read it. Not now, but soon I need to decipher the message. Decide my next steps. The truth of that settles into my bones, heavy and inescapable.

Einar didn’t just die to break the curse. No, he died to give me a chance at something better. A chance to be more than a weapon, more than a mysterious hybrid, more than the thing the curse made me. And that chance comes with responsibilities.With the need to defend not just myself, but the possibility of a world where others don’t have to make the choice Einar made.

We crest the final ridge before the trail bends back toward the main part of Mirendel, and the view spreads out before us like a promise. The valley is green and gold in the afternoon light, the river running clear and bright between banks that no longer whisper with hostile magic. In the distance, I can see the spires of the city, whole and unbowed despite everything that’s happened. Bright again.

Smoke curls faintly on the horizon—not the black, choking smoke of destruction, but the thin purple and orange threads. Patrols maybe, carrying word of the curse’s end to the far reaches of the kingdom. Or preparations for whatever comes next, the practical work of rebuilding that always follows the dramatic work of breaking.

“They’ll expect answers,” Harek says quietly, following my gaze toward the city.

“I’ll give them the truth.” My words feel like a vow. “I’m done hiding.”

The curse appears to be gone, and I’m still here. Still me, despite everything. Capable of choice, of love, of the kind of sacrifice that means something. Maybe that’s enough. What they need to see—not perfection, but someone who’s been through the worst of it and chosen to keep fighting for something better for everyone.

Harek glances at me, something cautious behind his eyes. He knows me well enough to hear the determination in my voice, but also well enough to worry about what that determination might cost.

“And what happens when the truth isn’t enough?” he asks. “When they want someone to blame for all the loss? When they decide that the easiest thing is to make you the monster?”

I stop, the weight of his words settling around me like a cloak. Because he’s right to worry. People need simple stories, clear villains, obvious solutions. The truth—that the curse was both enemy and part of the natural order, that breaking it required sacrifice from those it claimed, that the world is more complicated now rather than less—that’s not the kind of truth that brings comfort.

“Then I give them something stronger,” I say, and the words feel like they’re coming from someplace deeper than thought, someplace that’s been waiting for this moment to speak. “Hope.”

Harek nods, his expression thoughtful.

Because that’s what Einar saw, wasn’t it? Not just the possibility of breaking the curse, but the possibility of what comes after. A world where people don’t have to choose between becoming monsters or victims. Where the next generation grows up knowing that even the darkest magic can be overcome, even the most ancient evils can be defeated.

Where someone like me—someone marked by darkness but not consumed by it—can stand as proof that redemption is possible.

“Hope,” Harek repeats, and there’s something wondering in his voice. “You think that’s enough?”

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