By The Moon's Blade

Interlude 4: 30th of Frostbite, Close to Daybreak

As I let my frustration leave in a swift exhale, I watch the trees pass by slowly and my arms dangle at my side. Defeat is slowly tugging at me, gripping my wrists and pulling me down to the earth. Giving up is easier than going on. And I know that's the Demonclaw gently ripping apart my mind with thoughts of absolute darkness, but it's so easy to believe. I don't know what I can do to fight against them anyways.

I might as well spend my last few moments in peace. Defeat is imminent.

The all-too familiar whispers rake against my mind once more and I try and push out that uncanny replica of my voice. It's a trick, it's a trick.

Or, I'm coming to terms with the fact that I'm going to die.

I continue to snap, flick my wrists, focus all of my energy into generating a single ball of light. I repeat the words to myself — rane, oria, aerus, igni, lumina. I'll take anything, please. Just give me something. I've done this before, why is my magic failing me now? Again, I'm met with nothing but the wind whistling into my ears, loosening the braid formed behind my head.

I walk with my feet dragging through the thin layer of snow and as I look up from the ground, head hanging low with defeat, I notice a small point in the distance on the horizon. Its presence is familiar and I can almost see the busy streets of Snowvein or the skali flying around the beautiful peaks of Plumestead. It's Cloudridge.

After numerous minutes spent walking, heading out of the Crimson Wilds and into safety, the goddess had other plans in mind for me. I don't have to go it alone. I can go back to Cloudridge, I can bring my friends back to Grasshaven and bring my father home. We can rebuild and fight the Demonclaws, if I can just get through the night.

Seeing Shalia's beautiful face, watching flames flicker from the tips of Tinder's fingers, and even laughing at Quinn's prickly demeanor. All of these memories are the only things keeping me motivated. Even if I can't access my umbramancy, I still have myself. And I am enough, right?

Those dissonant whispers tingle in my brain, trying to get a word in but I attempt to drown them out with my own memories. I walk with a slightly brisker pace and try not to let myself succumb to the pressure of the Demonclaws. They may have the upper hand, but I'm determined to see this through.

And even with all of this, even with all of the warm memories and encouraging words to myself, I still find myself without the strength to go on.

I don't know why I'm bothering. These thoughts, they're just memories. Memories of a past long gone. It's time to move on.

I try harder and harder to not let myself believe these vile words but every single syllable stings my brain, like hundreds of needles quickly jabbing at the flesh behind my skull. And as I carry myself through the Wilds, I look down at my hand with Shimmersoul. And I watch with horror forming a pit in my stomach as the pale lavender light slowly blinks out.